Beauty, Tragedy, and the Hope of
Transformation: Reflections on Faith, Art, and the Absurdity of Life
Life is often brutal. It can feel absurd, both in our thoughts and in reality. Amidst this chaos, we long for something more. We search for a legacy that will make sense of the stains left on our lives. Despite the brutality, we seek beauty, and—miraculously—often find it. We are surrounded by ugliness and despair, yet, with defiance, we crave hope. We search for ways to transform the mess, the mayhem of our maddening existence, into meaning, memory, or a memento of the suffering we’ve endured. And so we create.
From the earliest markings on cave walls by Homo neanderthalensis to today's Spotify-saturated playlists, art has become a reflection of this
desperate search for meaning.
Today, especially, life’s weight can feel unbearable. The
constant barrage of suffering, chaos, and confusion often drives us to look for
an escape. As humans, we frequently turn to art, music, and beauty as a way to
cope, to redeem the absurdity of life.
During a sermon at St John’s Presbyterian Church in Hobart,
Aaron Johnstone asked a question that resonated deeply with me: “Do Christians
believe in beauty?” It’s a profound question, particularly in light of the
world’s brutal realities. Aaron explored this in his message, quoting Nietzsche
from The Birth of Tragedy:
"Art approaches as a saving sorceress, expert at
healing. She alone knows how to turn these nauseous thoughts about the horror
or absurdity of existence into notions with which one can live: these are the
sublime as the artistic taming of the horrible, and the comic as the artistic
discharge of the nausea of absurdity."
This quote captures the power of art in human life—the
ability to take what feels unbearable and shape it into something that can be
lived with. But for us, as Christians, art is not merely about taming tragedy.
It is about transforming it. This is the transformation I want to
reflect on, both for myself and for my son, Elijah—a 19-year-old philosophy
student at university—who has been wrestling with these themes in our
conversations.
This article is a response, not just to Nietzsche’s
sentiments on art as a way of making meaning from life’s madness, but to my son
as a Christian philosophy student engaging with Nietzsche. Our faith, and
Christ in particular, doesn’t simply help us make sense of brutality—it offers
hope that transforms it into something more beautiful and meaningful than we
could have imagined. This is the significant difference between the tragedy
Nietzsche describes and the beauty Christianity holds out to us.
The Christian Understanding of Beauty
Christians do indeed believe in beauty, but our
understanding of it is shaped through the lens of faith. For believers, beauty
is more than an aesthetic quality—it’s a reflection of something much deeper:
God’s character, creation, and truth. Beauty, for Christians, is not just a
fleeting human construct or momentary experience. It’s a window into the
divine. From the majesty of nature to the complexities of human relationships,
beauty allows us to glimpse God’s nature, the source of all that is good.
Where Nietzsche viewed art as a way to cope with the chaos
and absurdity of existence, Christians see beauty as more than an aesthetic
balm—it’s tied to goodness, truth, and wholeness. Beauty is not simply what
pleases the eye; it’s harmony, balance, and alignment with God’s will. It’s a
pointer toward something greater, something transcendent that speaks to the
order and meaning within creation.
Philippians 4:8 expresses this idea well: "Whatever
is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is
lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think
about such things."
Beauty in the Christian worldview is not random or
subjective; it’s connected to what is true and right. The things we call
beautiful reflect God’s design, His truth, and His goodness. They point toward
wholeness, even in a world that often feels fragmented and broken.
Here’s where Nietzsche and Christianity both converge and
diverge. Nietzsche saw art as a way to process the horrors and absurdities of
life, a way to live with the overwhelming nausea that existence can bring. And
in some ways, Christians can agree—art, literature, and beauty help us grapple
with profound truths, including suffering, loss, and redemption.
But Nietzsche viewed art as a tool for creating meaning in a
meaningless world. For Christians, however, beauty and art affirm that life
already has meaning, purpose, and order, even in the face of suffering. For us,
beauty is not just a way to respond to life’s darkness; it’s a glimpse into the
divine. Through Christ, even the brokenness of the world can be transformed
into something beautiful.
