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Why Should the Devil Have All the Good Pop Culture?
Pop Culture Wars: Religion & the Role of Entertainment in American Life
My earliest awareness of the conflict between Christ and
culture
was when an older lady grabbed me from behind and rasped, “You don’t
run in God’s house.” Later, the issues were movies (“How’d you
like to be in a movie theater when Jesus comes back?!”) and music
(“Rock ’n’ roll is made by homosexuals under the influence of Satan”).
I was never impressed with the logic of such arguments, and so, like
many others, my faith and the rest of my life were locked into
mutually exclusive, airtight compartments, leaving me feeling
unsatisfied about both, guilty and confused.
Jettisoning my imaginative life was not an option, due to both an
intuitive sense that it was too important to discard, and to my
incurable antipathy for Christianized substitutes for movies, books,
and music (especially those deracinated holiday cantatas, possibly the
absolute nadir in the development of Western music).
That the dawn of contemporary Christian music coincided with my
adolescence accounts much for the fact I remained a Christian. Rock
’n’ roll had the same effect on the evangelical church that it had on
another closed society, the Soviet Union: it opened a key front in an
ongoing cultural revolution, putting the dominant ideology on the
defensive, ultimately in most places into eclipse.
Meanwhile, the evangelical world grappled with “worldly” culture on
other fronts. Francis Schaeffer opened doors and windows hitherto
closed and locked—though he had his own prejudices. But Schaeffer
wasn’t nearly as bad some of his followers, who welcome only those
parts of secular culture they personally prefer and dismiss the rest
with a high-toned version of the “rock ’n’ roll is of the devil”
argument. Such cultural Judaizers have no patience for people who
don’t like what they happen to like—which is, surprise, music and
art made by white Europeans. Likewise, the sophistication of the
evangelical world in dealing with film and other contemporary media
remains clouded by ignorance on the one hand and spiritualized elitism
on the other.
Both brands of extremist tend to demonize their opponents. The very
conservative film critic Michael Medved has found wide acceptance in
the evangelical community for his charges that Hollywood is a liberal
propaganda machine. The notion that the movie industry is more
interested in preaching than profit seems as goofy to me as the
paranoid anti-rock screeds of my youth. Thankfully, into this wild
fray comes perhaps the first book in the evangelical market which
tries to set the discussion into a scholarly and historical framework.
Pop Culture Wars: Religion & the Role of Entertainment in American
Life is the first solo authorial outing of William Romanowski, a
communications professor at Calvin College, who has also contributed
to various joint-effort books on understanding popular culture and the
Christian media.
Romanowski begins this survey in the Victorian Age, when a
particular elite guarded the cultural standards in the name of moral
absolutes (summed up by the famous phrase of Her Majesty, “We are
not amused”). The author demonstrates how divisions between “high”
and “low” culture are often artificial, and usually an attempt of an
elite to impose their values on the masses—in this case, an
Anglo-European elite, nervous about the threat of immigrant cultures,
especially African American. The Victorians spiritualized both
classism and racism in the name of objective moral standards, and
their lengthy shadow fell across the entire next century when it came
to the church’s (especially Evangelicals’) engagement with the
surrounding culture.
Medved and his fellow travelers are targeted specifically by
Romanowski. After reviewing the rowdy history and mixed results of
movie censorship, the author concludes that reforming the industry via
market pressure is ultimately less effective a strategy than promoting
media literacy on the part of Christians.
Pop Culture Wars is not the sort of fare most consumers of pop
culture alone will read, but they should. The book covers a lot of
territory and lays a great foundation for more specialized history and
critiques in the future. It’s also a terrific example of how
deconstructionist critique can be redemptive in excavating the
ideological bias behind the official party line.
Unfortunately, at times Romanowski himself is a tad ideological.
For example, in his failure to make certain distinctions in his
critique of classic studio-era films, he falls victim to the very
elitist tendency he elsewhere debunks. Obviously, certain elements of
the Hollywood “fairy tale romance”—i.e., the happy ending—can be
employed cheaply. But abusus non tollit usum—the fact something
can be abused—doesn’t make it illegitimate. In this case, “fairy
tale” has two meanings: one is “falsehood,” yes, but the other is
wonder-fully true. The happy ending, the triumph of good over evil,
the power of individual choice are not merely ideological preferences
to be deconstructed; they are echoes of real ideals, the ultimate
reality of the universe—an argument made by such lovers of romance
and myth as C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, and G. K. Chesterton.
While I’m complaining, let me wonder here why a book which surveys so
much history and statistics in such scholarly fashion has no
bibliography or index.
Those caveats aside, Pop Culture Wars gets an unqualified
recommendation. (Bill Romanowski will be presenting this material in a
seminar series at this summer’s Cornerstone Festival Imaginarium;
we’ll straighten him out about Frank Capra movies then.) The book
raises the level of discourse of this subject to a respectable but
still-accessible place, shines a light on the philosophical
underpinnings of cultural standard-making, and anchors the discussion
upon a both balanced orthodoxy, and a scholarly handling of historical
and statistical data.
