Responding to a review of one’s book is not an incredibly common practice. But that’s exactly what I intend to do here, in large part because, at the end of the day, that’s what Watching TV Religiously is about—developing a mutually enriching, two-way dialogue that is as theologically robust as it is culturally aware.
But as good as that might sound, an endeavor of this sort immediately faces a problem. That is, as a society, we have forgotten how to disagree in a way that doesn’t end with the dissolution of our relationships. Never mind those pesky rules of conduct we expect our kindergartners to follow; we’ve lost the capacity to talk to one another, much less treat people who disagree with us with anything other than contempt and disdain.
Even more pressing is the fact that this is the exact same problem that continues to beset the Evangelical community—a community that has perhaps never been more divided along political, racial, economic, and theological lines (to name only a few). As the most recent election made abundantly clear, Christians—Evangelicals in particular—are faced with a seemingly insurmountable impasse when it comes to our various takes on cultural engagement and the church’s role in the world.
So in my estimation, if we have any hope of doing something other than deepening the gulf that presently divides the community of faith, we need to take advantage of any and every opportunity that allows us to enter into genuine conversation with each other and, dare I say it, maybe even communion.
Put differently, we need each other, perhaps now more than ever. We are brothers and sisters in Christ—a messy, dysfunctional family to be sure, but a family nonetheless. So we need to be able to disagree. But we also need to find a way to remain friends in the process—real friends, not the kind of friends we meet on Friends (more on this below). Which is why I hope this little back-and-forth between two Christian brothers might serve as a small step in that direction.
To give credit where credit is due, the tone of Brett McCracken’s review of the book I wrote along with Dean Batali, Watching TV Religiously, is really what set the stage for this conversation. I found his overall posture to be quite charitable, even if I disagree with him on a number of important points.
So I thought it might be helpful—both for potential readers of the book and for the Evangelical tribe of which we are both a part—to draw out some of the important distinctions that set my approach apart from those who, like McCracken, see things quite differently than me. In doing so, I want to suggest that McCracken’s primary criticisms of Watching TV Religiously have less to do with the book’s actual claims and more to do with an internal divide within Evangelicalism regarding Christian cultural engagement.
Let me start with what McCracken gets right. Early on, he states:
“Essentially their [i.e. Callaway and Batali’s] argument is that yes, secular liturgies (like binge-watching Stranger Things or ritually tuning in to Monday Night Football) can cultivate in us disordered desires and promote rival visions of human flourishing, but that doesn’t always have to be the case.”
He’s absolutely right. McCracken summarizes our thesis quite well here and, in doing so, makes clear that the book is in fact both nuanced and balanced. That is, it refuses to traffic in easy binaries that would construe TV as either “all bad” or “all good.” This is in part a reflection of how Dean and I authored the book. We would sit down over coffee and basically talk through our many disagreements—a process that required both of us to refine our own ideas and treat the perspectives of the other in non-reductive ways.
Oddly enough though, McCracken offers the following criticism shortly thereafter:
“They critique attempts of Christians to challenge or change culture and instead call the church to open her eyes to the movement of God in culture…. But it’s not an either-or. Christians can celebrate the joy of online fan communities of a show like Glee and learn from the metaphysical themes raised by a show like Lost, while adopting a critical posture that recognizes the dubious theological messages and underlying business motivations of both.”
The reason I find this particular critique odd is not only because it seems to contradict his earlier assessment of our primary thesis, but also because here McCracken is almost directly quoting from the book. The idea that we should both “celebrate” and “critique” TV is actually ours, and we invoke it numerous times throughout the text. Here’s but one example, taken from the introduction: “[B]y ‘celebrate,’ we do not mean an uncritical embrace of all things cultural” (pg. 7). In a later chapter, we frame our entire approach to ethics in these very same terms:
“Where might we celebrate, affirm, and delight in television as an inspirited practice that moves us toward the common good? And on what grounds should we critique, protest, and seek to transform TV, recognizing those places where it serves as an impediment to human flourishing?” (pg. 165-166)
In fact, the entirety of chapter 7 is dedicated to the development of a theological ethic suitable for TV—one that clearly identifies the ethical dilemmas presented not only by the content found in certain TV shows, but also by our TV-viewing habits. In other words, we take theological critique to a whole new level, in large part because we are not simply talking about TV shows. We are talking about the entire world created by this pervasive technology, commodity, and centerpiece for our ritual lives.
McCracken might have preferred us to focus on a different set of ethical issues, or wished that we had offered different critiques of TV and TV-viewing practices, but at no point do we suggest that there is no place for theological critique. For example, while we may be fans of True Detective, we certainly don’t have many positive things to say about cable news. Nevertheless, McCracken suggests that we have fallen victim to an “either/or” mentality, which is once again a rather strange claim to make given that the final section heading in chapter seven (in extra-large, bold font) is “TV Ethics as Neither/Nor.” In this section, we spend no less than 500 words stating clearly and explicitly the reasons why a Christian response to television cannot be reduced to “either” celebration “or” critique. In these and other instances, it’s almost as if McCracken read our book, internalized its primary arguments, and then used those very same concepts to write a critical review of some other book that he mistakenly mixed up with ours.