This understanding of beauty is inseparable from hope and
redemption. Where Nietzsche might see beauty as a way to bear the unbearable,
Christians see it as a promise—a glimpse of God’s ultimate plan to restore all
things to wholeness.
The Balance of Chaos and Order in Art and Life
Nietzsche’s exploration of Greek tragedy revealed two forces
at play in art and existence: the Dionysian and the Apollonian. These artistic
principles, named after the gods Dionysus and Apollo, represent the tension
between raw experience and ideal form—the chaos of life "as it is"
versus the order of life "as it could be." Nietzsche’s analysis of
tragedy viewed it as the highest form of art because it married these opposing
forces, allowing people to face life’s darkness while still grasping at the
beauty within it.
The Apollonian represents the structured, rational, and
ideal—order, logic, clarity. It seeks to impose form on chaos, representing
life “as it could be,” a vision of harmony and perfection. The Dionysian, on
the other hand, is wild, emotional, and chaotic. It taps into the primal
aspects of human nature—suffering, joy, and unpredictability. In art, the
Dionysian speaks to life’s deepest truths: that life is often uncontrollable,
filled with both pain and ecstasy.
In Greek tragedy, Nietzsche saw these forces combine.
Tragedy, for Nietzsche, was the highest form of art because it embraced the
Dionysian chaos, the reality that life is often brutal, confusing, and full of
suffering, while containing within it the Apollonian form—the beauty of
structure that helps us process suffering. Together, they create the sublime, a
space where we confront life’s darkness while being lifted by its beauty.
This tension resonates with the Christian perspective on
suffering and beauty, though through a different lens. Christianity
acknowledges suffering—the world is broken, chaotic, and painful. But where
Nietzsche saw art as a means to endure life’s brutality, Christianity offers
something more: redemption.
The Christian narrative holds that beauty is not simply
found in the order we impose on chaos but in the promise of restoration through
Christ. Where Nietzsche believed the fusion of the Apollonian and Dionysian
created art that elevated human experience, Christianity views the tension
between suffering and beauty as an opportunity for transformation.
For Christians, tragedy confronts us with life’s brutal
truths, but through Christ, those truths are reframed in light of the
resurrection. Suffering is not the end of the story; it is where God’s grace
enters, where beauty is restored from brokenness. The cross, for example, is
the ultimate tragedy—the death of God incarnate, the rawness of human
suffering. But the resurrection transforms the chaotic suffering of the cross
into the redemption of all creation.
For Nietzsche, tragedy was the only way to face the horror
of existence and still find meaning in it. For Christians, however, beauty not
only reflects life as it is or as it could be—it points us toward life as it
will be in God’s final restoration. Even in chaos, hope remains. Through
Christ, everything will be made new.
Yahweh as Creator of Beauty and the Call to Sub-Creation
In the biblical narrative, Yahweh is the ultimate creator of
beauty, and this beauty is woven into every aspect of creation. From the very
beginning in Genesis 1, we see a creation that is not only functional but
deeply delightful—filled with the spark, spunk, and joy of life. God’s creation
is inherently good, and humans, made in His image, are invited to participate
in this creative process.
In Genesis 2, humanity is called to cultivate and explore.
The earth is filled with gold, rivers, and beauty, and humans are given the
task of naming the animals, a symbolic act of creativity and discovery that
echoes through time—from exploring the depths of the Mariana Trench to the
invention of new technologies. This is the mandate to sub-create, a
continuation of God’s creativity. We don’t just survive; we create, we
discover, and we find beauty even in the smallest details of life, like fruit
that is "pleasing to the eye."
But Genesis doesn’t shy away from brokenness. Genesis 3
introduces sin and chaos, and from there, humanity wrestles with both
creativity and destruction. The story of Cain and Abel introduces city-building
and cultural creation alongside violence and disorder. The world is both
beautiful and broken, and human creativity reflects this dual reality.
