Confused? I'm following-up on this post, which was generated by this one, which is probably where you should start.
Then let us compare mythologies
I have learned my elaborate lie . . .
I think I'm like most people -- give me a good story peppered with flashy spectacle, and I will be your willing captive.
So here we've got an androgynous figure flying in to sing some songs and do a little dance . . . turns out she's a lovely young Lady! . . . she does her thing whilst two towers burn and a bunch of fallen angels jig around her -- well brother, I am there! In fact, give me more fallen angels (please)!
|Angels: check. 1000 pts-o-light: check. Football helmet ... football helmet??|
Does the possibility that this might just be a celebration of Lucifer's triumphant rebellion over Jehovah's benevolent, orderly reign bother you? I'm not gonna lie -- it bothers me, just a bit.
But you've got to admit: that is one great story.
And if you're the sort that's called out Gaga, Bey and Katy on this business, and it makes you seethe to see them carry on so, cogitate on this: the fact that you've revealed the narrative bones to the rest of us rubes doesn't alter its intrinsic appeal in the slightest. You can urge us to turn away, you can tell your kid she won't be listening to any more Gaga or Bey in this house! but you have done nothing to check the influence of this story -- quite the opposite.
If you want to defeat this story, there's only one way to do it: come up with a better one.
But you can't.
Because the Reformation.
|"'Better story'? Um, 'kay ... Satan loses?"|
Five hundred years of Protestant "Reformation" and what've we got? Pilgrim's Progress and Narnia. Maybe Blake, but that's different (he's closer to Gaga, for one thing).
|"Angels, lights ... where's my football helmet?"|
Yep: Bunyan and Lewis. One millimeter to the left or right of these titans and you've settled squarely into kitsch -- which we've got a shit-tonne of, lemme tell you. When it comes to cultural content Anabaptists and the rest of our Reformational ilk are still chimps puzzling over the bone-pile.
Sola scriptura, baby -- that's where prideful thinking lands you.
Five hundred years of majoring in the minors.