But I am fairly certain that McCracken is not this careless of a reader. Indeed, he even marks off one of the major sections of his review with the heading “careful reading required.” Yet, for all the ways in which he affirms what we are doing in Watching TV Religiously, he still tends to read into the text things that simply aren’t there. Thus, according to McCracken, our suggestion that Christians might find something to celebrate about TV (an idea he affirms) somehow morphs into a de facto rejection of those who offer any kind of critique of the medium (which we neither do nor say). Likewise, when we point out that the Spirit of God might very well be present and active outside the church (which, again, is something McCracken applauds), he somehow takes this to mean that we believe our encounter with the Spirit of God in TV should replace our encounter with the Spirit in the church (which, again, we neither say nor do). For McCracken, these are major flaws in our theological framework, but in reality, they are simply a string of non-sequiturs that fail to take seriously the true nature and aims of the book.
There are also times when McCracken fundamentally misrepresents both our formal analyses and our construal of particular shows. For instance, he wrongly states that we think Friends offers an example of how the lack of change in sitcom characters leads viewers toward virtue when in fact we very clearly make the opposite point. That is, in spite of the show’s popularity (and its name), Friends (the sitcom) did not actually help us be or become better friends. Indeed, our interpretation of the show is pitched in direct contrast to the biblical notion of friendship outlined by Jesus in John 15:13. Again, quoting from the book:
“[Christian friendships] stretch us, confront us, and challenge us to assume a posture of self-giving love…. Few TV narratives [e.g Friends] are able to explore such notions of friendship, in part because, as we mentioned above, ongoing conflict is integral to episodic storytelling. Character traits like compassion, hospitality, and self-giving love do little to generate or sustain tension. In fact, they do the opposite” (pg. 189).
Later in that same chapter we look at the show Parks and Rec as an example of a sitcom that can move viewers in the direction of virtuous friendship, and we do so by comparing it to shows that fail in this regard—shows like Friends and more recently The Office (pg. 190-192).
I call out these various misreadings not to nit-pick McCracken’s review, but because I greatly value critical reviews of books, and the primary task of any book review is first and foremost to get things right—to accurately represent a book’s argument. At various points, McCracken simply fails to do this.
On a much deeper level though, I want to suggest that McCracken’s misunderstandings are not in any way malicious, but are rather the product of a very different theological approach toward culture and public life than my own. Indeed, the two different sites that host our blogs—The Gospel Coalition on the one hand and the Huffington Post on the other—already signal the degree to which our approaches diverge. And in more ways than one, these differences map directly onto the various factions that are presently threatening Evangelicalism from within.
I’ll name just three ways in which our divergent theological assumptions play themselves out in Watching TV Religiously and McCracken’s review of the book.
1. Church/Culture
First, McCracken (following Niebuhr) understands the “church” and “culture” to be two distinct entities, and that the primary mission of the “church” is not only to critique the failings of “culture” but also to present the church as a superior alternative. Indeed, even if the Spirit can occasionally be found “out there” in “the culture,” this encounter has no real, substantive value when compared to the ways in which the Spirit is present in the “church.” And of course, the faith community (i.e. the Church) knows this better than anyone else. They are, after all, God’s people.
In contrast, I see church and culture as inherently and irreducibly inter-dependent. McCracken highlights our differing views when he says,
“Books like this sometimes seem so afraid of being lumped in with the ‘old way’ of skeptical Christian approaches to culture that they err on the other side. They make no hint that special revelation in Christ is the answer to man’s desires, or that the Christian church’s liturgical practices are in any way superior to secular liturgies.”
In a way, he’s partially right, but he actually could have stated this in even more radical terms. So allow me to go ahead and turn the proverbial dial all the way to eleven. Speaking now only for myself (and not for my co-author Dean), I am not afraid of being accidentally “lumped in” with anyone—“old school” or otherwise. Rather, I am intentionally and explicitly rejecting an approach toward culture and cultural products that assumes a fundamentally antagonistic relationship between “the church” and “the culture.” In fact, I would even go so far as to suggest (as I do in the book) that the culture/church divide is a false and unhelpful dichotomy—one that we need to overcome and move beyond if we are to forge pathways for the light of the Gospel to shine in and through our culture.
McCracken of course disagrees with me here, and I would imagine so too do many of those who operate with a similar set of convictions regarding church/culture. But for those who share McCracken’s concerns, hear me out for a moment. A very real danger in conceiving of “the church” as a wholly distinct, superior entity—one that is set over and against “the culture”—is that a posture of this sort can so easily give way to the kind of self-blinding pride that has plagued the people of God from time immemorial. That is, we become so self-assured about the purity and righteousness of our own practices that we fail to realize when God has actually come to hate our liturgies (Amos 5:21-24).