If, as C. S. Lewis once said in a similar context, this work had
been done one hundred years ago, perhaps we would not need Professor
Romanowski to tackle the project today. But better late than never,
eh? And if enough people ask the right questions, perhaps the turn of
the next century won’t be guided by the unexamined assumptions that
guided the turn of the last. Mike Hertenstein
Black Man's Religion: Can Christianity Be Afrocentric?
This book is advertised as being written to refute the idea that
“Christianity is a ‘White man’s religion.’ ” It accomplishes that, and
more. Black Man’s Religion is no exercise in cheap rhetoric, but a
scholarly work of incredible precision; nearly half the book’s 249
pages are dedicated to massive footnotes, bibliography, and index
sections.
The authors (one black, one white) don’t aim to offend, but both
“Afrocentric” and traditional white evangelical takes on history are
successfully challenged. Again and again, in a harbinger of what the
next century may see occur within evangelical theology, the authors
strip away the gummy plaque of western culture from essential
Christian truth. The result is at times painful, at times
breath-taking, but nearly always balanced: “It is relatively easy to
refute older Eurocentric claims that Egyptians and Israelites were
essentially White Europeans; but careless Afrocentric claims that make
all Egyptians ‘coal black’ or the Israelites full-blooded Black
Africans are no more accurate historically than the older Eurocentric
excesses, and simply invite skeptics to dismiss our far more credible
genuine claims.”
Black Man’s Religion is little interested in the white reader, at
least on the face of the authors’ presentation. From this reviewer’s
perspective, the book reads like one aimed squarely at
African-Americans; can whites digest this message? For the sake of the
gospel, they had better. Jon Trott
Flowers From the Ark: True Stories From the Homes of L'Arche
In
1964 Jean Vanier invited two disabled men to live with him, the
genesis of the l’Arche community: “A place where people with
disabilities are allowed to be themselves, whatever their limitations
or weaknesses may be.”
Vanier has discovered a richness of character and compassion in his
experiences with the disabled, who are “more intuitive, spontaneous,
and live closer to the heart.”
Christella Buser compiled the accounts of day-to-day living with
various people of l’Arche all over the world, bringing us a small but
poignant testament of God’s grace and mercy.
One of the vignettes was called “Real Medicine.” Janet fell from a
bunk bed and went into a coma while attending the Special Olympics.
Her friend Matt said he wished she could come home. “But Matt,” Denis
replied, “she needs the nurse to give her medicine and IV’s.”
“I know that,” said Matt. “But we could give her love.”
Tammy Boyd
Second Thoughts
Second Thoughts is enough to give second thoughts to anyone who
is enamored with the pop psychology of regression therapy, otherwise
known as repressed memory recall. This book holds a special place in
the debate over false memory recall. The title is especially apt since
it is Dr. Simpson himself who has had second thoughts about the
doctrine of repressed memories. In his words, “With the very best of
intentions, I began to use these techniques with my clients, and sure
enough, they began to recover images of sexual abuse and other
terrifying crimes that had been committed against them.”
He refers to the techniques of regression therapy whereby a
counselor leads a client back into their alleged past; they then
“recall” repressed memories of abuse. Perhaps the memory brings up a
previously unremembered instance of molestation by a father or an
uncle. Up to this point the story sounds all nicely professional,
though spookily Freudian. But the repressed memories often take on
mythical proportions. The abuse is caused by space aliens. Her
remembered hours as an egg somehow trapped in her mother’s fallopian
tube is causing a woman to have episodes of hysteria. The repressed
memories cover sessions of satanic ritual abuse which occurred during
childhood.
Second Thoughts is uniquely Christian while at the same time
professionally accurate. Dr. Simpson says that he has a dual
citizenship which informs his writing. One is a membership in the
scientific community and the other is his Christian perspective. He
will be opposed from both communities. Many Christians have bought
stock in the repressed memory movement, and most psychiatric
professionals have discounted the reliability of the Christian
viewpoint. This will not be a popular book, which is tragic.
Those in the professional world who take memory recall by faith
(that is how recalled memories are validated) need to consider the
scientific portions of this book seriously, while Christians who think
regression therapy has a scientific basis need to learn the facts.
Simpson shows how memory recall has damaged the relationships and
reputations of thousands of people falsely accused after being
“remembered” by a client under regression therapy. Some of them are
even in prison. Marriages break up under the stress of a now-grown
child who accuses one or the other elderly parent of molestation. Most
often the accuser cuts herself off from the family and faces a life of
loneliness, her regression therapy group as her only friends.
Second Thoughts is a sad book. It is an important book that
attempts to right a large number of serious wrongs. It needs to be
read by anyone who has questions, who has been hurt by, or who has
promoted the false memory syndrome. Curt Mortimer
Where Have All the Children Gone?
