Kamis, 06 Maret 2008

Deg's Dispatches, Part V

Dispatches from LeConte Hall 323 – Part V
by Darren Grem


During a review session for an exam I gave in this course last fall, a student remarked that the early nineteenth century’s religious history was the most confusing subject she had ever studied. That’s understandable. The era has certain qualities that students might find familiar, such as the voluntary principle, and others that are completely unfamiliar, from Shaker communalism to slaveholder apologetics. The sheer number of religious groups that fight for prominence – or fade from prominence – after the Revolutionary era likewise can be daunting. Thus, to make it more of a sensible mess, I divided up the pre-Civil War section into three parts: 1) the “early religious marketplace” 2) African-American religions and slavery and 3) the Civil War era.

We started our investigation of the early religious marketplace with the evangelicals, looking at how and why revivalism spoke to Americans in the early 1800s. I’ve often found it hard to convey through lectures why revivals were meaningful events, so I decided to use the “sights and sounds” of the early revivals to do the job for me. I showed a number of slides that detailed what occurred at camp meetings and coupled these with early evangelical song lyrics, hoping to get students to think about why someone living in the early nineteenth century might find these events attractive or off-putting. By following this analysis with selections from Alexis de Tocqueville’s Democracy in America and Philip Schaff’s America, I wanted students to consider how the voluntary principle could have long-ranging effects, allowing new groups to develop followings while fundamentally reshaping the relationship between religion and the broader political order. De Tocqueville and Schaff offered the additional benefit of having my students reflect on how others have tried to make sense of America’s religious environment, much like they were trying to do in the class (other readings, such as selections from Will Herberg’s Protestant-Catholic-Jew and Robert Bellah’s Habits of the Heart will follow in this vein). Initially, I thought the tour of evangelical revivals was more successful in conveying the ramifications of a religious marketplace than the more conceptual reflections of de Tocqueville and Schaff. But after reading their essays on these observers, I noticed that they grasped the complexities of the religious marketplace well enough, which set us up to start playing with their first impressions about the liberties of that marketplace.

In a lecture about “religious insiders and outsiders” I told my students that “religious freedom does not necessarily result in full scale religious tolerance.” They read selections from Leonard Dinnerstein’s Anti-Semitism in America to drive home this point, as well as several chapters from our textbook, Butler, et al.’s Religion in American Life, which detailed the various religious groups that were at odds with “respectable” religious practice in early America. To illustrate why certain religious groups – like evangelicals, Mormons, Catholics, Transcendentalists, and African-Americans – would conflict with one another, we had a Presidential-style debate in the class after the lecture. The idea for a mediated debate came from one of my undergrad professors, who frequently used them to show why certain historical conflicts were reconcilable and others were not. To prepare for their debate, the students read documents from five different religious figures – Joseph Smith, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Charles Grandison Finney, Elizabeth Ann Bayley Seton, and Jarena Lee – and were instructed to engage in a debate with anyone in the room on matters of religious authenticity and authority. They had to speak in the voice of the figure they represented and had to be aggressive (for some reason, undergrads have a tendency to be too nice with one another during exercises like this, working toward consensus instead of conflict).

Both classes got into the exercise to varying degrees, but I was especially pleased with how well they assumed the perspective of the leaders under study. Some were more difficult for them than others (e.g. Emerson), but all in all, they laid out the conflicts and concessions of the era quite well. I worried afterward, however, that they might remember the debate as a fun exercise instead of an instructive one. Could they, if I asked them now, remember the particular points that, say, Smith and Finney disagreed about? I suppose I will have to wait until their end-of-the-term comprehensive papers come in to find out. Regardless, it was a nice exercise that forced them to read the documents under study (to avoid embarrassment during the debate) while breaking up the rhythm of the course.

We started our study of African-American religions with the first episode of the excellent PBS series This Far By Faith. This documentary lays out the multiple genealogies and expressions of African-American religious culture, and it set us up for broader considerations about how the religious history of slavery fit into America’s early religious marketplace. Since we had been on the topic of religious freedom, insiders, and outsiders, I asked students to view African-American religions along those lines, looking at how slaves, free blacks, and ex-slaves utilized religion to craft their own interpretations of “religious freedom.” Frederick Douglass’s Autobiography, Thomas Wentworth Higginson’s account of “Negro Spirituals,” and W.E.B. Du Bois’s commentary in The Sorrow Songs helped them do that, offering perspectives on pre- and post-emancipation black Christianity in particular. Their papers on these individual accounts of black Christianity were quite insightful (grammar and style, of course, remain a never-ending battle). In general, however, they showed that they grasped how and why religion mattered for slaves, slaveholders, and ex-slaves. To clarify the long-term importance of this religious culture, I lectured about the history of African-American Christianity after slavery, reiterating that the “outsider” status of many blacks continued to grant an important role for religion (and encourage religious innovation), both in the South and in the North.

