Tillichian spell: Memories of a student mesmerized in the 1950s, The

Theology Today, Oct 1996 by Driver, Tom F

It was in another of these art lectures that he came out with another of his hilarious, inadvertent puns. In the course of interpreting to us the significance of Postimpressionism, he put on the screen a slide of Vincent Van Gogh's painting of a cane-bottom chair, one of those marvelous studies in yellow and gray and emphatic form so characteristic of Van Gogh's genius. Tillich, of course, was eager that our eyes, our inner eyes, should look for the substance of the picture and not rest content with recognizing the manifest content. This is what he said: "Ven you really look at ziss picture, you zee a chair. And you zee alzo zat ziss chair iss no longer ze means for an end."

We broke into gales of laughter. Tillich looked puzzled. Finally, he said, "Ah! Zat's a yoke!"

One of the art lectures was on Giotto. Tillich took some time to show us slides of the murals in Assisi and help us to view them the way he did. I, being then very impressionable, was particularly struck by what he said about the way Giotto painted trees. What we saw on screen were spindly trunks drawn as thin brown lines, atop which sat round balls of green. "Look at ze treess," said Tillich. "Giotto iss not painting ze actual tree. Zeess are not ze treess of nominalism. Giotto iss painting ze treehood." I was very impressed. I wrote in my notebook, "Giotto-treehood," and discussed the point later with Anne, who had been to the lecture with me.

The following summer, Anne and I were in Italy, and went for the first time to Tuscany. Riding along in the train, I looked out the window and saw rows of poplars. They had thin, spindly trunks with balls of green on top, and looked exactly like the trees in Giotto's paintings. I said, "Anne, look there. Here in Tuscany they don't grow trees. They grow treehood!"

I used to tell this story in my own classes, when I wanted to warn students against overinterpretation of works of art and literature. I think it was the first tiny bit of critique of Tillich that I was able to engage in.

That critique aside, Tillich's interest in art was enormously important to me and other students. In my senior year (1952-53), some of us students decided it would be a good idea to take advantage of Tillich's presence and, with his assistance, mount an exhibit of religious art. When we approached him, he encouraged us. We decided to send out announcements nationwide and invite artists to submit photographs of work they could offer to the panel of judges who would choose the works for inclusion. Tillich himself recruited the judges, who included Alfred Barr, Meyer Shapiro, Mrs. Alfred Goodman, and himself-a very distinguished group.

We students received the submitted photographs and organized them for the panel's viewing, but we were distraught. I will never forget the evening when the distinguished experts met to do their judging in the Upper Refectory and we had nothing to show them but an enormous collection of kitsch. The announcement about a religious art show had brought out of the woodwork every hack artist from Maine to Mexico and elicited no response from any artist worthy of the name. And here was this panel of people who were interested in nothing but the best. We showed them what we had and stammered out our embarrassment.