The Chosen: Breaking Stereotypes and Stained Glass Windows, Part II

Introduction

How does one fallacy reproduce itself many times over? When Dallas Jenkins links stereotypes of Jesus with "statues and stained glass windows," he not only begs the question by basing his claim on untested assumptions, he creates a false analogy between stereotypes and stained glass windows, presumably to prejudice his audience in favor of his show. In this, he comes dangerously close to relying on the propaganda device known as dysphemism by linking something beautiful and artistic--stained glass windows--with something sinister and destructive--stereotypes. The fact that he cites stained glass windows as presenting merely idealized portrayals of Christ, after linking those windows with stereotypes, effectively also minimizes idealized portrayals as stereotypes. In almost a mathematical fallacy saying a = b = c, Jenkins seems to be saying that stained glass windows equal idealization which equals stereotypes. Jenkins' math, requiring a gross oversimplification of all three components of his equation, not only results in false equivalency of three very different things--only one of which is truly negative, it also doesn't "add up," given his own dependence upon two-dimensional art and stereotypes. But that doesn't stop Jenkins from billing his show as the antidote to hundreds of years of stereotypes of Jesus developed, apparently, from centuries of sacred art.

At the very least, Jenkins' assumptions and the fallacies they produce demand confrontation. The questions they raise require not only clear articulation but timely answers because an entire culture's conception of Jesus would appear to be at stake. If we are to see any idealistic portrayal of Jesus as a stereotype, we have nothing left but to see Jesus exactly as Jenkins wants us to see Him--as "more human," more approachable, and, rather obviously, more likeable. Jenkins would argue that this is the "Jesus" our culture needs to see in order to place faith in Him. But he reverses the historical problem of the ages by making belief in Jesus' humanity the primary requirement for salvation, when no one, not even most atheists, doubt that Jesus was a real human being.

Jenkins' straw man runs the very real risk of becoming a scarecrow driving away genuine faith in Christ the Son of God. Our world needs to believe, not what Jenkins decides, but what Scripture commands: that Jesus Christ is Lord. But they will not reach this belief by negating idealized conceptions of Jesus as stereotypes. Jenkins would have his audience caught into a web of fiction that ultimately drags them into the postmodern assumption that we can invent our own truth and define our own authenticity. In creating The Chosen as 95% fictional backstory and dialogue based on 5% truth, an admission Jenkins makes himself numerous times, and then intending this 5% fiction to counteract hundreds of years of ideas perpetuated in stained glass windows, Jenkins has plopped an open can of wriggling questions onto the theological countertop.

Worm Number One

Worm number one is the false dichotomy Jenkins assumes between idealism and realism. By not defining idealism in artistic terms, Jenkins allows his viewers to associate what is "idealistic" with what is untrue, especially since he contrasts this term with what is "realistic," or "true." This is how Jenkins succeeds in creating an association between what is "idealistic" and what is stereotypical. But even stereotypes cannot be dismissed as entirely untrue or unrealistic. Stereotypes represent ideas that are often but not always true. But how was Jesus "often but not always" ideal or perfect? Jenkins' word associations fall apart like word salad upon examination. The term "idealistic" used in its proper context to describe a work of art such as a stained glass window points to neither what is unrealistic nor untrue but to what is perfect and complete. The term as applied to a stained glass window depicting Christ speaks to a portrayal of His divine glory, transcendence, and perfection. But how could anyone say any of this is either unrealistic or untrue? But Jenkins' fans aren't going behind him and mopping up his logical spills.

But the truth is that we must first see Jesus in this manner even to bother depicting His humanity. We cannot choose between His divinity or His humanity, as if these are merely "halves" of the equation, or even as if they are somehow contradictory or mutually exclusive. That is, we cannot do this without embracing several heresies. Jenkins would argue that the art in stained glass windows depicts Jesus only as transcendent or "idealistic," but this is simply not so. Common and even famous depictions of Christ across the centuries portray Him in His varied roles as Shepherd, Teacher, Coming King, and Judge. They also portray Him often as loving the little children, performing miracles, saving people in distress, and dying for all of humanity on the Cross. So Jenkins' argument goes in circles because if we are to see all of these portrayals as "idealistic" stereotypes, then it follows that these depictions are not "realistic" or real, according to Jenkins. If they are not real but are instead stereotypes, they are not true, or at least not true all the time. But this is impossible.

