When religious television replaces church

In William Gibson's novel Virtual Light, a character named Sublett is part of an unusual religion based on the idea that worshippers can feel God's presence by watching movies, that he is in the background. As a result, worshipping consists mostly of obsessively watching television. "These people figured video was the Lord's preferred means of communicating, the screen itself a kind of perpetually burning bush. "He's in the de-tails,' Sublett had said once. "You gotta watch for Him close.'"

As with much science fiction, the future is now. Gibson himself has said that predicting the future is a matter of staring at the present and trying not to blink. I was reminded of all this when I read a two-part Los Angeles Times feature on the Trinity Broadcasting Network and its owner, Pastor Paul Crouch. The network is a giant among TV ministries, collecting $120 million a year from its viewers. Crouch travels the country in a private jet owned by the network. Yet during every Praise-a-Thon, pastors frame the fundraising as absolutely necessary to keep TBN on the air for another year. This is, of course, ridiculous, but apparently quite effective.

TBN, as is common with much of its televangelical ilk, is predicated on the so-called prosperity gospel, the idea that because God wants to see Christians prosper, asking for financial benefits is fine and dandy. According to the LA Times, Crouch has asked, "If my heart really, honestly desires a nice Cadillac, ... would there be something terribly wrong with me saying, "Lord, it is the desire of my heart to have a nice car ... and I'll use it for your glory'? I think I could do that, and in time, as I walked in obedience with God, I believe I'd have it." Another pastor on the channel has said that "Jesus wore designer clothes. I mean, you didn't get the stuff he wore off a rack. ..."

In this manner, donating to TBN isn't just something you do because you believe in it -- it's really a wise investment. Crouch often reads testimonials from viewers who have donated and who then promptly received great financial windfalls. Who wants to wait to be rewarded in Heaven when you can be rewarded on Earth? God will "give you thousands, hundreds of thousands," Crouch told viewers during a telethon. "He'll give millions and billions of dollars."

Surreal. But, of course, it is not surreal to the five million Americans who tune in daily.

TBN goes beyond the usual disconnect between certain biblical passages ("You cannot serve both God and money," "Sell all you have and give it to the poor") and the aggressive fundraising of televangalism. It doesn't surprise me that the Crouch often makes lavish purchases on TBN credit cards, or that there are allegations of sexual indiscretions and subsequent hush money. It doesn't surprise me that he has built an empire on the tidbits many poor viewers manage to shave off their disability checks each month and send in. It doesn't surprise me that, despite this, he can sleep at night, and probably sleeps quite well.

What surprises me is that, for many of TBN's five million viewers, the channel appears to replace church in their lives. And why not? What's the point of spending the effort to leave the comfort of your living room when you can have the Word and the glory piped in through your television? "I don't go to church. ... I turn the TV on and it's right there," says one viewer in the LA Times story. Another claims to watch the network 18 hours a day.

When framed in the terms of Harvard sociologist Robert Putnam's influential book Bowling Alone, about the death of the "third place" (as in, not work but not home) in American life, this shift is compelling. Historically, churchgoing has not just been a means to worship, but a way to interact with the community and build and maintain social capital. Also, regular churchgoing is generally a fairly accurate predictor of which way people will vote in a presidential election. While church attendance received a brief spike after Sept. 11, it did not last. According to The Washington Times (which is itself owned by a rather esoteric religious group), it's now around 42 percent. The University of Chicago's National Opinion Research Center puts it at 30 percent.

Can religious television fulfill the social functions of the church in American life? Probably not, but it may replace them anyway. Will we eventually see more Christian denominations, not Lutherans or Baptists but Robertsons and Grahams? The mind reels. Of course, with Billy Graham long credited by President Bush as the man who "planted the mustard seed" (of faith, I guess) in him, evangelicals have never been closer to the gilded halls of power in Washington.

Interestingly enough, Gibson's Virtual Light was written in 1993. But it's set in 2005.

Eliot Sherman is a senior English major from Philadelphia and editorial page editor of The Daily Pennsylvanian. Diary of a Madman normally appears on Thursdays.

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