Calvin Seerveld interview

Calvin Seerveld came to Geneva about two weeks ago and spoke about a Christian view of art, the fact that we don't have a soul, and the Psalms. He is a well-loved and respected aesthetician, has published many books and articles, worked as a professor, and is a very kind man. Here are some of his thoughts on various topics, and look for more once I finish typing the rest of this out.

Matt Stewart: In reading your autobiographical vignettes, I was interested that it looks like you didn’t really start studying philosophical ideas and English until you got into college. How did you enter the discipline? Did you ever feel like it was too late at the time?

Calvin Seerveld: I was a good student in high school, but especially in math and science, and so all my high school teachers thought I’d go on in math, and it was a secular high school. And what they really were teaching me I think was, “You go on in math, you’re good at it...you go on and get a Ph.D. at Columbia maybe and then get a job at IBM and you’ll be set for life.” That’s what they taught me in between the lines. So I went to Calvin College, which was Christian, and I took math—because that’s what I was good at—and I also took English. I was interested maybe in the ministry so I took Greek, and the regular core type courses. You hear stories about “oh yeah, that’s a good prof, this is a good prof,” and it turns out that’s why I went into philosophy and English literature. My best profs were in philosophy and English literature, so you go where things are most interesting. I also went on in languages, too, and my good English professor had told me, “Keep up the languages,” so you don’t just get the alphabet but you start to read the literature of the languages. So I did that with French and with German, and then Latin and Greek, and that helped a lot in going on in philosophy, because I had met this professor Runner my last year at Calvin College—his first year there, in which he told me about this place where you could study Christian philosophy that was radical, and that was at the University of Amsterdam.

I first went on to the University of Michigan, because I had a scholarship there and I needed that money. I went the whole year—I got a scholarship I think for $1200—it cost me $300 a month. I lived very cheaply in the dorm and paid my tuition. And that was...before you were born! [laughs]

I like to study, I like to read, I was interested in literature, and my best profs were in English lit. and philosophy, so that’s the way it kind of normally went.

MS: Sometimes theorists and intellectuals get bashed for not being “the man in the arena,” but for dealing with ideals. What role does the theorist or intellectual have in society? How do you counter those arguments? You’ve actually done a lot in both ways, but how would you respond?

CS: I think a lot of intellectuals who do the ivory tower-type thing are wrong if they’re trying to serve the Lord in this world. However, it’s legitimate I think for people who are theorists to put their 40-60 hours into theory-doing. But two things should happen: one is, the theory ought to be in the real world, so it’s not some kind of utopian thing where you spin out theories of what is wonderful without being aware.

If you teach philosophy, you better make somebody wise about things for living. Otherwise, what good is it? But, to help people think with a perspective that encompasses God’s whole world is worth doing. And it may not seem as practical as getting a house built or painted, but to get people a theoretical understanding of how God’s world fits together and how the authority of a church, and of a labor union, and of a school, and of a government should be limited, should be different, but still support one another—to get that kind of a theory developed is an important product, if you will, for a theorist to do that shows the theory is not out of this world but it’s in this world.

And the second thing is I think it’s important for a theorist not just to do theory. And it’d be pretty hard to do, unless I guess you were an unmarried hermit and had your food brought into you. So that if you’re married, you’d better pay attention that you’re a husband or a wife, and if you’re a father or a mother, well, you can’t just do your theory.

Even though theory is legitimately someone’s main occupation, you’re a human and not a theorist by definition. So the theory has to be in God’s world; that means in touch with what’s going on and also with the bad that’s going on.

But see, like Gideon’s [Strauss, see earlier post] task is really like a fine theory. When he gives a theoretical vision in world and life view terms to people who are going to be fighting in a union for just wages for their labor union members, and yet not to be out to kill the employer but co-determinatively work with the employer for what’s just for the employer and for the worker.

