Holly Ordway

Why Is Cheating Wrong?

by Holly Ordway on August 25, 2012

The news has just come out: cyclist Lance Armstrong will be stripped of his seven Tour de France titles, and banned from Olympic sports for life:

“Armstrong announced Thursday night that he would disregard a midnight deadline the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency had given him to challenge the results of USADA’s two-year investigation of his legendary cycling teams, a probe that determined Armstrong used performance-enhancing drugs and blood transfusions.”

Professional cycling has struggled with issues of doping for years, with the techniques becoming ever-more-sophisticated: we’re not talking about just ‘performance-enhancing drugs’ but ‘blood doping’: blood transfusions or the injection of the hormone EPO to increase the production of red blood cells.

What makes the situation more tragic is that professional cycling has an ethos of good sportsmanship: there are ‘rules of the road’ that the cyclists live by, even when it is to their competitive disadvantage. Consider the 2012 Tour de France: on Stage 14, a saboteur scattered tacks on the road, causing a number of tire punctures and crashes. What is notable is that the leader of the race (that is, the rider currently in first place in the overall standings) deliberately slowed down the pace so that all of the riders who had punctures could get back into the race. This was not surprising to anyone who follows pro cycling; the idea is that the winner should win fairly, not by taking advantage of his opponent’s mechanical troubles.

In a different context: an ‘academic ghostwriter’ has revealed his identity. From the article:

In The Shadow Scholar: How I Made a Living Helping College Kids Cheat, which is due out next month from Bloomsbury, Mr. Tomar seeks to cast himself as a millennial antihero while scolding colleges for placing the pursuit of money and status above student learning.

[...]The book also offers an unsettling account of higher education at perhaps its most cynical and mercantile. Some of his clients are rich and entitled, and see outsourcing their papers as a logical extension of the transactional nature of their relationship with their college. Others are simply unprepared for college because they lack the ability or the language skills to communicate adequately in English.

Both of these situations are examples of cheating, and I would say that cheating is a form of lying, of deception.

Doping in athletics means that the athlete is acting out a lie: his or her performance is not a true representation of his or her talent and training. If our values are utilitarian, it becomes difficult to articulate why this is a problem: if winning is good, why not win by any means possible? I am grateful that I was able to do my highest-level fencing as a Christian with a Christian coach, because competition was framed correctly: doing my best (in all ways, including gracious behavior) was the end goal; to win badly (by cheating or with bad behavior) would be failure of the worst kind — far worse than coming in dead last. Yet in order to do one’s best, one has to desire, passionately, to win — and so it is that athletics for the Christian becomes a spiritual discipline, a way of confronting the challenge day by day of being in the world but not of it.

Cheating in academics is also lying: presenting another’s words as one’s own, and presenting oneself as having mastered a set of skills or body of knowledge, when in fact one has not done so. This kind of cheating undermines society: what if I cannot trust that my tax preparer actually understands the tax code? or that my nurse can read and understand the doctor’s directions on my patient chart? It also undermines the individual person, in a similar way that false ‘self-esteem building’ does: how can I live a whole life, and flourish, if I have lied about what I have done, and learned, and can do?

In the educational environment – universities, colleges, schools, and homes – the question becomes: do we present knowledge and accomplishment as means to a utilitarian end, or do we present them as part of the experience of integrating Truth into our lives?

 

 

Sacred Art in the Secular World

by Holly Ordway on August 18, 2012

I’ve been writing about public art and architecture lately (most recently in The Aesthetics of Public Art, but also in Miscellany 35 and Miscellany 36). What about sacred art?

On the last day of my travels this summer, I had a half-day in London, so I took the opportunity to visit one of my favorite places there, the National Gallery. With only a short window of time, I went directly to my favorite part of the Gallery, the Sainsbury Wing, which has art from about the 13th through 16th centuries. These rooms are full of beautiful pieces of Christian art, including icons, altar pieces, and crucifixes.

On past visits I’ve enjoyed looking at these pieces, but this time I was unsettled. Something seemed ‘off’. As I stood looking at one of my favorites, Fra Filippo Lippi’s “The Annunciation,” I realized what was troubling me. These pieces were almost all orphans. The crucifixes and scenes of saints and altar panels were made for churches. They were made to be seen as part of the act of worship, to remind the Christian of all the truth and beauty of God’s creation and His actions in history. In the Gallery, they hung out of context. [click to continue…]

The Aesthetics of Public Art

by Holly Ordway on July 27, 2012

I have been thinking about public art – and how it seems almost to be a contradiction in terms these days. As I write this, I’m at the tail end of a summer of traveling, and have spent quite a lot of time in public spaces.

