"My point is not that everything is bad, but that everything is dangerous, which is not exactly the same as bad. If everything is dangerous, then we always have something to do. So my position leads not to apathy, but to hyper—and pessimistic—activism." *Michel Foucault, Interview (1983).
"They say if you're scared, go to church / But remember: He knows the Bible, too." **Kendrick Lamar, To Pimp a Butterfly (2015).
For readers of this blog who don't live in Indiana: congratulations on making intelligent life choices.
The rest of you are already well aware of how last week our governor proved that having white hair does not make one wise. Or smart. Here's a pic of the man himself, no doubt already pondering how to formalize discrimination and still get all that really good NCAA and convention cheddar into Indianapolis.
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| "Wonder if they'll let me play Roger Sterling in the stage version of Mad Men..." |
I feel compelled to write about the so-called "Religious Freedom Restoration Act" because, well, it's damned important. Plus, the RFRA and its embarrassing backlash have already affected—and will continue to affect—the people of this state in decidedly negative ways. (Even Pence, in his profound, smug ignorance, seems to just now recognize this fact. Too bad it didn't hit him a week earlier.)
Having not been a Hoosier from birth, on most days I feel pretty unsure about this whole "no ocean/super cold winter"-thing, but this is the place I currently call home. The potential implications of this dumb law have me feeling both embarrassed at my adopted state and, at the same time, even more committed to addressing the potential implications of this nonsense.
I'm also writing about RFRA because the Internet, as we're constantly reminded, has a very long memory. In 50 years, when historians of American politics have successfully narrativized and packaged this confused, anxious era of ours into a clear-eyed explanation of how things really were, yes, okay, I admit it. I want the great grand God of historical memory to find my name on the right side of that big ol' book.
Look at it this way: opponents of the Civil Rights movement were plentiful in 1965, and they didn't all die of lung cancer or hepatitis of the brain. And even if most of 'em are dead now, that's still a really big slice of American history during which these racists walked and talked among us. (In any case, well after the point at which virtually everyone in America decided that institutionalized racism was wrong.)
My first goal in this multi-part essay is to run down my take on the RFRA. This is one private citizen's educated opinion: nothing more, nothing less. It is also a work of creative nonfiction published on a blog format, so exaggerations, madcap characterizations, and random flights of fancy are not merely acceptable; they are essential to the genre. (Lest Chuck Klosterman come to my house and kick my ass for drill.)
My second goal, closely-related to the first, is to create a bit of a "lit review" of relevant links and articles. Think of it as a little research repository should anyone be interested in, say, using the RFRA as an exploratory issue in a political science, history, writing, or some other class that demands critical thinking about hard problems.
Let's begin by slicing up the issue into its constituent facets.
Facet #1: The law is designed to solve a problem that simply doesn't exist. (Or, it exists only as a paranoid figment among the Right, which amounts to the same thing.) Spend a leisurely afternoon reading conversations on social media, and you'll encounter endless variations of the following template:
Critic of RFRA: "This is an outrage! Religion has no role in government, the Constitution says so, equality!, 'Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere!' Etc."
Proponent of RFRA: "Okay, well, what if say, a man, a dog, and mosquito try to order a pizza at a... Besides, 13 states already have similar laws, and...guess what? Bill Clinton signed the same thing into law way back in 1993! (Intentionally misleading and untrue, by the way, as documented carefully here, here, and here.) Clinton! Clinton! Clinton! (Ever notice how conservatives love to cite conservative-y things that Bill Clinton did 22 years ago?) Also, there's no protected status for gays in Indiana (also not entirely true, Indy has had a law protecting gays for almost a decade.)"
And that's just it. What if's...are all anyone can seem to muster at this point because there simply haven't been enough real cases in which a business owner felt compelled to offer service to someone who makes them question their religion. (If you stop and think about it for a second, how flimsy must be your religious conviction if the very presence of cake and gays make you question it?) So, we're left with these fantastical "what if" scenarios, as in this recent story involving a family-run pizza place in Michiana.