We also stayed in the post-Civil War period briefly to end our examination of the pre-Civil War era. I took the students (on a particularly frigid day for Georgia!) down to a Confederate Monument downtown. Like other monuments to the “Lost Cause,” this one is double-dipped in religious imagery. The students did some field work there, making inferences about how this monument’s religious aspects helped (white) southerners make sense of the war’s coming and going. Given that the monument proclaimed the Civil War to be a “religious event,” I asked them to make connections between it and documents from before the war, which likewise interpreted the conflict over slavery in religious ways. Via the writings of Angelina Grimké, Catharine Beecher, and George Armstrong, they were exposed to abolitionist, gradualist, and apologist perspectives on slavery. They debated in small groups how each utilized religion to build their various platforms and we inferred from their writings whether the Civil War fit the definition of a “religious war.” I think that the next time I teach this class, I will need to include an additional day to make more explicit the connections between the pre-war religious sentiments circulating about slavery and the post-war interpretations of the conflict. By compressing the topic into two days, we simply didn’t have enough time to draw those lines as tightly as I would have liked. In addition, we didn’t get the chance to connect the war as clearly to the broader themes of voluntarism, religious tolerance, insider/outsider status, and the ironies of “religious freedom.”

Overall, I think the exercises I used to navigate the students through the pre-war religious marketplace were good, although some were better than others. I relied a great deal on Butler, et al’s Religion in American Life to fill in the blanks, which I might supplement next time around with more direct instruction. In turn, I wonder if some of the debates helped clarify particular matters for students or prevented them from deeper understanding since they were depending on one another’s understanding of the readings instead of my direction. All in all, I don’t think they misunderstood the importance of some of the era’s major themes and, as far as I could tell from their essays and comments, they certainly “got” that there was certainly a lot of considerations and conflicts that you have to take into account when you talk about the meaning of “religious freedom.”

Next up, immigration, industrial capitalism, and fundamentalism.

Rabu, 05 Maret 2008

Purity in Black and White, Male and Female


“Beauty, Purity, Whiteness, and Godliness in W. E. B. Du Bois’s First Novel”
BY ED BLUM

All of the recent blogging here on sex, beauty culture, notions of purity, and religion reminded me of an important scene in the first novel of W. E. B. Du Bois (1868-1963). We know him best as an intellectual and Civil Rights activist. We know him best for his work with the NAACP and his brilliant historical analysis. But he was also a fantastic literary artist. Below is printed a few paragraphs from my study of religion in Du Bois’s life and times that discusses connections between beauty, purity, race, and the sacred. The novel shows interesting connections between notions of purity and impurity, the sacred and profane, and the bending social power of racial categories. I apologize for the “self promotional” flavor to this post, but I think the material applies. If not, feel free to flay me with the comments or curse me with bad looks or modest swimwear.

* * * *

Perhaps one of the most remarkable discussions in The Quest of the Silver Fleece (1911) occurred after Bles and Zora built a house in the swamp and Bles placed a picture of the Madonna on the wall. As Du Bois described, it was “a little picture in blue and gold of Bouguereau’s Madonna.” A French painter of the nineteenth century, Adolphe-William Bouguereau was known for his tender images of young children and women. Bouguereau painted numerous images of the Madonna, including “The Madonna of the Roses” and “Madonna and Child with St. John the Baptist.” The image entranced Zora. She “was staring silently at the Madonna,” and asked of Bles, “Who’s it?” Bles responded reverently, “The mother of God.” Zora expressed confusion over the picture, especially the lily and the baby held by the Madonna. Bles explained that the lily “stands for purity–she was a good woman” and the baby “is the Christ Child–God’s baby.” Zora retorted, “God is the father of all the little babies, ain’t He, Bles?” When Bles responded, “Why, yes–yes, of course; only this little baby didn’t have any other father.” Christ’s lack of an earthly father resonated with Zora, for either she knew no human father or she had been raped by a white man and her baby had never known its father. “Yes, I know one like that,” Zora said softly, “Poor little Christ-baby” (81).