In a matter of seconds, anyone who knows Jesus at all knows that there is nothing about Jesus that is not ideal and that there is no ideal about Him that is not realistic and, therefore, true. If Jenkins would bother to distinguish those sometimes farfetched medieval depictions of Jesus that did not come from The Gospels from those idealistic portrayals that did, that alone might be helpful. But the issue even there isn't that Jesus couldn't have done those things; the issue is that those "things"--such as Jesus performing miracles as a child--didn't happen that we know of. But to medieval audiences at the time, those things apparently seemed "plausible," even when they represented something as strange as Jesus emerging from a rose. But doesn't that sound familiar--presenting fiction that seems "plausible"? Who is to say that some day Jenkins' fiction in creating his show will not be eyed as farfetched as some of the images found in stained glass windows? But Jenkins has thrown out the ideal "baby" with the farfetched bathwater and has, with one fling of his hand, canceled out the entire medieval artistic purpose to depict Christ as supernatural.

Worm Number Two

If worm number one is the false dichotomy Jenkins assumes between idealism and realism, worm number two is Jenkins' false association of what is "realistic" with what is real or true. If Jenkins were to sort out his assumption honestly, he would have to admit that it is the stained glass window itself that makes any depiction of Christ feel "idealistic." Even a rose will seem ethereal as viewed through the pinkish rays of the setting sun. If any image would be exalted in a window, making it seem idealistic even if it wasn't, and if the sheer beauty and craftsmanship of the window accounts for the exalted transcendence of any image found therein, then this transcendence isn't a limitation but an illumination. A window cannot be accused of limiting its subject precisely because it has exalted it. If Jenkins were to say that the two-dimensional medium of the window in itself led to a preoccupation with only idealized portrayals of Christ, not only is that not true, as shown, Jenkins is arguably conflating effect with cause and in an exact manner that contradicts himself. Rather than expressing a stereotype, the window embraces the paradox of realistic idealism in ways that few works of art do or can. And this realistic idealism is the perfect medium in which to portray the Son of God.

But Jenkins' contradictions multiply here because his own show is only a two-dimensional portrayal of Christ. He cannot argue that film is superior to stained glass windows or that film is inherently more real when, by nature, film isn't even as real as the window. It cannot be touched or experienced as an object in real time, and it cannot expand in the same way with the viewer's emotional eye in the same way. For that matter, it cannot claim object permanence or even the immortality of the moment as a snapshot in time the way a genuine work of art does. For all its movement, the movie is static in a way that a window is not. If Jenkins intends to pit one two-dimensional art form against another, he is again making a false analogy without taking the time to define either one artistically according to its advantages or limitations. The point, then, is that Jenkins' issue isn't ultimately one of "form" but one of "substance."

Jenkins does not want The Chosen to come across as "idealistic," so, of course, he has to associate all idealism with the flatness of stained glass windows and stereotypes. Stereotypes, of course, are also understood as two-dimensional readings of reality. So Jenkins has chosen the perfect "realistic" form for the perfect "realistic" substance: film meets the "more human" Jesus, for this is what is "realistic." Jenkins' only problem is that his realism isn't real because it isn't true. But the movie medium makes the fictionalized portrayals of Jesus' humanity feel real, so it doesn't really matter to Jenkins' audience that 95% of his material isn't true. It doesn't have to be. So, when Jenkins pits the word "idealistic" against the word "realistic," implying that what is idealistic isn't real or true, he needs to finish the equation and admit that his realism isn't real or true, either. In fact, it is less true than the idealistic portrayals of Christ which are all true (if based on The Gospels), whether or not they feel real. Jenkins would contend, however, that fictionalized substance showing Jesus as human in a movie inherently feels more real--and, therefore, more "true"--than idealized substance showing Him as divine in a stained glass window. But this is an emotional appeal, not a logical one, because fiction isn't real and nothing can transform it into being real--not even a movie--as proverbial water turned into wine.