Walking around in London, I could see examples of outstanding public art: art that was made, and placed, so that passers-by can see, look, and enjoy – and to do so en route to other things. This kind of public art is ornamental and gratuitous, and in some ways is thus an indication of what it means to be human. [click to continue…]

Beauty, Mission, and Apologetics (and Narnia)

by Holly Ordway on July 9, 2012

My last two pieces have focused on architectural beauty. Now I want to follow the idea of ‘beauty in architecture’ into some non-architectural spaces – including Narnia.

I would argue that beauty is a form of mission and witness to the community.

Consider this encouraging example of how an abandoned Wal-Mart was turned into a public library. The town could have saved money by just using the space almost as-is… but it was objectively ugly. (Objectively, not subjectively: no one ever said “Wow, what a lovely Wal-Mart.”) The architects and designers transformed this space, making it more humanly proportioned, with colorful furniture and visually attractive signs. Interestingly: “Within the first month following the opening, new user registration increased by 23%.”

Beautiful sacred spaces might help us share the Gospel in our communities. For the people who say “I don’t believe any of that Christian nonsense, but I like to visit the church, for the art, you know, and because it’s a peaceful place to sit for a few minutes,” beauty can be a form of apologetics – sometimes the only form that will get past the ‘watchful dragons’ of jaded skepticism.

Following that thread a little further – what about story?

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been collaborating with William O’Flaherty of EssentialCSLewis.com on an extended interview series with Michael Ward about the Chronicles of Narnia, in which Ward discusses his argument that CS Lewis used medieval planetary imagery to create a structure of meaning for the Chronicles. (A bold claim, but one that is extremely well-supported, and in my judgment is correct.) One episode is coming out per week: here are episodes one, two, three, and four. (I encourage you to keep up with the whole series; it is excellent.)

How does this relate to architecture?

One of the ideas that keeps coming up in this podcast series is the significance of Lewis’s imaginative structure. Ward is quite clear that this is far more than an interesting literary footnote: it gives us insight into the way Lewis created the works to show Christ to his readers. Lewis helps us to “taste and see that the Lord is good” by bringing us, as readers, into a story-space where we experience the reality of Christ.

This is a far more significant accomplishment than just retelling a few Bible stories in a fantasy world.

Like a well-designed building, the architecture of Lewis’s story takes into account that we are incarnational beings, and that therefore our response to Christ is not based solely on ideas that we have about him — but also comes from our encounter with him, in a particular place and time.

And that place might be a beautiful building – or a beautifully made story.

Reflections on Architecture II: Why We Need Beautiful Buildings

by Holly Ordway on July 2, 2012

In my last piece, I wrote about church architecture… continuing the theme, I’m going to muse on architecture more broadly.

I was pleased to come across a thought-provoking piece from Think Christian a few days after I wrote Miscellany 35, called “Is Some Architecture Irredeemable?” The author asks:

…is every building worth saving? Buildings not saved are destroyed and, except in rare cases, forgotten. Is Rudolph’s Government Center worth preserving? At what cost? It’s an important question for Christians. As creative cultivators, we should always be looking for ways to support and encourage excellent work, whether a symphony, a spreadsheet or a slipcover. Buildings that represent our best efforts of design or craftsmanship deserve our enthusiastic support. Which brings us back to the question: is Paul Rudolph’s work [such as Rudolph’s Orange County Government Center in New York] worth saving?

It’s easy to fall into either a form of relativism (architecture is neither good nor bad; it just depends on one’s taste) or extreme preservationalism (we should preserve all significant buildings, no matter whether they are aesthetically appealing or not). On the side of relativism, it’s true that buildings in any style can be badly designed and unpleasant to live in, and that even a concrete monstrosity can to a certain extent be redeemed by the good ways in which it is used. And on the side of preservationalism, I cringe at the way previous generations blithely tore down, for instance, medieval buildings or Victorian or Edwardian houses; I think it’s a very good thing that we pause and reflect seriously on the merits of preserving any building.

That said, I think that in the end, we need to recognize (and reclaim) objective beauty and proportion. Some buildings are soul-crushingly ugly….some buildings are wonderfully beautiful. Part of the problem is that too often, decisions about what gets built, what gets torn down, and what remains are made by people who don’t actually live and work in the buildings they’re making decisions about.

When you’re on the spot, day in and day out, the effects become much clearer. Last time I talked about the beauty of old buildings in Oxford, so this time let me give some examples (bad and good) from closer to home: my alma mater, the University of Massachusetts Amherst.

I loved my time at UMass and so when I say that there are some buildings on the campus that are hideous afflictions upon an unsuspecting landscape, I say it from the perspective of having lived and studied there (I did both my BA and my PhD there), and with great affection for the overall architectural landscape upon which these buildings sit.

First, note that UMass has many lovely older buildings: Goodell, Stockbridge, the Old Chapel; the Wikipedia page for UMass shows several of them.

Then there are the concrete behemoths from the 1960s.

The Whitmore Administration Building:

… this hunkered-down concrete building is a monument to Hideo Sasaki, the landscape designer who profoundly restructured the UMass Amherst campus during the 1960s.