Zora’s interpretation of the painting, however, was not finished by her empathy and sense of familiarity with the Christ baby. Referring to the Madonna, Zora exclaimed, “How white she is; she’s as white as the lily, Bles; but–I’m sorry she’s white–Bles, what’s purity–just whiteness?” Unsure of how to answer, Bles claimed that purity was about “being good,” not about color. And Zora responded with “a strange breaking voice” and a “sob.” “I’m–pure” More of a question than a declarative statement, Zora sought to make meaning of her own soul in terms of her rape and of western culture’s fixation on whiteness as godliness (81–82).

In her own unsophisticated way, Zora offered a beautiful analysis of color symbolism; notions of purity, race, and violence; and one soul’s hopes to find redemption. To her, purity and whiteness were not the same. They could not be. The conflation, moreover, must be questioned, if not lamented, for it had disastrous consequences on women like herself. She viewed the portrait of the Madonna and the Christ through the eyes of an impoverished and violated black woman. While she related with Christ’s seeming lack of a father, she failed to feel that Mary was her sister because of her whiteness and hence supposed purity. Much of Zora’s tale in The Quest of the Silver Fleece was creating her own sense of purity, one based not on her culture or circumstances but on her moral reserves and ethical actions. …

Later, in the final pages of the novel, after Zora had proven herself to Bles, he declared of Zora: “She is more than pure” (378).

By the end of the novel, Zora’s redemption and apotheosis was complete. She not only became the mouthpiece for Du Bois’s critique of modern religion and for a new faith to come to African Americans, but she also had risen above the Madonna. If the Madonna was pure, Zora was “more than pure.” Du Bois blasted away at the association of whiteness and godliness by presenting a black female character who transcended racial and sexual violence to a spot beyond the mother of Christ herself.

from Edward J. Blum, W. E. B. Du Bois, American Prophet, chapter 4.

Senin, 03 Maret 2008

Because It's Pure.

BY KATHRYN LOFTON

How often do we get a clamor for more, not less? In the world of soap opera sex, requests for sensual expression have always wobbled between romantic desire and daytime discretion. Intimacy during casserole prep is best capped a little pawing, maybe a fade to candlelight close-up. As the decades have droned on (drone indeed, since soap operas function about five years back in fashion, and ten years earlier in social stylistic), more appendages have been exposed, but still: it’s a lot more fantasy talk more than fantasy action.

Over the last month, however, new worlds of dreaming have entered daytime possibility. I speak of the clamor for more love (not less) between Luke Snyder and Noah Mayer, a love match spotlighted in As The World Turns. Since they officially united in September, the couple hasn’t kissed once on-screen, not even after a Christmas declaration of love (which included a climactic cutaway to mistletoe) or a Valentine’s Day ATWT couples round-up (in which everyone saw smooch save Luke and Noah, who hugged it out). Angry viewers began a kissing campaign, demanding more love action from this too-talky tale. The fans have constructed a large letter-writing campaign, posted an online petition, and developed a web site that counts the days, hours, minutes and seconds since last lip lock.

Any talk of homosexuality in this country necessarily turns to thoughts of religion, but in this case, we don’t have to press to any moral abstraction to find talk of God. ATWT makes it easy on us, as this particular opera is owned by one very special soap: Procter & Gamble Productions Inc. CBS executives consult on the series, but the creative direction is set by P&G, makers of (among other cleansing products) Ivory soap. Nearly 129 years ago, Harley Proctor sat in a little Episcopal church in Cincinnati, listening to the Anglican lesson. It was from thee forty-fifth Psalm: “All thy garments smell of myrrh and aloes and cassia out of ivory palaces whereby they have made thee glad.” The Biblically-inspired Ivory suds propagated not only cleanliness, but also holiness: a color and a principle tied up in a new wave of national sale. Through a simultaneous invocation of scientific discourses (ads described Ivory as “99 and 44/100 per cent pure”) and moral imaginaries, Proctor and Gamble brought soap to the people. “Who wants pure soap?” asked one ad, “Pretty nearly everybody. Why do they want it? Because it’s pure.”

From the first ad for Ivory (published in December 1882 in a Christian weekly, The Independent) till today, P&G has meant more than quick clean. It has offered a baptism-by-product, a wash of sacred cleanliness. “Americans are the apostles of personal cleanliness,” explained the Cleanliness Journal, funded in part by P&G, “Ours is primarily a character building, Americanizing enterprise for all people and we continue strong in our belief that cleanliness is akin to godliness.” Today, the godliness suggested is a contested one, tugging between a culture in love with clean (boy kisses are impure kisses) and a culture infatuated with green (ATWT is one of the few soaps continuing to profit in an era of declining daytime ratings). “It’s always hard to please a diverse audience,” explained P&G’s PR rep, “and we have a diverse audience.” Which side will win? Harley’s prim Protestantism or Luke and Noah’s most profitable, if dangerously impious, lust? Fortunately for P&G, there is a precedent: their early ads sold nothing so happily as white male-on-male flesh. Christianity is indeed a confusing sexual arbiter.



