"A Modern Day Prophet," Or Hearing George Michael Sing In Our Living Rooms

KELLY BAKER

As the writer's strike drags on (but might possibly finish), the major networks are running new shows to satisfy our (or possibly just my) T.V. watching needs. One of which is Eli Stone, a show about nervous "modern day prophet," who has visions of George Michael belting out familiar pop songs while upon a coffee table as well as auditory cues ranging from Michael's "Faith" to organs and boys' choirs to gunfire. Stone is a lawyer in a well-established firm, which primarily defends mean corporations from damaging lawsuits. Not surprisingly, the sounds and visions prove troubling to the young, once idealistic lawyer. He visits an acupuncturist, who is actually California born and bred and wears the clothing and accent to prove it. The show is not aiming for critical acclaim and relies upon Eli's blustered encounter with the "bells and whistles" of religious phenomena. Eli's visions might come from the divine or, possibly, are side effects of an inoperable brain aneurysm. This prophet proves to be my favorite kind, reluctant, self-effacing, and confused. He cannot decide whether to embrace this experience of the divine or to blatantly ignore Michael's singing and clapping. The show examines how these visions move Eli to taking on underdog cases against evil corporations (for the first two episodes at least). The success and failure of these trials echo with a warm, fuzzy version of morality in which the frazzled mom bests the vaccine maker and illegal immigrants become citizens through Eli's bravado and conviction. Justice can be achieved through speeches that rely on faith and our compassion for other human beings. Judges and juries fall prey to Eli's charm and earnestness. The bad guys are nominally bad, and the good guys are, well, good. Social justice never seemed so civil. Eli Stone proves interesting to me not because of the saccharine morality tales, but instead, Eli's reaction to his religious experience.

The main character is bewildered and disturbed by the song and dance of 1980s pop star. His face contorts into a myriad of expressions when confronting concerts and choirs in the lobby of his firm. He even leaps out of the way of a plane, which flies too close to the sidewalk in a crowded, urban setting. Jonny Lee Miller, who plays the eponymous prophet, tilts his head to the side in these encounters in an attempt to determine if these sounds and visions are reality. As I watched both episodes (available online for the curious), Leigh Schmidt's Hearing Things: Religion, Illusion, and the American Enlightenment (2000) came to mind time and again. Schmidt's deft work explores the realm of the auditory for both Enlightenment thinkers and often avowed skeptics as well as the religious peoples, who believed that they could hear the voice of the divine. Hearing "things" signaled divine intention and intervention in one's life, and religious peoples, from clergy to laity, claimed this gift and ability. The supernatural invaded the realm of the natural via the ear. Hearing, not seeing, was believing. Yet hearing became pathologized. Voices were signs of mental illness, instead of the hand of god. Hearing remained a religious purview for some, but for many, the auditory became guarded. These voices dissipated into the air from which they had previously come. Watching Eli Stone, for me anyway, seems to be a case study in Schmidt's argument. The cast of characters on the show mediate between the extremes of the skeptic and the believer. The skeptic, primarily Eli's physician brother, arches his eyebrows in disdain and slight humor when sounds and visions are discussed. The believer, represented by the acupuncturist, looks for the larger meaning of planes and organ music. Those, who rest between the poles, shift between empathy to Eli's "condition" and concern for his well-being to frustration with his willingness to believe. His soon-to-be spouse humors Eli by asking what he is hearing when his head tilts so knowingly. "Gunfire," he replies, and she smiles.

Her reaction, the accepting smile, characterizes much of my reaction to those who purport hearing voices, receiving visions, or other more fantastic abilities. I smile because it is the only reaction with which I am armed. My mother bred politeness into the core of her three daughters, and the smile reflects my polite reaction to the miraculous. It is not dismissive, but the smile is not a knowing one either. The show presents the problem of the prophet in the twenty-first century (how to accept the reality of voices and visions in our technological world), but it also reflects the reaction to the intrusion of the divine in the so-called natural world. Eli's relatives, co-workers, and his fiancée all process his earnest account of sounds that they cannot hear. Eli is not completely convinced either, but he is moving in the direction of belief. The show's vivid displays of sounds and sights give the audience Eli's perspective of the world, and the difficulty his experiences will likely cause him. (Some of his co-workers seem to think their colleague suffered from a nervous breakdown.) The show, thus, gives the viewing audience a perspective that the religion scholar cannot inhabit. Our conversants and historical actors can describe their experiences to us, but we do not get to hear the sounds of gunfire or the infectious "Faith" first hand. We get words or images created by the prophet, in Eli's cause, or believers, but not the auditory evidence. Eli Stone proves entertaining to me because I get to hear through his ears and see through his eyes. As I watch the reluctant "modern day prophet," my smile is knowing rather than polite. And I wonder how much easier my task as a scholar might have been if I had chosen to study the tangible or if the intangible might become tangible just for an auditory moment.

