Theology for a Violent Age: Religious Beliefs Crippling African American Youth

By Woody Carter, PhD

Any politician or pundit will agree: we live in a violent and dangerous age. Our pent-up anger and rage fills our households and spills over into our neighborhoods and streets, leaving African American families who live in poverty and with limited capability to ward off shame and self-contempt as its unfortunate victims.

ADVANCED PRAISE FOR THEOLOGY FOR A VIOLENT AGE

There are many ideas in this little volume and they are meaningful. They set the stage for an interpretation of certain African American youth and by implication other youth who are similarly situated in American Society.
ARCHIE SMITH, Jr., PhD James and Clarice Foster Professor of Pastoral Psychology and Counseling, Pacific School of Religion

In attempting to uncover the self-knowledge of African American people as reflected in Black dramatic literature as conviction or secular theology, Woody Carter simultaneously reveals the dominant forces that influence Black life and the critical necessity to stand on our own (African) cultural ground. All Black thinkers, from intellectuals and scholars to teachers, preachers and parents to mental health workers, futurist and community activist, who have struggled with the dilemma of DuBoiss double consciousness and the significance of religion in the Black community, both of which I believe have never been properly understood, will find Theology for a Violent Age informative, insightful, and a strong provocation and challenge for the reader to continue to seek the core essence of being Black and the searchlights necessary to envision our full humanity as more than reactions to white supremacy and racial domination and oppression. Theology for a Violent Age is deserving of a critical read and methodical application against the problems of our time.
DR. WADE W. NOBLES Professor Emeritus, San Francisco State University; Executive Director, The Institute for the Advanced Study of Black Family Life & Culture; Co-Founder and Past President, Association of Black Psychologists and author of Seeking the Sakhu: Foundational Readings in African Psychology, Third World Press. Chicago, 2009

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 28, 2010
• ISBN: 9781450246071

Woody Carter, PhD

Woody Carter earned an undergraduate degree from Howard University, a master's degree from City College of New York, and his Ph.D. from Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, California. A long-time educator, he currently serves as CEO and President of the Bay Area Black United Fund in Oakland, California.

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Copyright © 2010 by Woody Carter, PhD

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ISBN: 978-1-4502-4606-4 (sc)

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iUniverse rev. date: 12/15/2010

History does not refer merely, or even principally, to the past. On the contrary, the great force of history comes from the fact that we carry it within us, are unconsciously controlled by it in many ways, and history is literally present in all that we do.

—James Baldwin

Contents

PREFACE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CONCLUSION

WORKS CITED

APPENDIX

Preface

Dramatic Literature as Narrative Theology:

The African-American Experience

Daily tragedies abound, reminding us that we live in a violent age. Read the front page of any newspaper. Listen to the morning or evening news. It’s more of the same: another tourist dragged from his or her car and mugged, beaten, or killed; people doused with lighter fluid and set ablaze in Florida’s woods and on San Francisco’s city streets; the frenzied (or cold and calculating) rage of a blue- or white-collar worker who opens fire on unsuspecting office workers, killing as many people as possible before taking his own life; the social misfit who sprays automatic rifle fire, killing people eating at McDonald’s or children playing in a schoolyard; drive-by shootings resembling Wild West shoot-’em-ups; and the number of gun users seeming to increase and their age seeming to get younger. There is also the widespread abuse of alcohol and the illicit use of drugs, and those who profit from the business of drug trafficking.

We live in a violent and dangerous age; any politician or pundit will tell you so. Our pent-up anger and rage fill our households and spill over into our neighborhoods and streets to be played back in made-for-television movie specials and feature films that gross millions of dollars.

It has been said of Greek tragedy that it was one of the functions of Athenian democracy and that in form and content, in growth and decay, it was conditioned by the evolution of the social organism to which it belonged (Little 1967, 3). This sociological view of tragedy was a sign of the Athenian times in much the same way that contemporary images of ourselves—projected especially in video, music, and film—are conditioned by the times in which we live.

Although some would rightfully have us censor graphic and wanton images of violence, we must also critically examine these images and the stories that carry them. Such an investigation might help us understand the nature and condition of the human spirit that is addicted to images and stories of human degradation, murder, and mayhem. And because of such an inquiry, we are then challenged to discover ways in which these life-negating images may be transformed, if possible, into life-affirming ones. But how are we to approach the examination and transformation of such images and the dramatic narratives that carry them?

The American family is in trouble, because it is our husbands and wives, our fathers and mothers, our sisters and brothers, and especially our youth who are the perpetrators and victims of our furious rage. It is disturbingly overwhelming. How are we to cope?