Review: Steven Waldman's "Founding Faith"


BY JOHN FEA



Just when I thought that there was nothing left to say about religion and the founding of the United States, Steven Waldman has come along with Founding Faith: Providence, Politics, and the Birth of Religious Freedom in America. I realize that some readers of this blog might whine and moan about another book on this subject, but if we have to deal with a new biography of Abraham Lincoln every year, then what’s wrong with another book about faith and the founding, especially when it is framed as carefully as this one.

Waldman, the co-founder, CEO, and editor-in-chief of Beliefnet.Com, has written a useful book. Founding Faith is not a work of original scholarship, but Waldman relies upon the very best studies in the field to craft his compelling narrative. His research in primary sources—mostly the writings of the Founding Fathers—is also impressive. The defenders of Christian America will have a hard time arguing with him or accusing him of being too reliant on secondary material.

Founding Faith is unlike any other popular trade book on religion and the founding era. It is actually quite balanced. (In terms of thesis and style, Jon Meacham’s American Gospel is its closest competitor. Meacham organizes his book around the idea of civil religion. Waldman’s focus is on religious freedom). The book presents a clear argument against the Christian America view, but Waldman has no axe to grind. In other words, his study is quite different from books with titles such as Moral Minority, The Godless Constitution, Liars for Jesus, and American Fascists. Neither is it as polemical as Randall Balmer’s Thy Kingdom Come. Founding Faith comes with ringing endorsements from Joseph Ellis, Mark Noll, Bill Bennett, Jim Wallis, Walter Isaacson, and George Stephanopoulos. This is certainly a diverse bunch!

Waldman sets the record straight on several issues that have been debated fiercely by those engaged in what he calls the “custody battle” over the American founding. Seventeenth-century America, he rightly argues, was not founded as a bastion of religious freedom, but as a place where religious establishments prevailed. Scholars will already know this, but it is still nice to see such a clean and direct hit on the Whiggish interpretations of the British colonies promoted by many of the so-called Christian America writers. Waldman also makes it clear that most of the Founders were not deists, especially if we define a “deist” as a person who rejects the idea that God acts in human history. Nearly all the Founders believed in providence. I am sure that Susan Jacoby and others and still others may have something to say about this, but Waldman is correct here.

It is now common for those on the right and the left to try to prove that America is or isn’t a Christian nation based on the religious beliefs of the Founders. Waldman reminds us of the logical problems with this argument. Just because one of the Founders was a Christian—or even an evangelical Christian—doesn’t mean that he was an opponent of the separation of church and state. The opposite is also true. Just because one of the Founders did not believe all the tenets of orthodox Christianity does not always mean that he rejected the idea that Christianity was good for the republic. This argument seems obvious, but it is often missing from the popular religious histories of the founding era.

Waldman offers some interesting historical nuggets that are definitely worth pondering. For example, was Thomas Jefferson an early proponent of “intelligent design?” Waldman thinks so. Do the conservatives have the best argument in the debate over whether or not the natural rights described in the Declaration of Independence can be traced to historic Christianity? Waldman believes they do. Did James Madison’s pessimistic view of human nature, as seen in Federalist #10 and elsewhere, stem from his Calvinist training as a student of John Witherspoon at Princeton? Perhaps, says Waldman.

The heroes in this book are Madison and the Baptists. Waldman advocates strongly for the application of Madison’s views on the separation of church and state to our contemporary religious debates. Unlike founders such as Washington, Adams, or even Franklin, Madison believed that religion and government should never mix. He proposed a wall between separation of church and state (though he did not use the term “wall”) well before the passing of the First Amendment, the writing of Thomas Jefferson’s 1809 letter to the Danbury Baptists, and the twentieth-century affirmations of the Supreme Court on the subject. For Madison, when government stays out of religion, religion thrives. Waldman agrees.

Baptists helped Madison shape his views on church and state. The persecution of these evangelicals in Virginia prompted him to write his now famous Memorial and Remonstrance Against Religious Assessments (1785). Baptists also lobbied heavily (against the Episcopalian evangelical Patrick Henry, who favored a form of establishment) for Thomas Jefferson’s Virginia Act for Establishing Religious Freedom, (1786). They were also a major force behind Jefferson’s election to the presidency in 1800. (The practice of courting the evangelical vote has a long history!). For Waldman, the irony in all of this is that religious descendants of these eighteenth-century evangelical Baptists are now, in the twenty-first century, leading the charge to challenge this view of the separation of church and state.

