Here’s the secret they want to keep from you: life makes sense. Life has meaning, and that meaning is knowable. What was true yesterday is mostly true today, although the lies are constantly changing. Every day, some newly embraced belief is alleged to represent the newest and only truth, and each day the previous flash in the pan is discarded on the heap reserved for ideas with no depth or weight.
The truth is they want to keep you confused. They want you to believe that the great truths are beyond your ability to grasp, and that you need leaders whose genius is so great you cannot begin to understand them. So that they can tell you right is left and you will believe them.
This past weekend my wife and I celebrated our 25th anniversary by visiting Milwaukee. We’ve had other important anniversaries, but some obligation or other always seemed to come up. So this time I was determined not to feel guilty for taking four days for ourselves and leaving the rest of the world behind.
We saw the tents of homeless people pitched beneath the overpasses, even as we see homeless people waiting for food and shelter at a church in our small town. As it is said, the poor are always with us, but I tried not to dwell on it. Surely all of us are permitted the occasional moments of celebration even in the midst of suffering.
We visited the Milwaukee Art Museum, which happened to be hosting an exhibit by the English artist Idris Khan. His technique is one of layering photographs one upon the other in order to produce what I can only describe as a dark, chaotic mess. The pages of Beethoven sonatas, layered page after page after page so that the only thing observable at all is the occasional stray flat or sharp indicator. To give you an aural equivalent, imagine hearing every single Beethoven sonata being played together at the same time. It would be hard to derive any beauty or meaning from such a din, wouldn’t it?
Now maybe it all meant something, but neither the artist nor the museum seemed interested in telling me what that was. Oh, there was enough description of HOW it was done, but no explanation as to why. Perhaps a picture is worth a thousand words, but sometimes a thousand pictures layered one atop the other might be made more clear with a few words to help guide the viewer to some degree of understanding.
I almost began to despair of our trip to the museum, but exiting the Khan exhibit, we entered into the section of the museum containing ancient art and artifacts. The art on display there was not impenetrable but obvious. What was left of an Early Roman statue spoke of their appreciation and understanding of the human form. An Egyptian sarcophagus told the story not only of the person that was entombed but of the way in which he was to be judged by Anubis in the hereafter, his heart weighed for its good deads versus bad against a single feather.
As we walked through 2,000 years of artwork, much of it spoke to me, the barrier of years insignificant. People whose language I did not understand, whose means of existence were so different from my own, exhibited human feelings and morality I could relate to. It spoke to me, explained to me not merely the mind and heart of the artist but of the culture in which he lived.
And then we reached the displays of modern art, and all meaning and beauty seemed to vanish. I had no affinity towards the artists nor any understanding of the art itself. Granted, I am uneducated when it comes to the visual arts, but it seems unusual that a museum whose mission it is to educate the masses would not seek to explain the value of art that seemed pointless to me. Moreover, it seems difficult for me to find conversations or explanations online about the meaning or value of art that lacks on face value, beauty, craftsmanship, or purpose.
We returned that evening to what for us was a somewhat fancy hotel. Each evening we were able to eat free there and were each given a card good for free drinks. We chose to eat elsewhere but returned in time to make use of our drink cards. The bartender there was being generous and trying to offer us extra drinks. Typically I tend to refuse the kindness of strangers, but she seemed so giving it was hard to refuse her. It actually felt good to accept her kindness.
We sat at a table to enjoy our drinks, and a short time later I noticed a woman who seemed out of place filling a bag of popcorn from the popcorn machine. A moment after that, I saw her looking at the buffet. When she saw me, she said “I’m just looking” and walked away. I didn’t know what her story was but I assumed that she was hungry. A notion took hold of me, inspired by something I had seen that day at the art museum, and I walked over to her and asked her if she would like me to get her something to eat. Since I was offered a free meal I didn’t take, I thought it was my right to confer the offer to her. She said yes, and so I loaded up a plate with food and brought it to her.
She thanked me. Not with a warm gratitude one might vainly expect for an act so few of us think to do, rather as one who has dim memories of what one ought to say when someone has been polite. I’m guessing from her demeanor it must have been a long time since she encountered a small act of kindness. The food delivered, I had become a nuisance she was quick to be free from.
I returned to our table, my wife a little uneasy about me crossing societal boundaries. But I explained to her the painting I saw earlier of the parable of the unforgiving debtor. The image conveyed the story of a debtor who had begged forgiveness from his king and who had his debt forgiven, only to come upon a man who owed HIM money and have him thrown into prison until his debts were paid. I had thought of the generosity shown me by another and thought how ungrateful it would be not to show a similar generosity to someone in far more need of it.
This was the message I received (from my journey) to the Milwaukee Art Museum. Not from the photographed pages of The Koran that when assembled all together were so dense as to be able to convey no meaning. It was the message of an artist from a time most of us now would consider backwards. And for those of you who cannot relate to the story because it is drawn from Christianity, then at least take a clue from the Ancient Egyptians, who believed that our good deeds must outweigh our bad ones.
There is meaning in the world, so long as we choose to see it. Universal meaning that can speak through many ages, many languages and mediums. Beware those who try to layer over it with meaninglessness. Beware those who are so wrapped up in the values (or perhaps, mere fashions) of the here and now that we do not see what so many who are so different from us are saying. More importantly, do not let the intentional meaningless of our current society make you unaware of the victims of a society without values.