“Trust the data!” demands the pretentious academic peering down from the ivory tower of self-importance as they disseminate wooden statistics on everything from philosophy to religion, subculture, and pop culture. Fixing their name badges and adjusting background memorabilia, paying homage to their portfolios and prestige, they opine as experts whilst demanding the unwashed masses be quiet and learn.
The game being played? Suppression.
Sophisticated. Devious. Despicable.
Douglas Murray, author of The Madness of Crowds and the War on the West, has played this game in recent years. He is not alone in the logical fallacy of Appeal to Authority while shining one’s shimmering display of expertise. But one can feel slightly sorry for Murray as he falls prey to such a fallacy because, as he loses touch with the digital generation, he fails to understand that many of his frustrations lie with something he may not understand: it isn’t so much about expertise or even truth, but about capitalizing on algorithms and becoming dealers of dopamine.
Sure, the same game is being played, but the field isn’t the same. Self-important grandstanding that cleverly positions pretentious academic milestones, and the opining of expertise, still endure. The vast difference is that it is now done with a ready audience of opportunists swaying to the intoxication of digital celebrity and virility.
The goal of the game isn’t so much about the pursuit of truth, but more about popularity. The new kid on the block isn’t necessarily more qualified, but he is quantified. I’m sorry, Murray and Peterson. Your days as relevant thought prognosticators are ending, at least in the scope in which you have enjoyed them. That is, unless you give in to the culture of digital opportunism, where likes and shares matter more than content or accomplishment.
It isn’t Baskin-Robbins’ thirty-one flavors. A million flavors are advancing at the speed of clicks, and each flavor competes with or selfishly collaborates with every flavor for popularity. And, it has found the church.
A Revival of Opportunism
The game’s name is the same for much of this, as it bleeds into the church community. Likes and shares are becoming an alternative to “God opened doors,” while media teams, not prayer teams, are becoming the unspoken priority of the hour, where the edgy, algorithmically “dialed for dopamine” content is king of the hill.
It’s tough to watch profoundly deep expositional teachers across the spectrum of Pentecost and elsewhere, whom I have great respect for, turn toward the shallow end of the pool as they filter among the dopamine-addled and celebrity-intoxicated who are doom-scrolling endlessly for something new that holds an enticing possibility of connecting to the next viral community.
A great, effectual door of opportunity from God? Paul, move over! We got three million views, three hundred thousand shares, and seventeen preaching engagements resulting from them. Pfft. Who needs great, effectual doors when you can algorithmically produce your own? Here, Paul, watch this clever sermon reel I put together on Romans, where I intentionally said something absurd about what you wrote to get more people to watch it. The key to this, Paul, isn’t so much about the churches you started, the sacrifices you paid along the way, or the robust theological masterpieces you wrote under the inspiration of the Spirit. That’s old school.
Get. With. The. Program.
Pay the Piper
Suppose we were to be honest with ourselves. In that case, the amount of self-promotion on display today has reached nearly inconceivable levels, and the suppressive underbelly of pop culture is making it harder and harder for Laocoon to be heard as the Trojan Horse wheels closer to the gates of Troy. In this instance, it isn’t a mythical battle of gods at play, but the real danger of Algorithmic Apostolicism.
It is a new breed of success stories captured behind the lens of cameras, live streams, and pop culture popularity. If you can market it correctly, the possibility of mainstreaming it reaches the upper echelons of potential. Let’s face it. We would never know many men and women who have made it into prominent places in society, but for marketing, not merit. It’s the offspring of a digital harvest, giving rise to a new breed of nepotism whose inheritance is the deposit of digital currency.
What are we to do? Are the adults among us to sit in church while the piper plays? Dissonance doesn’t always equal disunity; this is true. But dissonance will always find disagreement. Forgive the comparison, but voices from the wilderness seldom find positions in the palace. Are we to neglect the danger of wooing tones, even if such tones served a beneficial purpose in yesteryears? In our efforts to highlight what has shown to be effective for certain things (think the rats), I fear that the next generation marches to waters they cannot swim in. All pipers get paid. June 26, 1284, or June 26, 2034? It doesn’t matter, really, the date. The piper will get his pay.
*** Allusions to the story of the Pied Piper as a metaphor play a vital role in the latter half