Jenkins' concern is not about form over substance because many other filmmakers have made films about Jesus--films that, along with stained glass windows, felt stereotypical or unrealistic to Jenkins because they felt "stiff" and less human. Jenkins would appear to have found the perfect marriage, then, between form and substance by uniting a movie medium with his humanized, fictional content. So be it. What he cannot do is turn that substance into reality for his audience, no matter how "real" it feels because 95% of his content isn't true. The worm crawling across Jenkins' script is this deliberate conflation of appearance with reality--a problem inherent to all forms of deception. Jenkins doesn't account for the dangers inherent in his advantages--that audiences will lose the ability to distinguish the historical Jesus from the Jesus of his show.

In fact, Jenkins depends upon this inherent weakness of visually trained audiences to feed his assumptions, but the fact that his viewers won't even care that his episodes are not true if they feel real serves as both Jenkins' mandate and his vindication. In this way, Jenkins also bypasses the role of the Holy Spirit to guide us into all truth when what we are watching violates that very principle: not only is the medium not real, the content it portrays--the 95% fiction--isn't true. This presents the soul with a double dilemma most viewers are not logically equipped to handle, having overly indulged the emotional sense as if that is all there is.

Worm Number Three

Worm number three is Jenkins' claim to present the "authentic" Jesus when 95% of his show is fiction. What he means by "authentic" is "more human," necessitating also, therefore, the conclusion that whatever doesn't feel human, relatable, or real isn't. But this isn't merely an error in judgment or an artistic preference on Jenkins' part; it is an intentional falsehood fueled by ignorance. There is no way Jenkins cannot know that saying his Jesus is "authentic" because he is "more human" doesn't throw his viewers into the lap of several heresies. Clearly, Jenkins' statement invites tampering with the hypostatic union of Christ, which, in turn, makes one vulnerable to entertaining the heresies of Adoptionism or Ebionism, which deny Christ's divinity. Or his statement that his Jesus is "authentic" because he is more human can lead to the heresy of Subordinationism, in which Jesus was seen as subordinate in being and nature to the Father. It even opens the door to Arianism, which denies Jesus' co-equality with the Father. But why would Jenkins even think he needs to overemphasize Jesus' humanity? Why even make this gamble? Jenkins' doing so means that he is also batting away the flies of suspicion that understandably swarm around his many unforced ambiguities.

Jenkins' thesis--to portray Jesus through the viewpoint of those who knew Him best--assumes that this "viewpoint" in itself is inherently believable or "relatable" and, therefore, "authentic." But this is obvious doublethink and even gaslighting. When Jenkins feels called upon to invent almost entirely new personae for his "chosen," such that Matthew is autistic or Peter is a gambler or Little James is permanently disabled, his audience is taken at a disadvantage. Whose viewpoint is this? It isn't the "chosen's" viewpoint at all, for these personae didn't exist, and the episodes in which they play out their personae didn't happen. This is Jenkins' viewpoint which he sometimes singlehandedly writes into his script, not infrequently overruling the arguably better judgment of his cowriters and script consultants. The Jesus in The Chosen who would not rebuke a Peter who fishes on the Sabbath or who gambles to pay his debts, but who in The Gospels even calls Peter "Satan" when he opposes Christ's destination for the Cross, isn't the least bit believable to those who know The Bible.

But Jenkins gets away with this because of his audience's widespread Biblical illiteracy. But even for those who do know The Bible, Jenkins has largely succeeded, once again, because he not only makes fiction feel believable or "relatable," he makes it desirable. And that's why he can call it "authentic." The word "authentic" for Jenkins doesn't actually mean "real," it means "personal," which means it's code for all things postmodern as something we "authored" ourselves. We can blend our faith with fiction and make it "authentically" our own. True to postmodern values with few demands, people want to see the "chosen" fail; and when they fail, people want to see a "more human" Jesus support and coddle them and even enable them. So, Jenkins has not only exploited his audience's psychological weakness, he has found a market among their spiritual blindness--a market in which their spiritual blindness now testifies to becoming spiritual sight. But the bottom line is this: if something that isn't real can add up to what feels "relatable," then what is "relatable" has nothing to do with what is real, and, in consequence, becomes irrelevant in breaking stereotypes.