…and the Fine Arts Center:

This uncompromisingly modernist, poured concrete building consists of several distinctly different units that were intended to combine to form a powerful architectural sculpture.

Note the ‘intended’.

…and UMass’s own Brutalist piece, Herter Hall: a miserable, characterless, depressing building with windows that don’t open.

The buildings did not become more beloved by association with the school; they’re just awful.

Walking through the FAC area was like cutting through a freeway underpass, and about as inspiring; going to Whitmore to get a transcript or pay a bill, one felt like an intruder into Administrationistan, not a welcomed part of the campus community.

Fortunately, it seems that there are some signs of change – for which I am very glad. Not only can old, beautiful buildings be preserved, but new ones can be made that keep in mind the fundamental fact that human beings use them — that beauty matters.

For instance, the 1991 Knowles Engineering Building at UMass is well done: red brick (characteristic of the New England region) that has patterns in it, and with delightful quirky turquoise accents. It is a visually pleasing element of the campus.

And, considering the architecture of my new university, Houston Baptist, the Hinton Center (dating from 1995, if I recall the plaque correctly): it has a Southern elegance to it with the dome and wide steps, it beautifully frames the Ten Pillars and pleasantly draws the eye as one walks across the greenspace, and is bright and cheerful inside.

In an era in which ‘cyberspace’ is increasingly becoming a ‘location’ in which we gather and interact, I would suggest that physical buildings are more, not less important. Online interactions are important and valuable, and I would argue that they provide a very important element of friendship and connection in today’s world – but the online world can never be enough; it lacks the incarnational element that is necessary for fully realized, rich, truly human relationships.

We need beauty around us, and spaces that are built to help us to live more fully as human beings (not just as cubicle-dwellers or cogs in a machine), to draw us out of the inner-space of online life into the space in which we physically live and interact with other people.

Architecture matters because it is incarnational.

 

Why Church Architecture Matters

by Holly Ordway on June 24, 2012

Architecture is important. In fact, one can make the case that architecture is of the highest importance, because we live in it. I can choose to pick up or put down any particular book, to go to a particular movie or not, but I cannot avoid the effects that the architectural design of buildings has upon my daily experience at home, at work, as I do errands or sit in a coffee shop.

I’ve spent quite a bit of time in Oxford this year – long enough to soak in the beauty of the old buildings, to get used to the eye being able to find lovely things to look at in all sorts of places. There are gargoyles on rain gutters!

The contrast between Oxford and Cambridge and generic Southern California architecture is striking. I was particularly depressed last fall when I came back from a stay in Keble College, Oxford, for a conference… to the mass-market blandness of the college at which I taught. Temporary buildings that had defaulted into quasi-permanent ones… faculty rooms that could have been exchanged for any generic office space… classroom buildings designated only with numbers, not names. Granted, in SoCal there’s no depth of history, but what really bothered me was that the college wasn’t even trying. Functional, yes; new and well equipped, yes; beautiful — what? Well, there was some nice landscaping, sure, but the classroom and office areas were simply sterile.

The reality is that most people live and work in aesthetically displeasing, or at best neutral, spaces. Few people today in America work and live in buildings that lift up the heart, that provide beauty for the eye and harmony for the soul.

That’s one reason why we desperately need churches to be beautiful.

Beautiful churches and cathedrals are egalitarian. They make beauty available to all — even the poorest and most culturally deprived.

If a church meets in a gymnasium or a generic meeting hall, or a church that is just a large hall with a stage… yes, the Gospel can be preached, and the Spirit will be present, but we’re missing out on a great deal more. Christ is Truth and Beauty.

The centuries-old churches of England and Europe have a bit of an edge: they were built when people understood that the place in which one worships God is part of the worship that we give Him. The old churches, cathedrals, and chapels that I’ve been in take beauty seriously: it is part of giving glory to God, of recognizing sacred space as a place of transformation and formation in Christ’s likeness, and of creating an environment that can be a locus for the work of the Holy Spirit. But it’s not just old churches that can be beautiful – we can build new ones that bring beauty into our spiritual lives, that honor God with art, that take the opportunity to help us be more receptive to the Word.

And now a few pieces to read to think more about this:

Here is  an interesting article and slide show of new churches that are done right: made to be beautiful.

Here is a thoughtful NYT piece asking: Why don’t we read about architecture? From the article: “Buildings are discussed — indeed aspects of them obsessed upon — but almost exclusively in the context of economics. This building went over budget, that surplus of houses led to the foreclosure crisis, that condo broke the record for residential real estate, etc. To the layman, then, architecture is conveyed as little more than something that costs a lot and causes a lot of grief, rather than something with the potential to enhance our daily lives.”

And lastly, here are two sonnets that I have written that came out of the experience of worship in a beautiful church: On the Edge, and A Sonnet for the Church of St. Edward King and Martyr.

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