Last week, Memories Pizza was a viable business; within hours of hypothesizing to a local TV news crew about denying service to a (again, hypothetical) gay couple who (hypothetically) would order pizza (hypothetically, from a place called "Memories") for their (hypothetical) reception (an excellent choice for wedding food, I might add), Crystal O'Connor's restaurant is itself now but a distant memory.
God may work in mysterious ways, but karma is much more straightforward. It took mere days for the Internet to close gay-baiting Memories Pizza in Walkerton, Indiana. (Read about the whole sleazy and ill-timed display of bigotry here in this write-up from The Washington Post.)
No, the RFRA isn't designed to protect anyone. It's a shallow, shameless political maneuver on the part of Pence, whose administration is so politically tone-deaf as to not to hear the changing tune of American politics. Two bits of free advice, Mr. Pence: one, young people, massive corporations, and, yes, even the moneyed elites are okay with gay. Two, the Christian Right simply doesn't have the might that it had in 2008, and even then they couldn't shove Sarah Palin down our throats, try as they did. Perhaps it's time for a shift in political strategy, like running for a spot on the PTA or maybe joining the circus.
Facet #2 (closely related to Facet #1): American Christians, particularly those of the more conservative or evangelical persuasion, feel as though they are a persecuted minority in America. (And gay people just make them feel all icky inside.)
I know, I know. It doesn't make sense to me either, what with all the young black men being gunned down by cops and women being told when, how, and under what conditions they can report sexual assault, but there you have it. The only way I can begin to rationalize or explain this bizarre contradiction is to fall back on my upbringing in the evangelical church. But I like to think that that fact gives me some insight into the contemporary Christian mindset. Here's my best guess.
No less a critical thinker than Nietzsche constantly and consistently railed against the Christianity of his day because he saw it as ultimately a life-denying force in the world. Despite what most people think, Nietzsche was more or less cool with the historical Jesus as well as with the Jesus of the Gospels. (Notably, until he was six or seven years old, Nietzsche was convinced he would become a Lutheran minister; I suspect he just outgrew it.)
Nietzsche has several positive things to say about Jesus, and on the whole he found him an innovative thinker for his time. (At the very least, he placed Jesus and Socrates on the same plane of significance.)
But what Nietzsche could not abide was the way that the teachings of Christ—love your neighbor as you love yourself, don't judge people, take care of those who have less than you, be good to children and animals and the environment, and so forth—had hardened over time into (1) a sort of cudgel with which to beat people over the head and (2) an excuse to bury one's own head in the sand and deny (rather than affirm) the sheer randomness, exhilaration, and splendor of existence.
Nietzsche also wasn't a big fan of the whole "meekness" thing, since this he saw as the product not of a superior morality or selflessness but as a sort of clever end-run around the whole life-affirming, "be the best human you can be"-angle, which was pretty important to him and his larger philosophy of (a) will to power. The "humble" man, in other words, isn't humble because he is of a better, sturdier moral fiber or temperament. It's because he's a coward. The "meekness" comes from fear, a fear born of resentment stemming from his own cowardice and lack. (The same goes for the humble woman, too, of course.)
So, contrary to what everyone thinks, Nietzsche isn't the thinker of doom, gloom, and nihilism (for Nietzsche, Jesus is), but of affirmation. You are enough. Go out and live.
Okay, to bring this back to RFRA and contemporary Christianity requires one more step. Fear and its close cousin, resentment, do not form a good basis from which to act...or think, for that matter. And no matter what else you can say about it, that's precisely what the RFRA is based in—fear. Fear of the unknown (What if...?), fear of the Other (gays, lesbians, transgender people, etc.), fear of being passed over by history and time, fear of being old and irrelevant.
Some of these fears are universal. If Christians were more open and, frankly, honest about what it is in contemporary life that scares them, then we might just have ourselves a starting point for authentic, productive discussion, rather than just more fear and fear-mongering. []
Next week's "Second Slice" will cover the delicious irony at the heart of all of this mess: when the fiscal conservatism of Indiana's business elite meets religious fundamentalism. (Hint: it's not good for bidness.)
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