So we always need to keep in mind that, just because a liturgy is formally “Christian” and takes place in a “house of worship,” this does not mean the Spirit necessarily privileges what goes on there, much less “approves” of it as a site of “supernatural power and divine encounter” as McCracken claims. In fact, sometimes, it’s the last place God is going to show up.
2. Bible
The second distinction between McCracken’s take and my own has to do with the Bible. And while I could say quite a bit here, I think the simplest way to draw out our differences is to say that, for McCracken, it is actually possible to “simply read Luke 10 and discuss it in a church Bible study.” I, however, don’t believe this is possible. I of course think there is incredible value in studying the Bible together as a community of faith, and at no point do I suggest that it would be better for Christians to stop reading the Bible and watch their favorite TV show instead. However, one of my operating hermeneutical assumptions is that we are always already bringing to the biblical text a plethora of lenses that shape our readings and interpretations. And rather than attempt somehow to step out of this cultural embedded-ness in order to read the Bible “simply,” I think it more wise to name the various lenses with which we operate so that we can engage them critically and thoughtfully.
Again, I realize that a full half of my Evangelical sisters and brothers will likely disagree with me here. But I think it is important to clearly identify these divergent views of biblical interpretation because, in my estimation, the act of acknowledging our situated, perspectival reading of the text not only forces us to read the Bible in community (because it guards against the notion that any lone Christian can find the “real” meaning of the text on their own), but it also opens up pathways through which art and culture might provide the means for challenging and/or exposing the blind spots in our long-held interpretive lenses (even when it’s a show like The Big Bang Theory or House of Cards).
A point in case is when McCracken asks rhetorically:
“Is the ability to empathize with broken people really a lacking skill in today’s average human? Do we really need Leslie Knope [from Parks and Rec] to reveal to us the depths of our moral failure?”
I’m not sure exactly when McCracken wrote his review, so I want to be fair, but these comments strike me as verging on a kind of cultural tone-deafness or callousness. The only answer that I can come up with to his question is: absolutely! Yes, the ability to empathize with broken people really is lacking in today’s average human—and me and my fellow Christians are some of the worst offenders! And in the current political climate, which has generated a great deal of legitimate anxiety among “the least of these,” it seems that the Christian community really could learn a thing or two about how to seek the welfare of the political “other” in our midst.
In fact, we could do a lot worse than Leslie Knope—a committed politician who demonstrates unflagging love and concern for her fellow public servants, even when they are as ideologically far apart from one another as we could possibly imagine.
3. Theology/Pneumatology
Third and finally, McCracken and I are operating according to two different theological (or more specifically pneumatological) logics. He is primarily concerned with locating the Spirit firmly within the church. And while I might quibble with his confusion/conflation of “the human body” with “the church” as the temple in which the Spirit dwells in 1 Corinthians 3, his basic instinct is right. That is to say, the Spirit is indeed uniquely present in the church. That’s why I spent over a decade of my life as a full-time pastor in local church ministry, and why I continue to serve as a layperson in my local church today. It’s also why I currently teach at Fuller Theological Seminary, training current and future leaders of the church. The church matters. Period. Here we are in full agreement.
But where McCracken goes wrong, and where our pneumatologies diverge, is when he suggests that any attempt to discern the workings of the Spirit outside the church is tantamount to saying that the Spirit’s presence in the church no longer matters. My response here is to simply say, just as I do in the book (and just as McCracken notes in his review), it’s not either/or. The Spirit of God is not only the Spirit of the church, but of the whole world. Yahweh is indeed “our God” in the sense that Christians are called to direct all of our worship toward Yahweh, but not in the sense that we somehow possess Yahweh or set the limits on where and when this unwieldy God might speak.
In other words, the God we encounter in Christian worship is the same God we encounter in creation, in cultural products, and in our everyday, humdrum human interactions. And for anyone interested in reading more about the biblical and theological rationale for this understanding of the Spirit, I highly recommend Robert K. Johnston’s God’s Wider Presence.
Of course, I suppose I could save everyone a great deal of time if I simply responded directly to McCracken’s primary question:
“[C]ould this not provide justification for engagement with almost any product or practice? If God can work through Game of Thrones, Westworld, and The Walking Dead, could he not also work through an explicit reality TV series about porn actors or a sitcom about Satanism?”
My answer? A resounding yes.
To quote Karl Barth: “God may speak to us through Russian Communism, through a flute concerto, through a blossoming shrub or through a dead dog. We shall do well to listen to him if he really does so” (CD I/I). Barth might as well have been riffing on the story of King Josiah, who failed to “listen to the words of Neco from the mouth of God” (2 Chronicles 35:21-22). Why would Josiah—one of the most faithful Kings in Israel’s history who single-handedly reformed the worship practices of God’s chosen people—ever listen to an Egyptian Pharaoh? Because God has a habit of speaking through even the most brutal, profane, and unrepentant of messengers.
And whether those messengers happen to be Leslie Knope, or Tyrion Lannister, or Luke Cage, we would do well to listen.