Classical Music Purists and Fundamentalists
Have you ever met someone who loves classical music in a really annoying way? I’m talking about the kind of purist who sincerely believes that all “real” music must sound like it was composed by a long-dead European male.
This mentality raises an inescapable question: if classical music is so much better than any other type of music, then why does it seem to be connecting with fewer and fewer people as time goes on?
The purist might resist this cognitive dissonance by saying to herself, “People who don’t love classical music need to accommodate themselves to the sensibilities and sophistication of this genre.” Or maybe she thinks, “Everyone would love classical music if they weren’t corrupted by today’s society.”
The problem is with everyone else. In this way, the smug purist goes on loving their music and waiting, perhaps forever, for their unsophisticated peasant friends to come around. The thought that classical music might need, in some sense, to be altered in order to connect with life in today’s world is anathema; it threatens the purity of the one true musical expression.
(Disclaimer: Of course, I’m not talking about everyone who loves classical music. Like any genre of music, classical music has fans who are happy to enjoy music they love without insisting that everyone else must like it too.)
There’s a kind of Christian fundamentalism that mirrors pretentious classical music lovers, and it can be found outside of churches and denominations that identify themselves as fundamentalists. Like classical music purists, these Christians insist that their content, developed primarily by white European dudes on this side of the 11th Century, is pure and unalterable, regardless of context.
The message of Christian purists is often a gospel that frees its believers from guilt, fear of damnation, and oppression by the moralistic “law.” That sort of gospel is very powerful and liberating for those who grew up in Reformation-era Europe back in the 1500’s and in today’s churches that are still saturated in Reformation theology. But what about people who weren’t raised in fear- and guilt-inducing fundamentalism? Imagine the fundamentalist’s shock when she tells her secular neighbor, “Don’t worry! You don’t have to go to hell! There’s a way to stop feeling so guilty about your endless moral failings!” and receives a confused look or a shrug in response.
Like the classical musician purist, the fundamentalist will likely blame the problem on everyone else. Creative ways of bringing old insights to bear on new situations will be seen as a threat, a violation of the pure Christian gospel. Outsiders are expected to accommodate themselves to the sensibilities and dynamics of the in-group, and insiders continue to wonder why their supposedly superior and universal content increasingly falls on deaf ears.
A Disease and A Cure
Imagine that a scientist discovers a rare, painful disease in a remote African village. The scientist studies away and develops a cure to that disease. He brings his cure to the village, stamps out the disease once and for all, and becomes a local hero. But the scientist, hoping for even more glory, finds a way to unleash the rare disease across Europe, infecting millions. Expecting to become an international hero, he promptly distributes his cure, and reverses the disease’s spread. Yet when the public finds out that the scientist was behind the initial outbreak, the scientist is painted as a deluded villain, not a savior.
When fundamentalists are confronted by the indifference of outsiders to the gospel of guilt-dissolution and afterlife security, some react like the classical music purists, simply waiting for the outsiders to come around. Others react like the deluded scientist: knowing a cure (gospel) to a certain disease (guilt and fear of Hell), they attempt to spread their disease to everyone else. These fundamentalists will do their best to make everyone feel guilty enough to appreciate the good news. Should we be surprised that Christians come off as judgmental to those outside of our club?
How we can move forward?
First of all, the obsession with a pure and unchangeable Christian message, gospel, beliefs, etc. could probably be toned down. If Jesus was so concerned with avoiding “corruption” or “compromise,” he wouldn’t have summed up the law in the commands “love God” and “love your neighbor as yourself”; Pharisees had been saying that long before Jesus came onto the scene. If our own doubts aren’t enough to force us to re-interpret our beliefs with creativity and experimentation, then perhaps the fear of being an annoying snob can give us the push we need.
Secondly, we should start listening: listening to new interpretations of the Bible, listening to our tradition, listening to God through spiritual practices, and especially listening to our neighbors. If God has something to say to our neighbors, and if God really loves everyone, then we should expect God to have something helpful to say about the actual problems that our neighbors are already facing. How can we hear God’s answer if we don’t notice our neighbors’ problems? How can we notice their problems if we insist on spreading our own?