Now that’s different for a theorist who works in the classroom who has to somehow really pull all the students who are there together to think about things—in some ways, before you have to get out there and fight for it—which gives you a little leeway to make bad theoretical answers to things. So when students say, “This is what ought to be done,” and it it’s the wrong answer, at least you only made it in the classroom, not in the labor unions. And so in some ways theory is a bit protected from having to have to immediately say “that’s what we’re going to do.” And that’s a good thing as long as you don’t just keep it that way, you know?

MS: In one lecture you spoke about the idea that certain architecture didn’t really project a Christian sensibility. This might be unfair since you’ve only been here a couple days, but what does the architecture/artwork at Geneva display? How can we do better and what should we fight to keep?

CS: I’d rather put it in terms of what should one move towards. I think the woodwork everywhere is very fine. It’s done by a craftsman, I think, and the Student Center thing—it’s upstairs...there’s a lot more wood there…I know there’s a plastic floor and carpet is warmer, but it’s harder to clean usually.

There’s all those features in there, and see it’s a mixture of architectural styles. And there’s old buildings, new buildings, and one is always caught too by how much money you have to make a building. Calvin College, for instance, with its common brick is very beautiful, and there’s a unity to it because it was all brand new.

Here you work with old things, and I think that’s fine—Old Main—inside there too, the wood is warm. Even here the table is wood; it’s not chrome. To me that’s a positive, human-oriented, good decision to have wood chairs instead of metal chairs. Now the art—I haven’t seen too much—I just saw three things in the library which are abstract, which is fine. I think they’re not great works of art, but you shouldn’t expect that if local people are doing things which are responsible. It’d be great to see more art; I haven’t been able to look enough at what is hanging, but the things I’ve seen in offices, for example, have been tasteful and good.

I certainly wouldn’t tear down any of the old buildings. They have a place here—I thought too, the landscaping of grounds here is quite wonderful; it’s not all flat, and in fact keeps some of the faculty more fit too when they have to walk up and down. Over in Old Main there, some of the offices are on third floor, and the toilets are in the basement. Okay, you gotta go all the way up and down. I asked them, what are you going to do when you get old? There’s no elevator here [Laughs].

So I think the view—the balcony in the Student Center is spectacular. That’s very well done. You could have been pragmatic—could have said that costs money, we don’t want to do that—but the fact that you’ve done it, I mean a balcony like that where you can sit out there? Your chairs, under awnings outside Old Main there in the sun—in this kind of weather, that’s just wonderful. That’s part of aesthetic normativity for me, when you make the buildings and the grounds habitable for people that like to be and sit and talk and interact with one another.

So I’m not critical that there’s no Picasso on the wall. Who cares? If it’s local talent, and you change things around every year or two...one thing you could do is have a wall here where each graduating class could paint a mural. And then the next year they whitewash it and the next class paints a mural—highlighting “the important things of your year” type of thing. That would be a way to give the art professor an occasion to help people who are not art majors, maybe, or give the art major something to do that ties in with the student body. It’s not permanent, but it’s there for a year which is quite a bit of time to have to look at something. Some will be better than others. But that would be a way to engage students in doing some artwork which would develop a sensitivity that art is part of our ordinary lives. You know, you go for a coffee up there and say “eh, I don’t like it” or “yeah, it’s not bad,” you see, that type of thing.
I don’t know how many new buildings you’re going to build. It’s pretty built up, isn’t it?

MS: Yeah, there’s not much room toward the river…

CS: Exactly. I felt at home. I sat outside Old Main, walked around with my wife a bit, up and down. And the wood is what struck me as being wholesome.

It maybe needs more attention, the art-doing. The RP tradition probably is not so strong on art; and one way to bring it into the tradition—I thought the singing by New Song was just musically first-rate. I thought it was very very good. And they did it not in an elitist way but in a servant way. I felt very good about that. The language was still a bit archaic, but not as archaic as in the songbook, which I find too archaic and should really be updated I think. That would be one important thing. It’s not under your control as the students; the church needs to say “look, we need Psalmody which is current language,” I think. But the performance of New Song—that was first-rate.