There is not a whole lot to quibble with in Founding Faith. Waldman does embrace the argument that the Great Awakening—with its rebellion against clerical authority and democratic ideals—set the American Revolution in motion. As many of our readers already know, some historians have questioned whether there is any relationship between the Awakening and the Revolution (myself included). Moreover, those who favor a greater place for religion in the public square will have problems with Waldman’s conclusion that Madison is the best model for dealing with our present-day controversies over the relationship between church and state.

Finally, I wonder if this book will get into the right hands. Some on the Christian Right will read it, and may even appreciate it, but few will be converted to Waldman's view of American history. If he is correct these defenders of Christian America will need to close shop. And don’t expect that to happen anytime soon. Founding Faith will make the members of the ACLU and other supporters of complete separation a bit uncomfortable because Waldman is not afraid to say that some of the Christian Right’s historical analysis may be correct. But in the end, liberals will breathe a sigh of relief after reading his strong defense of Madison.

If there was ever a book that might convince some readers—on both the left and the right-- to rethink or tweak their views on religion and the founding, Founding Faith may be it. This is now the best popular book on the subject. It will make a big and well-deserved splash when it is released next week.

Buffet of the Spirit and Redneck Judaism



PAUL HARVEY

Following our blog's discussion of the recent Pew survey, here's a funny and engaging personal reflection on one man's conversion to Judaism. A nice passage which fits with memories of my younger years:

In the Protestantism of my childhood, the Bible, especially the New Testament, was meant to be read, but reverentially. The words were cast in stone; they didn’t resonate with the earthy energy that I find in Torah.

Dana Jennings, author of this piece, also recently published Sing Me Back Home: Love, Death, and Country Music, where he chases some dragons of his own past in a manner akin to Gram Parsons in the next blog entry below.

Cosmic American Music

PAUL HARVEY

Slightly OT for a Monday, but I thought of Lucinda Williams's "Drunken Angel" when reading this review of David Meyer, Twenty Thousand Roads: The Ballad of Gram Parsons and his Cosmic American Music. As the review expresses, Gram’s work brought together “the sex of rock and the pain of country.” Physically attractive and immensely gifted, Parsons was a visionary. Gram preached the gospel of what he called Cosmic American Music, “a holy intersection of unpolished American expression: gospel, soul, folk, Appalachia, R&B, country, bluegrass, blues, rockabilly, and honky-tonk.”

That's the intersection where some soul food and some transcendence get served. It always seems to come at a cost for sacrificial lambs and drunken angels who give out at the extremes so the self-contained can see something beyond, just for a second.

These lyrics from L. Williams aren't about Parsons, but could have been, or about those who chase visceral religious experience in music:

Followers would cling to you
Hang around just to meet you
Some threw roses at your feet
And watch you pass out on the street, Drunken Angel
Feed you and pay off all your debts
Kiss your brow taste your sweat
Write about your soul your guts
Criticize you and wish you luck, Drunken Angel
Drunken Angel, You're on the other side


Some kind of savior singing the blues
A derelict in your duct tape shoes
Your orphan clothes and your long dark hair
Looking like you didn't care
Druken Angel
Blood spilled out from the hole in your heart
Over the strings of your guitar
The worn down places in the wood
That once made you feel so good
Drunken Angel


Now, back to correcting semi-colon usage on papers . . .

Minggu, 02 Maret 2008

God's Row and America's Religious Landscape


“God’s Row” and America’s Religious Landscape
by Darren Grem


Since we’ve lately been on the topic of the nation’s contemporary religious landscape, I thought I’d broadcast an interesting article from Sunday’s NY Times. According to James Angelos, storefront churches and temples have been popping up with increasing regularity along a two-mile stretch of White Plains Road in the Bronx, changing the borough’s religious environment and possibly affecting its economic well-being. We’ve discussed religious organizations as economic entities before, but this story relates another perspective. Detractors think this area of the borough needs more than spiritual rejuvenation, arguing that the churches and temples along “God’s Row” take up real estate that could better serve the community if zoned for business. Religious leaders disagree, arguing that the economic problems in the area predated the “revival” along White Plains Road.

Regardless, the row over God’s Row hints at some of the broader social and economic ramifications – whether direct or indirect – caused by the various religious restructurings currently occurring across America. Read all about it here.