And if the American family is in trouble, the African-American family is being torn asunder. J. Deotis Roberts, writing about the circumstances of black folk, states: Black families as part of a racially oppressed community are in deep trouble. Black families face internal problems, but the external situation often outweighs the inner tensions. Another way of stating the case is to argue that sinful social structures aggravate the inner tensions to unmanageable proportions (1980, 132).

Cornel West is more direct and recognizes a dynamic relationship between the quality of our inner lives and the forces at work in our external environment. He states that,

Corporate market institutions have greatly contributed to undermining traditional morality in order to stay in business and make a profit. This is especially evident in the culture industries—television, radio, video, music—in which gestures of foreplay and orgiastic pleasure flood the marketplace.

Like all Americans, African-Americans are influenced greatly by the images of comfort, convenience, machismo, femininity, violence, and sexual stimulation that bombard consumers. These seductive images contribute to the predominance of the market-inspired way of life over all others—and thereby edge out nonmarket values—love, care, service to others—handed down by preceding generations. The predominance of this way of life among those living in poverty-ridden conditions, with a limited capacity to ward off self-contempt and self-hatred, results in the possible triumph of the nihilistic threat in black America (1991, 224).

And what is this nihilistic threat that West describes as the major enemy of black survival in America? He defines nihilism neither as oppression nor exploitation but rather the lived experience of coping with a life of horrifying meaninglessness, hopelessness, and most importantly lovelessness (1991, 223).

But is not Jesse Jackson’s often-quoted phrase Keep hope alive one of the central functions, among others, of the two enduring institutions in the African-American community—namely, the black family and the black church? One cannot help asking what it is about the contemporary black family and black church that makes it difficult for either institution to stem the tide of West’s nihilistic threat. Has the loss of hope and absence of meaning—aggravated by Roberts’s sinful social structures—become so great that keeping hope alive is regarded now as simply passé? And what are the dominant internal forces that influence or govern the lives of many black folk, and how might these elements contribute to the rise of this nihilistic threat? And what can the black family and black church do to stem the tide of such nihilism? If the black family is in trouble, the black church is in trouble, because one of the traditional and central functions of the black church has always been to aid, help nurture, sustain, and minister to the black family. According to J. Deotis Roberts, Failure of the black church to minister appropriately and urgently to black families will hasten its own death (Roberts 1980, 1).

More then ever, we need a theology—specifically, a secular theology—for this violent age. James McClendon suggests:

The best way to understand theology is to see it, not as the study about God (for there are godless theologies as well as godly ones), but as the investigation of the convictions of a convictional community, discovering its convictions, interpreting them, criticizing them in light of all that we know, and creatively transforming them into better ones if possible.… Theologians, then, are concerned with convictions, not merely in themselves, but in relation to the persons and communities that embrace those convictions, and they are interested in what those convictions are about … all convictions are at bottom theological (i.e., of theological concern) (1990, 20).

This book is concerned with the discovery and examination of the convictions of African-Americans. By investigating black dramatic literature as theology, I have taken a unique approach to probing, critically examining, and interpreting some of the dominant forces that continue to influence and shape the lives of many black folk living in this violent age. This investigation provides a cultural perspective and a context for comprehending the crisis of the human spirit that West refers to as the nihilistic threat that he argues is crippling so much of black America. It also seeks to establish a theological foundation for the development of black dramatic narratives that work against black nihilism and, at the same time, support positive social change.

While this book illuminates the African-American experience, the narrative theology that grounds my research is applicable to the investigation of the core convictions of other cultural and ethnic groups. I would suggest that the methodology of this secular narrative theology (presented in chapter two) can be applied to any cultural tradition that has a legacy of dramatic narratives or stories specifically written by artists who are representative of the given tradition.

This book approaches black dramatic literature—for the stage and written by African-American playwrights—as theology and is organized into four chapters. It assumes the task of exploring and interpreting the theological—or at least religious—significance of African-American experience and the dominant images or key ideas that continue to shape this experience. Chapter one attempts to validate the premise that select black dramas about black families reflect some aspects of the ethos and self-knowledge of African-Americans, as represented in W. E. B. DuBois’s The Souls of Black Folk. Chapter two discusses the work of two Christian narrative theologians, among others, including James McClendon’s Biography as Theology and Terrence Tilley’s Story Theology, and proposes an adapted conceptual model of narrative theology to examine the central themes or key ideas that emerge out of the lives of African-Americans portrayed in black drama. Chapters three and four test the methodology by applying narrative theology to examine critically two contemporary black dramas by black playwrights, including Imamu Baraka’s Dutchman and James Baldwin’s The Amen Corner.

