Gimmie that old time religion

The November 12 Newsday has an article by a psychologist examing the appeal of Rush Limbaugh for his listeners, arguing it's the simplicity of his message that's the key:

Such concreteness and black-and-white certitude is psychologically appealing to a number of people. In an increasingly complicated world that presents the richness but also the challenges of all kinds of diversity, such a clear-cut gospel can seem like good news indeed.

I'm reminded of how years ago, in various socially stressful times, I sort of wistfully wished I could be a conservative because it would be so "easy." I knew I couldn't do it, but I could clearly see the appeal. I dealt with that at a moderate length just about 10 years ago now (November 29, 1993, to be exact) in a letter to a friend in the UK. It arose, curiously enough, out of some speculation about "the historical Jesus ... the real living person," and whether he really intended to establish a new religion in which he was the Savior. Here comes another long quote from my old writings:

Even through the partisan, pro-divinity filter of the Gospels, it seems clear (to me) that the answer to those questions about Jesus' view of himself and his work is no. He didn't see himself as the "Christ," but rather as an instrument to bring about God's kingdom. Indeed, he said himself that he did not intend to destroy the Judaic law, but to fulfill it. What he believed and taught was the necessity to prepare the way for the final days by returning to a purer form of Judaism, arguing that the priests and pharisees and Sadducees had (in their different ways) perverted it out of their own vanity and pride.

There is in that a fascinating parallel with the puritans of 16th and 17th century England, who railed against the hierarchy of the Church of England, against the 'grand ceremonies' and rites and vestments, and urged a "return" to a "purer" form of Christianity (thus the insulting appellation "Puritan") in preparation for (and, for many, anticipation of) the predicted second coming of Jesus - a tradition renewed of late (i.e., the last few decades - we are talking historical time here) in the growth of independent evangelical churches.

And, in its own way, the current political cries for "traditional values" echo that same theme: The old ways and days, so many believe, were simpler, not so complicated, purer, better, closer to some ultimate truth which we in our pride, our commitment to the pleasures of technology or the earth or (usually) the flesh have forgotten. Conservatives, right-wing ministers, and even those who talk of the wisdom and mysterious technologies of "ancient civilizations" are far more nostalgic than the most cliched 45-year old hippie in sandals and love beads. Whenever the present looks stressful and the future doubtful, there are those who find their security in a dimly recalled and largely imaginary past. Change is frightening to many (fear of change being the one common psychological thread across classes and ages among people who call themselves "conservative") and history has the virtue of being - or, more properly, seeming - sure.

Are we really to think, for example, that it's coincidence that the right wing gained strength in the wake of the '60s, which challenged previously "self-evident" beliefs on an unprecedented scope and demanded people rely on their own wits to judge moral and ethical questions? Are we likewise to think it coincidence, to return to an earlier theme, that puritanism gained strength and adherents during a time when not even one but two supernovas visible in broad daylight occurred (1572 and 1604), so thoroughly shattering the centuries-old and blindly accepted Aristotelian notion that the heavens were eternal and unchanging that even the Catholic church hierarchy couldn't maintain it? I've for a long time argued that the great emotional attraction of conservatism in all its forms is its certainty: You don't have to decide if something is fair or unfair, right or wrong, good or bad. You just have to know what someone else told you. It's already been decided. The doubt, the fear, the questions, the responsibility are all gone. The power of David Koresh was rooted in the emotional desperation of his followers: It wasn't his theology, which, from what I know of it, was infantile, but his certainty that captured their hearts, their minds, and ultimately their wills.

Finally, I'm also reminded of Alvin Toffler writing in Future Shock over 30 years ago that one of the real problems our society would face in the coming years was not that of too few choices but of too many, of overwhelming complexity that many would not be able to handle. At the time, it was a controversial argument. Now, it seems right on.

Important note: I was tipped to the article by This Modern World, one of my favorite blogs, which in turns credits Buzzflash, another great source of news for those who want to reach beyond the network pap and which has an email update service for which you can sign up on its home page.