Amazing Grace: The Lives of Children and the Concscience of a Nation
Jonathon
Jonathan Kozol is known for his compassionate view of
poverty-stricken families and underprivileged children—humanity
defiled in urban settings. His newest book is no exception. In chapter
1, Kozol gives us some background on the neighborhood he is
researching. “The 600,000 people who live here [in the South Bronx]
and the 450,000 people who live in Washington Heights and Harlem . . .
make up one of the largest racially segregated concentrations of poor
people in our nation.” At the local elementary school in Mott Haven, a
neighborhood in the South Bronx, only seven of 800 children don’t
qualify for free school lunches. This book focuses mainly on the
children who are growing up (or not) in the South Bronx.
Kozol’s opening delivery explains the purpose of the book. “What is
it like for children to grow up here? What do they think the world has
done to them? Do they believe that they are being shunned or hidden
from society? If so, do they think that they deserve this? What is it
that enables some of them to pray? When they pray, what do they say to
God?”
The author introduces us to some young Mott Haven natives. Cliffie
is eleven, lively and outgoing, prone to telling lies. He takes Kozol
on a tour of the neighborhood, pointing out a place where he saw a boy
get shot in the head and offering cookies in the same breath.
They turn onto Cypress Avenue and Cliffie hesitates, explaining
that they burn bodies “down there.” He was speaking of a waste
incinerator that was established in spite of parental objections.
A friend of Cliffie’s, Reverend Martha Overall of St. Ann’s Church,
assures that the incinerator does not burn bodies, but does burn “red
bag products,” amputated limbs, fetal tissue, bandages, and syringes.
Fourteen New York City hospitals transport their waste here.
Martha Overall explains that “the waste products of some of these
hospitals . . . were initially going to be burned at an incinerator
scheduled to be built along the East Side of Manhattan, but the siting
of a burner there had been successfully resisted by the parents of the
area because of fear of cancer risks to children.”
With a garbage dump three blocks away and the threat of the waste
incinerator, Mott Haven is a far cry from a healthy, thriving
metropolis. Cliffie’s mother is well aware of the appearance of the
area, not only the sight of abandoned TVs and cars, but also the sight
of humanity wasting away from prostitution, drug use, and the HIV
virus. In the last three years the city has relocated three thousand
homeless families to the neighborhood. She asks the question that
haunts many.
“Why do you want to put so many people with small children in a
place with so much sickness? This is the last place in New York that
they should put poor children. Clumping so many people, all with the
same symptoms and same problems, in one crowded place with nothin’
they can grow on? Our children start to mourn themselves before their
time.”
Mourning is something these children are well acquainted with. The
number of children who have lost parents to the AIDS virus is only
comparable to the influenza pandemic of 1918. In 1993 10,000 children
in New York lost their mothers to AIDS. Between 1993 and the year
2000, it is believed that between 32,000 and 38,000 HIV-infected
babies will be born.
At Bronx-Lebanon Hospital, having one of the highest AIDS rates in
the world, a quarter of all general admissions are HIV positive.
There’s no way of knowing how many undiagnosed people with AIDS are
living in these areas and endangering others.
The public schools of New York are the nation’s most segregated. It
is not just housing segregation that makes it this way. One teacher
observed that when Latino or black students commuted to other schools
in a white neighborhood, “white families often vacate schools in their
own neighborhoods.”
The social makeup of the schools is not the only reason for
concern. Maintenance is almost impossible. Overcrowding is an
understatement. Budgets are as good as nonexistent. Students use TV
cables as jumping ropes. Classes are held in closets, bathrooms, and
on stair landings.
Kozol makes an excellent point here, as sad as it is to point out.
The aunt gives Kozol an article in the Daily News about an air
shaft filled five feet high with garbage, telephone wires that
disconnect after being chewed to pieces by rats, and an apartment
where part of the ceiling fell on a child. In another paper there was
talk that Mayor Rudolph Giuliani was cutting back sanitation and
inspection services, the early stages of sweeping cuts in services
that benefit poor people “as a consequence of the most drastic
cutbacks in the city’s budget since the Great Depression.”
The subtitle of this book, The Lives of Children and the
Conscience of a Nation, does well to convey Kozol’s point. Many
people can turn their conscience away when they see an adult ravaged
by drug addiction, but what about the child being dragged down the
street by that same person? Is it as easy to do that? The argument is
that the adults have chosen their particular lifestyle. But what about
the children who are victims of tragic circumstances through no fault
of their own?
Kozol introduced me to a new term in Amazing Grace. It is “the
perpetuation of the ghetto.” The example that struck me the most is
when Kozol meets Gizelle Luke, a program director at Covenant House.
She takes Kozol to a highway and points at a building. He sees
flowers, window shades, curtains, and room interiors that were painted
on the side of a building that faces the highway. The mural painted by
the city wasn’t for the people in the neighborhood to enjoy—it was
facing the wrong way. It was painted for tourists and commuters.
Gizelle explains,
Tammy Boyd
First published in Cornerstone (ISSN 0275-2743),
Vol. 26, Issue 111 (1997), p. 35-37, 40, 46 |
Copyright © 1999 Cornerstone Communications, Inc.