Even in brokenness, the Bible insists that humans are still
called to create, to cultivate, and to beautify. The construction of the
tabernacle in Exodus 35 offers a glimpse into how beauty plays a central role
in worship. The artist Bezalel, filled with the Spirit of God, is given wisdom
and skill to design beautiful works in metal, stone, wood, linen, and jewels.
Worship here is not a raw, stripped-back experience, but one designed to lift
the human spirit into a transcendent encounter with God.
This connection between beauty and worship has shaped
Christian history, inspiring some of the most stunning achievements in
architecture, music, and art. The cathedrals of Europe, the works of Tolkien,
Lewis, Dostoevsky, and composers like Mozart—all mirror God’s creative work.
Even pop culture echoes this in unexpected ways. Take the Teenage Mutant Ninja
Turtles—fictional characters named after four Renaissance artists: Leonardo,
Michelangelo, Raphael, and Donatello. Their creators participated in a larger
story of beauty that points back to the Creator.
Christians are called to join this sub-creation, reflecting
God’s truth, goodness, and beauty in our lives and work. Our creativity is
sacred, a way of bringing beauty into a broken world. Whether through art,
music, architecture, or small acts of daily life, we reflect God’s nature,
drawing others closer to Him.
Kintsugi, the Japanese art of mending pottery with gold,
offers a perfect illustration of Christian hope. God doesn’t discard the broken
pieces of our lives; instead, He mends them, making us more beautiful in the
process. This is the heart of redemption: taking shattered fragments and
restoring them to something more beautiful, whole, and radiant.
Tolkien described this idea of sub-creation as not just
copying what exists but adding to it in ways that reflect God’s ongoing work.
Our art, our creativity—whether in literature, visual art, or the way we
live—offers glimpses of divine beauty. We are called to celebrate and
participate in God’s creation, continually making things new, beautiful, and
meaningful.
From cathedrals to Tolkien’s fictional realms, Christian art
has long reflected the beauty of creation and the hope of redemption. Beauty
points us beyond the chaos and brutality of life toward the ultimate beauty
found in God—a beauty that reflects His character and transforms our broken
world into something radiant.
Christian Suspicion of the Arts: A Complex Relationship
This tension between Christianity and the arts is something critics have long pointed out. One such critic, A.C. Grayling, argued in an article for The Guardian that Christianity had a repressive effect on Western civilization’s cultural progress for centuries. Grayling wrote:
"Seven centuries after the beginnings of classical
civilisation in the Greece of Pericles and Socrates, an oriental superstition,
consisting of an amalgam of dying and resurrecting god myths and myths about
the impregnation of mortal maids by deities, captured the Roman Empire. Such
was the beginning of Christianity. By the accident of its being the myth chosen
by Constantine for his purposes, it plunged Europe into the dark ages for the
next thousand years - scarcely any literature or philosophy, and the forgetting
of the arts and crafts of classical civilisation, before a struggle to escape
the church's narrow ignorance and oppression saw the rebirth of classical
learning, and its ethos of inquiry and autonomy, in the Renaissance."
While Grayling’s perspective is harsh, it reflects the view that, for centuries, Christian suspicion of secular art led to a cultural stifling, particularly in periods like the Dark Ages. Yet, as we’ve discussed, this narrative oversimplifies history, neglecting the profound artistic contributions Christianity has made, from cathedrals to manuscripts, and more.
Grayling’s portrayal casts Christianity as responsible for
holding back artistic and intellectual progress until the Renaissance broke
free from its grip. While there are elements of truth in this critique, Tom Holland, in his book Dominion, counters
Grayling’s view, arguing that Christianity was not merely a force of repression
but a transformative influence on Western civilization. Many of the values we
now hold dear—human rights, individual dignity, and the arts’ value—are deeply
rooted in Christian theology, even though they emerged in dialogue with
classical traditions.
