The shallow end, or why religious fundamentalism crushes creativity

There’s an idiom I especially love: “Religion is like the public pool: Most of the noise comes from the shallow end.” In hearing the description of the shallow end, I immediately think of the Religious Right. By this, I don’t mean religious people who happen to also vote Republican. I mean a particular and highly recognizable subset of the pious crowd: Those who are aggressively anti-gay, anti-sex (except in very specific, procreative circumstances), and anti-science. Those who believe anyone with a different outlook, even within their own religion, is going to hell. Those who burn Harry Potter books and believe Halloween and rock music are genuine threats to society. Those who want to instill their beliefs through law as a theocracy. Not all Republicans have this perspective by any means, nor do all who identify with a religion. But those who adhere to this worldview almost always merge it with conservative politics.

This group insists that anyone who rejects religion does so out of a reluctance to be good. The truth is that many reject religion because this boisterous and seemingly all-pervading subset clings to such an arbitrary definition of “good.” They think you can’t be good if you enjoy secular entertainment. They say your goodness is defined by dressing conservatively, believing the “right” theological statements, trying to convert others to your religion, avoiding all manner of drugs and alcohol, never swearing or enjoying more ribald humor, and avoiding sex before marriage (especially if you’re a woman). To me, and to others who cannot relate to this mindset, these factors have nothing to do with your goodness or worth as a person.

I got into Christianity for a while in my early twenties and tried to fit into the evangelical mold, but I always felt like an unwelcome outlier. This was because I’m bisexual and don’t feel a need to apologize for it; because I do not believe in hell and see it as an abhorrent concept which is antithetical to any kind of a loving god; because I didn’t see anything wrong with living or sleeping with my husband before we were married, nor with getting drunk or smoking a bowl once in a while; and because I love fantasy and punk rock and just about any alternative scene. This left me as a misfit who was seen as “double minded” and hellbound. I think that any god that exists could not possibly be so petty, like a popular kid ousting someone from their lunch table. Those who argue with that reasoning say, “No, God accepts everyone as long as they meet his standards!” But the whole mentality of “I love you the way you are, now change!” makes no sense.

The conservative evangelical subculture is particularly oppressive for creative people. They seem inherently hostile to artists, whether our drive manifests in music, visual art, or writing. Sure, the Religious Right will utilize those skills when they can be used to promote their perspective, but any coloring outside those lines is looked at askance. They’re quick to interpret artistic works as “witchcraft.” They see co-creators as God’s competition, which is why they demand that you credit all your work to their god. They especially see secular fantasy and mythology as competition for their own lore. People of this group will tell you they’re “sheparding” (ie: micromanaging) you for your own good, but it’s really out of self-interest or a commitment to preserving the status quo. Many of them don’t realize these motives, even when they’re acting on them.
           They rule you with an iron fist hidden inside a plush glove.

Our Creations, Ourselves

What we create is often an extension of ourselves, so destroying a person's work could be seen almost as an act of violence against them. This raises some odd questions, like does it count as a form of symbolic cannibalism to eat a meal that somebody else cooked? (Not that this should ever stop someone from eating. It's just food for thought.) This isn't meant to say that property is on par with life, or that nothing that's been built should ever be dismantled. But where do we end and our creations begin? I think this is worth examining. Some people take the concept too far in viewing their children, the people they've formed, as a part of themselves to a point where they don't want their kids to have free will. Others define their own value completely by what they've made, which can lead them to feel worthless if they're unhappy with a project. There has to be a middle ground in which we value our creations but are able to separate ourselves from them to a certain degree and say, "This may be an extension of me, but it doesn't encompass me." And in turn, we apply the same standards to others.

Consider the selfie

A lot of people critique the trend (or, rather, abundance) of selfies. I understand that it seems narcissistic, but I don't think that's the root of the criticism. After all, plenty of high art is basically naval gazing, but with a veil of sophistication that makes people afraid to call it that, lest anyone think they don't "get it." Selfies are mocked because the self focus is so honest. Egocentrism is forgivable as long as you make some attempt at irony or try to be subtle. But essentially, that's like taking a selfie while wearing a mask.

If you think about it, all good art contains the artist. It may not be entirely a self portrait, but you can see its creator within it. Taking photos of other people or doing projects that focus on them is honorable and interesting. All the same, it's not really accurate to claim that it's separate from its maker, or that the artist is not at least partly seeking to leave their own mark in addition to publicizing their theme. In the end, every person who sings or writes or films or plays or draws anything is joining hands with all the other creators and their subjects in calling out into the distance, "We are here. Don't forget us."

And it's okay. We can acknowledge that.