Worm Number Four

Worm number four is Jenkins' simplistic assumption that seeing something as "real" leads one to faith. The fact should be rather obvious that, if seeing is believing, or if witnessing "humanity" is the measure of what is "relatable," then everyone who saw Jesus as a human being in the flesh would have believed in Him. But the human inclination across the centuries resists faith, not because of failure to see, but because of failure to desire what one sees. Failing to desire what one sees is an act of rebellion characterized in God's Word as unbelief.  How can a person not believe what he sees with his own eyes? But seeing isn't believing. Neither is "seeing" even necessarily the doorway to faith. Certainly, God sent Jesus so that we may "see" the Father, but Jesus said to Thomas, "Blessed are those who have not seen but yet have believed" (John 20:29). How have people across the centuries who never saw Jesus in any form--stained glass window, film, or in the flesh--believed? Even in His body on earth, the Lord Jesus was visible as God only to those who saw Him with reborn eyes.

Jenkins would lead his audience by the hand to faith, believing that "seeing" and "relatability" are his ministering angels. But once again, he is mistaken. To whom was Jesus "relatable" even in the flesh, when His own disciples often recoiled in fear, saying "Who is this Man?" "Relatable?" What does this postmodern phenomenon of a word even mean, other than serving as a pool for Narcissus? Such self-obsession is easily fooled because it is easily flattered. Our problem today isn't that we need to see what is real; our problem is that we see what isn't real because we see only ourselves reflected back to us, which is what narcissism is. Seeing is linked to lust--the lust of the eyes--and not to faith. If what we see isn't real, it follows that what is involved is not faith but emotion, for one cannot place saving faith in what is not real. And I am that much less likely to place my faith in Jesus if He is depicted as less ideal. Seeing Jesus as "relatable" rather than ideal because He is "more human" than divine becomes not a spiritual experience but an episode of entertainment.

Worm Number Five

Worm number five is Jenkins' assumption that an emotional response equates to conversion. Jenkins self-validating circle of reasoning is that, because his show feels real, even when it isn't, the credulity his fans place in his "more human, realistic" depiction of Jesus produces real faith. And the more emotional the response, the deeper the faith, according to Jenkins' frequent shoutouts of the impact of his show. No, he doesn't exactly come out and say this, but he certainly implies it by the statistics he gives about Bible searches and sales and personal testimonies of people who say Jesus feels real to them now for the first time. It wouldn't be necessary or even appropriate to guess the genuine nature of these "converts"--unless, of course, there is no clear conviction of sin and no real change in their lives. And for all his show's "relatability," I don't know how Jenkins can repackage old-fashioned conviction of sin as "relatable," or how he can lift his "more human" Jesus to a convicting, majestic Presence who abhors sin so much that He died to save us from it.

Jenkins doesn't answer these questions even when they demand direct confrontation, such as in the scene before Judas betrays Christ. Jenkins' Jesus asks Judas, "Who has your heart? I want it, and I've had it before"--a clearly problematic line, if for no other reason than the fact that it is nowhere to be found in Scripture. But if even Judas is treated with kid gloves--which isn't necessary when The Gospels themselves show how Jesus directly confronted Judas and yet still washed his feet--then where is anyone's moment of truth in The Chosen? But when we question the conversion of Jenkins' fans simply because they love this Jesus--gushing, "Oh, I love The Chosen. I feel so much closer to God now"--we are made to feel rude and ridiculous. If there is one "sin" Jenkins targets, it is the taboo of doubting his fans' very "real" emotional--and very predictable--conversion to the entertainment of his show.

Conclusion

What is most chilling of all is that these worms of Jenkins work as real bait, and it doesn't seem to bother him that people can't filter out what is true from what isn't. He has, in fact, coined his own meaning of a familiar word for this: "plausible." It seems, then, that this "catchall" phrase proves the counterpoint to relatability. What is "relatable" doesn't have to be "real" at all if it is, in fact, "plausible." Who decides what is "plausible" isn't history, The Bible, or even tradition, but Jenkins' artistic license in expanding 5% truth with 95% fiction. Visual realism is not only relatable for Jenkins and his audience; visual realism that portrays Jesus' humanity seems to be the summum bonum of the religious experience. Tragically, Jenkins' Jesus is arguably far less real than any supposed stereotype Jenkins appears to be breaking. In breaking stereotypes and stained glass windows, Jenkins has walked right into the arms of cultural stereotypes and fancied he has turned worms into butterflies.