At various points in history, certain strands of
Christianity have indeed viewed the arts with suspicion. The Puritans of the
Victorian era, for instance, rejected worldliness and cautioned against
anything that might distract from spiritual life. This attitude persists in
some Christian communities today, where cultural phenomena like Harry Potter
or events such as Hobart's Dark Mofo provoke backlash for perceived
glorification of the occult or transgression. For many Christians, there is
genuine concern that the arts can lead people away from God by glorifying
themes contradictory to Christian teachings—violence, immorality, or idolatry.
Yet this wariness of the arts isn’t universal, nor does it
represent the full picture. Throughout history, Christians have been some of
the most prolific patrons and creators of art, believing that beauty and
creativity are gifts from God meant to express divine truth. While some
Christian communities, like the Amish or certain monastic traditions, chose to
disengage from mainstream culture to maintain purity, many others embraced art
as a vital means of communicating faith and exploring the human condition.
The concern that art could distort truth or elevate human
creativity above divine revelation has often fueled Christian suspicion of the
arts. But this suspicion also obscures the rich history of Christian engagement
with beauty and creativity. The medieval period—sometimes dismissed as a
"dark age"—was actually a time of significant artistic and
intellectual development within the church. Monasteries preserved classical
knowledge, translating texts and creating illuminated manuscripts that blended
faith with beauty. Thinkers like Aquinas and writers like Dante showed that the
church was far from an enemy of literature, philosophy, and art.
In fact, many of the greatest artistic achievements of the
Renaissance emerged from Christian contexts, with artists like Michelangelo,
Raphael, and Botticelli working closely with the church. Even monastic
traditions, which might seem like retreats from culture, were spaces where art
and creativity flourished. Gregorian chants, theological writings, and
intricate manuscripts weren’t distractions from the spiritual life—they were
ways of glorifying God and drawing people into divine mystery through the senses.
This tension between engaging with the world and withdrawing
from it is a recurring theme in Christianity. Some, like the Amish, chose to
disengage, while others, like the great Christian artists, theologians, and
writers, saw beauty and creativity as central to the Christian mission. Art can
indeed become an idol if it is valued above God, but it can also be a powerful
tool for pointing people toward Him.
Today, suspicion of the arts continues in some Christian
circles. Backlash against Harry Potter or provocative contemporary art
reflects discomfort with themes of magic, the occult, or transgression. These
concerns aren’t unfounded, as Christians are called to discern the truth behind
cultural expressions. However, it’s essential to remember that not all
Christian responses to culture have been negative or defensive.
Many Christians have viewed the arts as a way to explore
divine beauty, truth, and goodness. Writers like Tolkien, Lewis, Dostoevsky,
and poets like T.S. Eliot integrated their faith with their creative work,
demonstrating that Christianity and the arts can work hand in hand. Their
stories explored profound theological truths and grappled with the human
experience of suffering, redemption, and grace.
While there are examples of Christian opposition to the
arts, that’s not the whole story. Christianity has been a source of profound
artistic and cultural contributions. The tension between suspicion and
engagement has always been present. The church has often acted as both a critic
of culture and a creator of it, shaping art, literature, and music in ways that
reflect God’s beauty and truth. The challenge for Christians today is to find
the balance: to engage with the arts in ways that uplift, transform, and
glorify God without slipping into withdrawal or idolatry.
The Tension Between Art, Idolatry, and Discernment
Reflecting on Christian engagement with the arts inevitably
brings us to the issue of idolatry. The stories of the Tower of Babel and the
Golden Calf from the Bible serve as clear examples of humanity misusing
creativity to construct monuments to themselves or fashion idols for false
worship. These stories are not just ancient relics—they’re ongoing reminders of
the danger that arises when we allow our creations to replace or distort true
worship.