Harvey on _Baptists in America_

KELLY BAKER

Our illustrious managing editor, Paul Harvey, reviewed Bill Leonard's Baptists in America for H-Amstdy. For this informative, if encyclopedic work, Harvey has praise for the breadth of coverage, but he turns a critical eye to the small presence of Southern Baptist history. According to Harvey, Leonard aptly presents the tension between "soul liberty" and "church purity." Here's an excerpt from the review:

The opening chapter quickly surveys the basics of Baptist history from its origins in the early seventeenth century and growth in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries to a position of cultural dominance in the South in the twentieth century. Subsequent chapters provide summaries of Baptist beliefs and practices in all their bewildering variety, Baptist styles of theology, race and gender in Baptist life and history, and Baptist positions on various sides in the recent culture wars. Curiously underplayed, to my mind, is Southern Baptist history in particular. I say "curiously" given Leonard's preeminence as a cultural interpreter of Southern Baptists. I say "underplayed" given that Baptists reached a predominance in the South, among both whites and blacks, that they did not achieve elsewhere to the same degree. This is an encyclopedic and reference tool sort of book, not a strongly interpretive argument and analysis, but I expected a greater degree of focus on Baptists in the region of the United States where, unarguably, they have played a more significant role than anywhere else.

Baptists appear here as a kind of case study in miniature of some of the broader themes and paradoxes of American Protestant history. Baptist theology is a varied as could possibly be imagined within a generally evangelical framework--ranging from the nearly Universalist "No-Hellers" of Appalachia to the "Hell-for-Just-About-Everyone-ers"of the Primitive and "Two-Seed in the Spirit" varieties, to just about every position on the Calvinist-Arminian spectrum in between for the majority of American Baptists. On questions of social policy, politics, gender, and race, Baptists may be found everywhere on a continuum from, say, proslavery theorist Thornton Stringfellow and racist demagogue Strom Thurmond (misspelled in the book), to social gospel pioneer Walter Rauschenbusch, to civil rights activist Jesse Jackson, to black spiritual earth mother Maya Angelou. What defines Baptist history--and, arguably, all of Protestant history--is the constant tension between "conversionist particularlism and pluralistic libertarianism" (p. 253). Of American thought on ethnicity, the historian David Hollinger once asked, "How wide the circle of we?" Baptists constantly ask the same question and redefine their answers, contingent in part on nearly universal Baptist themes of congregational democracy and soul liberty but also on the threads of associationalism and evangelical standards of sin, redemption, and conversion.

For the full text, click here.

Power, Faith, Fantasy

PAUL HARVEY

No, this is not a blog entry about my classroom teaching style or post-up game. Rather, just a brief reference to an excellent review of Michael B. Oren, Power, Faith, Fantasy: America in the Middle East, 1776 to the Present. A couple of relevant passages for readers of this blog:

The conflict with the Barbary states was about power, the first factor in Oren's epitome of US involvement in the Middle East. The second factor is faith, and is exemplified in the activities of American missionaries in the region. Evangelical Protestants could not fail to be interested in the fate of Palestine, and their interest was enhanced by the prevalence of Restorationism, that doctrine which held that the Second Coming of Christ must be preceded by the restoration of the Jews to Palestine. American missionaries, however, found it difficult to establish themselves in Palestine or to accomplish much in the way of conversion.

The reviewer finds the work diverting to read, but criticizes the work for exaggerating America's influence on the region, and vice versa, and wonders why the author

says little about the Iraq war and does not explain the great mystery of how a so-called war against (Islamic) terror had as its centrepiece the destruction of one of the principal secular barriers to its spread.

A good question indeed -- but there are dots to be connected here from the first quotation above to the second, and in the rhetoric of crusade which pervaded the earliest phase of the war.

You Say Goodbye, I Say Hello

PAUL HARVEY

Spiritual Politics, from the Greenberg Center, covers the latest developments on religion and the presidential race. Mitt says goodbye (with blasts such as "The attack on religion and faith is no less relentless" -- umm, no less relentless than what, exactly?), and Huck says hello, hello hello. Meanwhile, Obama's got a Catholic problem, and Dobson blasts McCain (while also taking a shot at Obama's and Clinton's "anti-family policy positions" -- I guess wanting more families to be able actually to have health insurance is anti-family -- or something. Whatever).

LGBT Religious History Award

PAUL HARVEY

From my friend Judith Weisenfeld of Princeton University, author of the wonderful book Hollywood Be Thy Name: African American Religion in American Film, 1929-1949 (University of California Press, 2007):

I thought your readers might be interested in this news item about the LGBT Religious History Archives Network religious history award and in submitting for next year's award.

Our blog contributing editor, the esteemed Kathryn Lofton, was a previous winner of this award. Read her presentation "Finding a Queer Fundamentalism" here.