It has been sixteen years since the above narrative and the following dissertation chapters were written to satisfy requirements for completing my doctoral studies at the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, California. After receiving a doctor of philosophy degree, this manuscript was placed on a bookshelf and used as a personal resource to inform my work, over the years, as executive director of the Bay Area Black United Fund (BABUF), an identity-based philanthropy with an office in downtown Oakland.

I decided to dust off this manuscript and publish it now, with several updates, because this secular approach to narrative theology and the focus of this work—Theology for a Violent Age—remains as relevant today as it did when it was originally completed more than a decade and a half ago. This study, admittedly, explores the life-negating images or controlling forces at work within African-American culture that have shaped—and, I would argue, continue to shape—a unique worldview, especially (but not only) impacting the lives of low-income African-American families and their children. This is not to say that there are no life-affirming or positive images at work within African-American culture. Certainly, there are many positive strains—including the strength and resiliency of the African spirit, the love of family, the vibrancy of creative expression within the culture, the sheer stamina to survive (and for many, the capacity to thrive) against all odds—that find full expression within the race.

However, it’s by understanding; exploring ways to lessen—if not, resolve—the inner tensions at work within the culture that, in spite of pervasive structural and institutional racism, hold the most promise for those of African descent to withstand the negative impact of external forces that work against the health and well-being of the race.

I am deeply grateful and indebted to a community of friends and loved ones who have supported my research and writing over the years. I fear that in fixing pen to paper, I may have forgotten someone whose help has been as close to me as my own breath. But if I have, please do not think ill of one who has been known to walk around the house searching for a pencil, only to find it already in hand. So with this in mind, I wish to thank my family—my dear wife, Jennifer, and our children, Govinda, LaShan, and Azizah, and the newest addition to our household who has brought so much joy and energy into our lives, little Julian—for their enduring encouragement and support.

I also thank the many Graduate Theological Union and University of California, Berkeley (UCB), faculty members who, over the years, have provided much-needed counsel and constructive criticism, including Dr. Archie Smith, Jr., and the late Dr. Wayne Rood, both from the Pacific School of Religion, and Dr. Margaret Wilkerson, professor emeritus at UCB’s African-American Studies Department. I especially thank the late Dr. John Dillenberger, dean and professor emeritus at the Graduate Theological Union, whose caring and commitment to support my efforts helped see me through both the best and the worst of times. I also thank my dear friend and mentor, the late Dr. James William McClendon, whose seminal work in narrative theology grounds this study. But most of all, I give thanks to my parents, Dr. Woodrow and Effie Carter, and the voices of my ancestors, whose love and wisdom sustains me.

Woody Carter

December 2010

Chapter 1

The Souls of Black Folk Revisited

To know a people, their culture and the forces that shape them, look at their art forms. To understand how a people live in the world, to see through the lens of a race, to perceive and comprehend their world, look at their art forms. Art is the primary source material that reflects a people’s ethos and collective psyche. Art mirrors what a people say about themselves, and in the reflection one catches a glimpse of their collective unconscious.

Based upon this truism, the first part of this work seeks to look into the souls of black folk—the self-knowledge of a race and culture with a peculiar history in white America—as that soul is mirrored in black drama; narratives written by African-American playwrights whose plays reflect different aspects of dysfunctional black family systems. In chapter two, I adapt narrative theology to identify dominant images or root metaphors in black drama. These images serve as keys to recognize and understand the core convictions of African-Americans—a sub-group in American culture. I argue that these root metaphors are controlling images, because they shape the distinctive character and culture of an African-American worldview. Once this task is accomplished—identifying dominant images in black dramas as a vehicle to identify and examine a people’s core convictions—I will explore the theological or religious significance of African-American experience, as portrayed in black dramatic literature about black families. In chapters three and four, respectively, I specifically interpret the theological (or at least, religious) significance of African-American experience as portrayed in LeRoi Jones’s (who later took the name Imamu Baraka) Dutchman and in James Baldwin’s The Amen Corner.

The underlying assumption that grounds this work is that a people’s art, such as their dramatic literature, can be approached as primary source material because it creatively embodies the collective consciousness of a people. Therefore, it is imperative that selected representations of a people’s art are the creative expressions of artists who share in the cultural and ethnic experience of the people under investigation.

This book is concerned with uncovering the self-knowledge of African-Americans, and in particular, with the pathology that results from the systemic and structural racism inherent in American society. Therefore, we need to examine the creative expression of African-American artists whose work is representative of African-American life and culture. To do otherwise—that is, to investigate the creative work of non-African-American artists who happen to explore through their art the lives of black folk—would simply corrupt the purpose and process of this theological inquiry. I argue that a person’s way of being in the world is culturally rooted. Therefore, a non-African-American’s creative expression of black folk, although possibly reflective of the black experience, is never prototypical of African-American life and culture.