In both stories, humans used their God-given capacity to
create, but they did so in ways that drew them away from God. The Tower of
Babel (Genesis 11) symbolizes humanity's prideful desire to reach divine
status, constructing a monumental tower to make a name for themselves. This
wasn’t merely an architectural project—it was an attempt to elevate human
achievement, to place their trust in their abilities rather than God. It
illustrates the danger of art and creativity when they become self-glorifying
or idolatrous.
Similarly, the Golden Calf (Exodus 32) tells of the
Israelites turning to a tangible, man-made object for worship, forgetting the
invisible and transcendent God who had rescued them. Their creativity, instead
of being used to glorify God, became an instrument of false worship. These
stories highlight a recurring concern in Christian theology: the potential for
human creativity to act as a Trojan horse, smuggling in falsehood or
distracting us from the truth of God.
This is the tension Christians must navigate when engaging
with art and culture. While beauty and creativity are gifts from God, they can
be misused, leading people away from the truth. As Paul writes in Philippians
4:8: "Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever
is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or
praiseworthy—think about such things." This passage serves as a filter
for assessing art and culture. Not everything beautiful or compelling on the
surface is morally or spiritually helpful.
At the same time, Christians must be careful not to reject
all art from secular or non-Christian sources. The concept of "plundering
the Egyptians" (Exodus 12:35-36)—where the Israelites took valuable items
from Egypt to use in building the tabernacle—offers an intriguing metaphor. It
suggests that Christians can redeem elements of culture, taking what is good
and beautiful, even from pagan or secular contexts, and using it for God’s
glory. This is not a call for uncritical acceptance but for discernment. Like
the Israelites, we must be thoughtful about how we use cultural treasures,
ensuring they glorify God and uplift rather than distort or distract.
However, not all art and culture can or should be redeemed.
Some forms of art are provocative or destructive. Certain artistic
expressions—such as pornography—may be labelled "artistic" by some,
but they clearly distort human dignity and are morally degrading. This kind of
art doesn’t align with a Christian understanding of beauty because it
objectifies people and glorifies sin. True beauty, from a Christian
perspective, reflects something of God’s character—truth, goodness, purity, and
love. Art that degrades, dehumanizes, or celebrates vice doesn’t meet this
standard.
This brings us to the broader question of provocation and
boundaries in art. Some art intentionally challenges norms or provokes thought.
This can be both positive and negative. Art that exposes injustice or speaks
truth to power can align with Christian values, even when uncomfortable. But
art that glorifies violence, crude behaviour, or immorality risks leading
people away from God’s truth. Christians must exercise discernment, asking
whether the art draws us closer to God or leads us into distortion.
The key is not to reject all secular or provocative art but
to approach it with wisdom. Beauty that leads us to worship creation rather
than the Creator becomes idolatrous. Beauty that distorts human dignity or
glorifies sin is harmful, no matter how aesthetically compelling. As
Christians, we are called to seek and create art that reflects God’s nature—art
that is pure, noble, and good.
Ultimately, our engagement with art must be rooted in truth.
Not everything beautiful is good, and not everything provocative is helpful.
Christians are called to participate in culture, creating and engaging with art
in ways that reflect God’s transformative power. We are always aiming for
beauty that uplifts, redeems, and glorifies the Creator.
Christ and the Ultimate Picture of Beauty
Christ paints the most beautiful picture of all, yet the
masterpiece He creates is not without shadows and tensions. Scripture, in its
honesty, doesn’t shy away from life’s complexities. It acknowledges
contradictions, pain, and brokenness while offering something infinitely
better: a vision of hope and restoration.
Ecclesiastes encapsulates this tension well. Life can seem
meaningless, repetitive, and full of contradictions, especially from an earthly
perspective. Yet, amid that meaninglessness, we catch glimpses of beauty and
goodness—fleeting moments that hint at something beyond the chaos.
This echoes Nietzsche’s idea that art helps make sense of
life’s absurdity. He saw art as a way to confront existence’s harshness while
providing a means to live with it. In a way, the Bible acknowledges this,
presenting life as both brutal and beautiful. Yet, Christianity offers
something that transcends Nietzsche’s vision: redemption.
