Some ‘Creatives’ Aren’t Artists, They’re Just Rebels

Postmodernism has made it possible for anyone to claim the title of "artist" or "creative." The only entry requirement is a willingness to be disgruntled, myopic, and disruptive. Greatness, in this world, is measured by how effectively one defies tradition—arbitrarily, but always within the boundaries of modern sensibilities. Art has been reduced to little more than a tantrum, albeit with an aesthetic veneer.

The modern artist is preoccupied with self, gazing inward, frequently consulting mirrors for inspiration. His reckoning with the world is narrow, placing personal emotion and experience at its center. His work does not invite the audience to engage with something higher; rather, it demands that they become empaths, transfixed by the trivial, inducted into the cult of self-worship. This is a philosophical summons, instructing people to look down and within—a grand denial that anything exists beyond those confines. Carl Sagan once foolishly declared that "the cosmos is all that is, or ever was, or ever will be." Postmodernists take it a step further: man, not the cosmos, is the center of existence. But severing God from reality does not liberate; it renders His image-bearers restless—perpetually discontent, disturbed, and destructive.

These are the conditions in which bad art flourishes. The word "bad" is chosen deliberately because the crisis is not merely aesthetic but moral. Art is not neutral. It is a summons, an invitation to contemplate and order one’s affections around a moral center. Even when it postures as indifferent, it carries an implicit doctrine, attempting to redefine truth, beauty, and goodness in its own image.

Beauty, much like truth and goodness, humanizes precisely because it does not place man at the center. The most humanizing endeavors recognize that man is made in God’s image and belongs to Him.

The result is a starvation of imagination, wonder, and splendor. And a culture fed on such deprivation breeds despair—just look at the ever-growing lines at mental health clinics. People are baptized into a world obsessed with self, yet the self they confront is sinful, frail, and steeped in failure. Art that turns man inward cannot be a friend to peace or joy. It may provide momentary sensation, but many are bartering the transcendent for the transient, trading beauty for cheap thrills. Pleasure, after all, does not require beauty; but beauty, properly understood, is always pleasurable. The difference is that true beauty possesses depth. It humbles. It calls man to pause, to kneel, to recognize a cosmos larger than himself. In a sense, only the humble can reckon with beauty—and are made humbler still.

Take, for example, Comedian, the viral sensation displayed at Art Basel Miami Beach: a banana duct-taped to a wall by Marizio Cattelan, which sold for millions of dollars. It was a masterstroke of postmodern spectacle, validated not by artistic merit but by the mere fact of its presence in a gallery. To question it was to invite ridicule. In a world where morality is dictated by power rather than truth, the only heresy is refusing to play along. This was The Emperor’s New Clothes, rewritten—not to expose folly, but to shame those who dare to acknowledge it.

Modern architecture follows the same logic. It deadens the soul rather than inspiring virtue. It crumbles the moment it is erected. Its very purpose, if one can call it that, is to stand as an antithesis to antiquity, rejecting the enduring in favor of the ephemeral. Art, under this paradigm, must constantly evolve—not in pursuit of excellence, but in service to novelty. The goal is not to build but to deconstruct.

Beauty, much like truth and goodness, humanizes precisely because it does not place man at the center. The most humanizing endeavors recognize that man is made in God’s image and belongs to Him. In contrast, pleasure as an end in itself dehumanizes, distracting and pacifying rather than elevating. It employs the vain rhetoric of “self-love” but is, at its root, self-loathing.

True beauty demands sacrifice. It calls men to build, preserve, and uphold that which is lovely, good, and true. Virtue, in this sense, is superior to mere sentiment because it is rooted in objective values, in the highest good of one’s neighbor. 

The artist is not merely an observer of culture but its architect. He wields influence precisely because art is, at its core, an act of worship. Distort art, and culture decays. Redeem art, and culture flourishes. Every painting, every song, every building is an arena in which the cosmic battle between truth and lies is waged.

“I am afraid that as evangelicals, we think that a work of art only has value if we reduce it to a tract.”― Francis A. Schaeffer, Art and the Bible: Two Essays

How, then, should Christians respond? First, they must engage. For too long, they have ceded the artistic realm to the godless, retreating out of fear of corruption. But this withdrawal has not safeguarded the faith—it has merely allowed others to impose their destructive worldview unchallenged. Second, Christians must lead in the resurgence of beauty. In a world gorging on fleeting pleasures yet starving for true delight, they have an opportunity to offer a feast. This requires skill, mastery, and excellence. It also requires patronage. Christian art must no longer be relegated to the realm of hobbyists and side projects. If the godless invest billions into shaping culture, why should Christians settle for spare change? The world is not won by those who refuse to sacrificially build.

This vision demands free men and women—those who have been shaped by virtue and trained in the ways of beauty. The senses must be trained to recognize it as such—not merely as preference but as a reflection of God’s glory. It requires eyes capable of discerning aesthetic excellence and hands willing to bring order to chaos. It demands wisdom, eloquence, and the discipline to apply them in every sphere of life. Art does not exist in a vacuum. It is the product of human souls, and those souls, inevitably, communicate their loves. The shaping of virtuous men and women is the only way to reclaim art as the great gift it was meant to be. Not all art needs to be classical, but it must be anchored in virtue and excellence.

This is the vision that drives New Saint Andrews College: to shape culture at its root by training students in virtue. Through rigorous study of theology, philosophy, law, rhetoric, literature, and language, students are not only equipped with wisdom but are mentored to cultivate aesthetic excellence in all things. Beyond the classroom, the college seeks to transform its city through beauty, which inspired its investment in an art gallery, the Pierian. Its mission is simple yet profound—to glorify God through the fine arts, providing a space where artists, patrons, students, and the public can engage, appreciate, and celebrate creativity. New Saint Andrews is not merely a forge where truth and goodness are contemplated in the abstract; it is a place where these ideals are made tangible, applied, and beheld through beauty. This is how Christ’s Kingdom advances in the world.