Here's the specifics for the competition:

2008-09 Submissions Guidelines

In order to promote scholarship in LGBT studies in religious history, the LGBT Religious Archives Network invites submissions for its annual LGBT Religious History Award. To be eligible, papers must be in English, doubled-spaced, and between 15 and 35 pages in length; must demonstrate original research using generally accepted historical methods; and must focus on a topic relevant to the study of LGBT religious history. Up to two submissions per author will be accepted in any given year. Both unpublished and published papers are eligible, provided the latter have been published since January 1, 2007.

Papers are welcome from all scholars in the field, including established and junior scholars, independent scholars (those without academic affiliation), and graduate and undergraduate students. All papers will be evaluated according to the same criteria, but if the number of student submissions is sufficient, the jury may consider awarding a separate Student Award for that year’s competition.

Papers can be submitted either by mail or electronic delivery. Submissions must be postmarked or sent electronically by Friday, October 17, 2008.

MAILED submissions should include this submissions form (print and complete) and five (5) copies of your manuscript. Send to: LGBT-RAN Award for Papers, c/o Chicago Theological Seminary 5757 S. University Avenue, Chicago, IL 60637.

ELECTRONIC submissions can be sent in .pdf, .doc, .rtf, or .wpd formats. Complete this electronic submissions form and attach the file with your paper.

The LGBT Religious History Award uses a blind review process. In preparing your manuscript, do not include any information which could reveal your identity or that of your co-authors. The title section and the page headers/footers of your paper should not contain any author names or affiliations. In the body of your submission, please try to eliminate all direct references to your own previous work. Make your submission as anonymous as possible. Your assistance is important in order to maintain a fair, blind reviewing process.

The winning paper will receive a $500 prize.

Teaching Religion in America, from the OAH

Teaching Religion in America
by John Turner

This month's OAH Magazine of History is dedicated to "Teaching Religion in America." Most of the magazine is not available without a subscription, but you can see the table of contents and access an introduction and several primary source documents. Many departmental offices or libraries will have a copy for interested seekers.

First off, what an enlightened choice of topics!

The articles place a very strong emphasis on religious diversity throughout American History, perhaps slighting themes of Protestant establishment or Protestantism more generally. But that's quibbling. In particular, classroom instructors will find the "teaching resources" most useful, including links to a veritable wealth of primary documents. [These "teaching resource" sections are another good reminder that we need not always reinvent the wheel when planning class session!].

On another topic, progressive evangelicalism received the imprimatur of the New York Times's Nicholas Kristof (from last Sunday).

Why I Teach American History

BY JOHN FEA

Why do I teach American religious history? This is a tough question to answer since I do not teach a specific course on the subject. (American religious history at Messiah College is taught by my colleagues in the religion department). I have always preferred to think of myself as an early American historian whose work focuses on religion, so I hope readers will not mind if I tackle the original meme: Why do you teach American history?” Here are three random thoughts:

Teachers of American history usually do not have to start from scratch. Since most of the students I teach know something about American history (granted, I teach mostly white middle-class students), my lectures and discussions do not always need to engage in the preliminary work of identifying basic facts as much as my colleagues who teach world history, a subject that is largely unknown to my students. Most of my students know something about (or at least think they know something about) George Washington or Abraham Lincoln or Ben Franklin or democracy or capitalism, etc… Since many of them share a very basic common narrative I can spend more time on the work of interpretation, conversation, and debunking.

History offers a rebuke to our collective narcissism. Christopher Lasch’s scathing critique of American culture—The Culture of Narcissism—is probably more relevant today than it was when it first appeared in 1979 and became an important influence on Jimmy Carter’s famous “malaise" speech. History serves as an antidote to our innate desire to think we are dealing with issues and problems that no other society has had to confront. And when we become aware that we are part of a larger human story we are not only humbled, but we gain a much richer and more thoughtful response to contemporary issues. We may even get inspired to become agents of social change.

Historical thinking instills virtue. In his award winning book Historical Thinking and Other Unnatural Acts, Stanford education professor Sam Wineburg suggests that history “holds the potential, only partly realized, of humanizing us in ways offered by few other areas in the school curriculum.” In every encounter with the past, he argues, there exists a “tension between the familiar and the strange, between feelings of proximity and feelings of distance in relation to the people we seek to understand.” Historical thinking forces students to encounter the past on its own terms and avoid the temptation of pillaging the past in search of examples that support their view of current events. An honest encounter with the past instills in students the virtues of hospitality and empathy. It forces them to understand people who they would not keep company with in their everyday lives. It teaches them what it has meant and what it means to be human in this world. It sharpens judgment and produces wisdom. As Wineburg puts it, “Of the subjects in the secular curriculum, it (history) is the best at teaching those virtues once reserved for theology—humility in the face of our limited ability to know, and awe in the face of the expanse of human history.”

I am sure I could come up with some more reasons for why I teach American history, but these are the ideas that are at the core of my vocation.