For the Christian, beauty and tragedy aren’t mere opposites
to be balanced; they’re interwoven in a tapestry of suffering and triumph. As
theologian Francis Schaeffer pointed out, the dark times of life are real, but
they’re not the end. Christianity avoids the twin dangers of pessimism (where
everything is hopeless) and idealism (where pain is denied). Instead, it offers
a God who enters into suffering and experiences life’s brokenness firsthand in
Christ. The cross is not only a tragedy; it’s a promise that tragedy will be
transformed into victory through the resurrection.
In an interview with composer Arvo Pärt, Icelandic musician Björk compared the contrasts in his music to the story of Pinocchio. She noted that just as Pinocchio’s journey is one of transformation, Pärt’s music balances between major and minor keys, reflecting the interplay of light and dark, tragedy and triumph. Pärt responded that his faith enables him to harmonize these contrasts, to make sense of both the beauty and the brokenness of life. His music, like his faith, reflects the hope of redemption—a reminder that, through Christ, even the darkest moments of life can be transformed into something beautiful. This mirrors the Christian belief that the tragedy of the cross is met with the dawn of resurrection, where light breaks through darkness, and hope emerges from despair.
This contrast between light and dark, suffering and beauty,
is like the music of Arvo Pärt, whose compositions balance the same tensions.
Christ’s death on the cross is the ultimate Greek tragedy: a moment of profound
loss, suffering, and betrayal. But the resurrection transforms the darkness
into light, turning the minor key into a major one. This is the Christian hope:
that tragedy is not the final word and that beauty can emerge from brokenness.
This is where the Japanese art of Kintsugi, the practice of
mending broken pottery with gold, offers a powerful metaphor. The fractures are
not erased but highlighted, turning brokenness into something valuable. In the
same way, Christ’s resurrection doesn’t erase the suffering of the cross—it
transforms it. Our lives, marked by brokenness, are like that pottery. God
doesn’t discard us because of our fractures; He restores us, making us more
beautiful through the process of healing and redemption.
Conclusion
Art and beauty, in all their forms, offer us a way to
navigate the tension between the brokenness of the world and the hope we have
in Christ. Nietzsche, though a fierce critic of Christianity, recognised the
power of art to make sense of life’s absurdities. Christianity, however, goes a
step further, offering not only an escape from life’s brutality but the promise
of ultimate redemption. As Aaron Johnstone explored in his sermon, Christians
do believe in beauty—beauty that transforms tragedy, offers hope, and points to
God’s redemptive work in the world.
Bibliography
- Grayling,
A.C. "Christianity’s Dark Ages." The Guardian, 2007.
- Johnstone, Aaron. Do Christians Believe in Beauty? Sermon delivered at St John’s Presbyterian Church, Hobart, 15 September 2024. Visit www.stjohnshobart.com.
- Holland,
Tom. Dominion: The Making of the Western Mind. London: Little,
Brown, 2019.
- Nietzsche,
Friedrich. The Birth of Tragedy. Translated by Walter Kaufmann. New
York: Random House, 1967.
- Schaeffer, Francis A. Art and the Bible. InterVarsity Press, 1973.
- Tolkien, J.R.R. On Fairy Stories. Edited by Verlyn Flieger and Douglas A. Anderson. HarperCollins Publishers, 2008.
Special Thanks
This article was inspired by a sermon delivered by Aaron Johnstone at St John’s Presbyterian Church, Hobart, where he serves as part of the City Bible Forum. Aaron’s thoughtful exploration of the Christian understanding of beauty, suffering, and redemption provided the foundation for the theological reflection and philosophical engagement presented here. His sermon was the primary source for the creation of the content of this piece, particularly in connecting Christian theology with artistic expression and human experience.
Acknowledgements
I've used ChatGPT to assist in creating and editing this article; however, all insights, arguments, and original content presented here are wholly my own.
