Christian angst and television drama
March 17th, 2004 | Tags: entertainment, theology | 1 Comment
Without fail, the sort of Christianity depicted in television drama is wholly monolithic. It is a cultural Christianity, marked by the sort of trappings that are readily recognizable to non-practitioners. It is chiefly Roman in character because such trappings abound in the sacraments and pieties of the Roman Catholic church — who hasn’t seen a detective go to a confessional or superstitiously mention the intercession of a saint? — and because Roman Catholicism is, if my experience is any guide, a largely cultural phenomenon on the coasts, where most television drama is produced and where the target audience for most mass media lives.
In the sort of Christianity that exists in television’s world, Christian characters fall under four types. The first is the crazed fundamentalist, a straw man who is always as unattractive as possible and is frequently deranged or sociopathic, but whose main crime is always an improper transfer of religiously-motivated ideals from the private world to the public, generally combined with a zeal for violence or offense. The second is the culturally Christian protagonist; his or her public faith consists of mildly rebuking those characters whose temperament is irreverent, in recalling episodes of religious practice from childhood, or in making moral claims that barely stray outside the acceptable bounds of mass-media orthodoxy. There are a spectrum of these characters; one gets a sense that some are actually Christians in a meaningful sense, even though no direct evidence of this appears on camera. The third is the hypocritical clergy figure; we’ve seen the contemporary incarnation of this stereotype at least since The Scarlet Letter, and it is no less tiresome now. The fourth is the nonjudgmental mentor figure, who can be either a priest or nun, a pastor, or someone whose “saintly” nature is frequently mentioned by other characters. Type Four never explicitly expresses anything remotely related to orthodox Christian doctrine or practice, but instead dispenses semi-coherent Yoda-like wisdom or feel-good clichés devoid of the hallmarks of actual faith.
The Christianity of television drama is also one that has missed out on most of the Christian academic and theological traditions of the last two millennia. In a practice so frequent as to be almost a genre convention, television writers will establish a crisis of conscience for a Type Two character by making her soliloquize about how a good God could allow the possibility of evil, cancer, crime, or eating dinner with one’s salad fork. This is, apparently, television producers’ shorthand for something quite like Dostoyevsky’s “furnace of doubt.” Raising these questions is fine, although it is slightly implausible that an adult Christian has never dealt with them before demanded to by the circumstances of a Very Special Episode. What isn’t fine is that these questions are treated by the medium as if they have no answers, or at least no satisfactory answers. The resolution of the crisis does not come, say, in reading C.S. Lewis’ The Problem of Pain or in receiving peace that passes all understanding, but in a motivational-poster-like encounter with a Type Four character or in a brilliant triumph of human agency just before the credits roll. I suppose that there are intelligent people for whom the existence of evil or of human frailty is a stumbling-block to faith; with this in mind, it is unconscionable that the “problem” of evil is presented as one which has no solution, especially when the image of Christians as stereotypes divorced from actual Christian faith is so pervasive in the mass media.
Kierkegaard described despair as originating when we try and understand the eternal in light of the temporal: trying to weigh eternal ramifications of temporal choices, for example, or recognizing that our temporal concerns are irrelevant even as they still eat at us. His solution to despair is not in bucking up and figuring things out for ourselves, or in interpreting temporal events as pointing to evidence that we weren’t really confused. Rather, despair is solved only in total reliance on God. Objections to Christian faith like the “problem of evil,” then, are only remotely sensical if the appropriate relation to revealed truth is “attempts at rationalization.” As Christians, we concede that our facilities will always be inadequate to comprehend the eternal. The portrayals of Christian angst in television drama, on the other hand, don’t appear to acknowledge that: for them, the a struggle of faith is the struggle with the world not being as you think it should, or as you believe God would have it to be. At best, this represents a pre- or post-Christian worldview.
I’m currently listening to Zueignung, Op.10, No.1 from the album “Fritz Wunderlich – Beethoven, Haydn & Strauss, R. Lieder” by Bavarian State Orchestra, Fritz Wunderlich & Jan Koetsier
March 19th, 2004 at 02:43:55 AM (#)
Well, I know that you said you weren’t speaking specifically about Homicide and your post obviously makes no reference to any particular shows (though I definitely agree, Law & Order is a clear textbook example of what you’re talking about), but given the plot of the “White Glove” episodes we screened recently and the way that television treatment of “the ‘problem’ of evil” enters into the thoughts, forgive a reader for drawing conclusions. Regardless of whether or not Homicide is a better example than L&O of what this blog identifies, I think an interesting issue is raised, which is: How might one represent “Christian angst” in a television drama? Even if Homicide fails (though I’m inclined to think that it succeeds more than it fails and at least a lot more often than almost any other prime time show I’ve ever seen) to give complexity to this issue through the character of Frank, it seems that many of the weaknesses it encounters come as a result of the generic constraints placed on a show that is a “cop show” — how much character development is feasible in a show that has an ensemble cast of characters? Homicide is unusual in respect to its response to this question, because unlike L&O (any of them), the writers made a clear effort to move beyond the audience’s expectations that each formal ending to an episode (credits) constituted closure to the issues and even the action unfolded within it. Even the “Very Special Episodes” turn out to be markers for shifts in treatment of issues/plot that continue to unfold for further episodes, if not seasons. As a result, viewers, who expected and wanted L&O-esque open/shut cases in single (occasionally sweeps-week two part cliffhangers) switched over to Nash Bridges instead. Sad as it is, it’s what the public wants. (Which raises that old question: Why is this?! And, if this is a question of a problem, whose fault is it?) Still, some viewers were fascinated by a character unlike any other character on television — a man who knows that “despair is only resolved by total reliance on God” but who also suffers from very intense, very human pride (of intellect, etc.) and struggles with the ability to truly live what he already believes to be true. I am particularly drawn to Frank as a character (realizing how perverse it might be to find any or most television characters “inspiring”) because when I read:
“I suppose that there are intelligent people for whom the existence of evil or of human frailty is a stumbling-block to faith; with this in mind, it is unconscionable that the “problem” of evil is presented as one which has no solution, especially when the image of Christians as stereotypes divorced from actual Christian faith is so pervasive in the mass media”
I first flatter myself by thinking that I am one of those “intelligent” people and I am relieved to see, in the character of Frank, represented an individual for whom this is a stumbling block to faith and for whom there doesn’t seem to be a solution. In other words, to see a character who represents the inner conflict between knowing and believing there is a solution and the constant need to resolve that with the inconceivable brutality they see around them every day — in the news, in their job, or in human history. Obviously, I read Frank as a character who is written to be an individual, rather than a Christian character who is necessarily representative of a universal situation. But ultimately, I think there is a question about what function television has in society, which is an old question about the function of art or literature. Is it simply to reflect aspects of human experience, or is it to instruct? (And if to instruct, for whose purposes?) I don’t believe that it necessarily has to be one or the other, since I watch L&O for its shiny no-thoughts-attatched value, but is there a way to negotiate television as an industry and television as some form of art that may delight and/or instruct?