CHARIS-MAGIC:
THE RETREAT
FROM RELIGION TO SORCERY
by Robert M. Price
Today's television preachers have come in for
their fair share of ridicule and criticism, much of it because of
their moral hypocrisy (as with Jim and Tammy Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart)
or their cynical and greedy approach to the "ministry" as a way of
ministering to their own bank accounts.1
While these unsavory aspects of the media evangelists merit every bit
of scrutiny they have received, I believe we are in danger of
neglecting the most crucial criticism, the one we would still have to
level if none of them were hypocrites and hucksters: the charge that
will still be appropriate if the electronic churchmen ever do clean up
their acts. And that is that their brand of Christianity represents a
backsliding even from traditional fundamentalism, a devolution from
religion, however simpleminded, to magic pure and simple. If the TV
antics of Jimmy Swaggart have ever struck the reader as being more
than a little reminiscent of those of a prancing witchdoctor, this is
more than coincidence. In what follows I hope to show that on the more
lurid fringes of contemporary Pentecostal and Charismatic movements we
are witnessing a retreat from religion to sorcery.
"Magic" is a rather ambiguous term,
conjuring up various associations, from the romantic spark of
infatuation to the dark orgies of Satanism. Here I will be utilizing
the classic definition of the anthropologist Sir James Frazer. In his
theory about the origins of religion, Frazer hypothesized that
humanity's first ritual dealings with the supernatural were strictly
businesslike. The human suppliant performed the requisite sacrifice or
chant, and the god (or demon or deva or ancestor) must "come through"
with the desired blessing, usually a material one. One must indeed
beware of the numinous power which might resent its binding and use by
puny humans, and lash out if one were not careful. But at this stage
there was no real worship. One was careful to avoid offending the god,
but there was no thought that immoral conduct might offend him. It was
pure business, though potentially dangerous business, rather like
dealing with the Mob. The believer in magic did not bother to purify
his heart before going up to the Temple of the Lord; he merely made
sure he carried with him a long spoon to dine with the devil.
The important thing to see is that what
distinguishes magic from religion is that the former is simply a
matter of the manipulation of supernatural power for selfish ends, and
involves no real element of either adoration or morality. Frazer felt
that these elements belonged only to a later stage of social
development, that of religious faith. Whatever one thinks of this
schema as a theory of the origin of religion, the typological value of
it should be clear. That is, the categories of "magic" and "religion"
set forth here do seem to fit the phenomena as we find them today in
human behavior toward the supernatural. I will adopt these categories
as conceptual tools for the present analysis. Before applying the
concept of magic to fringe Pentecostalism, let me make one further
clarification. I will not be considering the question of whether
Pentecostal belief in the supernatural and miraculous is itself
superstitious in nature, but this article will concern only the
differences between magic and religion as categories within the larger
belief in supernaturalism.2
Are there magical elements in the
Charismatic-Pentecostal movement today? Indeed, there seem to be. And
though they are most obviously to be found in rather extreme elements
of the movement, they are not restricted to the fringes, and their
implications are wider still. At any rate, the most obvious practice
of "charis-magic" occurs in the "prosperity gospel" circles of Kenneth
Copeland, Jim Bakker, and elements of the Full Gospel Businessmen's
Fellowship International. On the basis of various sections of
scripture, leaders in this movement insist that God wants his
children, the "King's kids,”3
to live it up! One of the main sources of this message seems to be
certain alleged "promises" of God which the believer is to
appropriate. Here we can see magical bargaining pure and simple. The
magician wants material benefits and intends to get them. Norvell
Hayes shamelessly advises women to ask God for closets full of new
clothes.4
Kenneth Hagin exhorts hearers to have "Cadillac faith," since only
those of little faith will be satisfied with a Buick!5
The suppliant won't take "no" for an answer. One
often hears in such quarters the confident affirmation: "I demand
so-and-so from God!" While this passes for simply a strengthened
version of the pious idiom "claiming the promises," it thinly veils
the speaker's claim to have bound God's power like that of a familiar
spirit. One almost expects to hear "I say 'jump!' and God says' How
high?'!" And how does the pray-er dare to push God around in this
manner? Of course, he is only claiming those scriptural promises. The
favorites are Mark 11:24, "I tell you, then, whatever you ask for in
prayer, believe that you have received it and it will be yours" (NEB)
and 3 John 2, "I pray that you may prosper even as your soul
prospers." It means nothing to the charismagus that these texts are
taken out of context; they are simply incantatory formulae,
power-words that pulse with occult energy simply by virtue of their
presence in a magic book. The Bible is reduced to the level of The
Seventh Book of Moses or the Necronomicon. "Nay, but I have
you now! / For such a-hybrid brood of hell, / the Key of Solomon
will serve me well." (Goethe's Faust).6
While the preternatural powers of charismagic are
purportedly available to all, it is no real surprise that certain
adepts hold center stage. In terms of primitive magical societies such
people are called "shamans." They are better known to Westerners as
"witch-doctors" or "medicine-men." This movement has no dearth of
them. I will briefly review five shamanistic traits shared
conspicuously by Pentecostal practitioners.
First, the shaman receives both his vocation and
his powers by virtue of a visionary journey to the world of
spirits/ancestors. This experience may even be conceived of as a
temporary death. It is hardly exceptional to point out that most of
the charismagicians have had similar "calling" experiences, since the
role of such visions in prophetic and millenarian religion is well
known. But it is worth mentioning that Kenneth Hagin, for instance,
puts great stock in a series of personal visions, the commencement of
which was a youthful deathbed experience of descending three times
into hell!7
Here we have a remarkably close parallel to the shamanistic journey to
the realm of the dead.
Second, the shaman is equipped for his task with
a clothing of elemental power, known generically as "mana."
This mana is roughly equivalent to "the Force" in the movie Star
Wars. Though any individual may accumulate mana (and so
good fortune and prosperity), the shaman is endowed with it to a
singular degree. He radiates the life-force. To use Kenneth Hagin as
an example once again, he presents himself as eradicating disease
virtually by his mere presence. He recalls a trip with a diabetic
friend. "I told him, 'You won't register any sugar as long as you're
with me!"8
Similarly, one need only call to mind the endless offers of "healing
handkerchiefs," or appeals to "put your hand on the radio." Oral
Roberts may defend these phenomena as mere psychological "points of
contact," but it is clear what impression is given the believer; the
mana possessed by the healer is so great that it attaches even
to material objects designated by him!
Third, the medicine-man is endowed with specific
abilities to serve the community. Prominent among them is rain-making,
or the ability to control weather. While it is rather common for
Pentecostals and other Evangelicals to attempt to control the elements
via prayer ("Lord, give us a good day for this rally."), the claims of
the Charismatic leaders can be quite dramatic. Franklin Hall writes of
past victories, how "five times the author commanded it to stop
raining during the time people came to services in the evening. On May
20 [for example], within five minutes the heavens quit raining as
commanded.... In nearly every city we come to we find it necessary to
do something about the elements. If it is too cold, we command the
temperature to rise. If it is too hot, the temperature must come
down."9 A
hagiographic booklet collecting some miracles of faith-healer William
Branham recounts how "In Germany he confounded the witch doctors who
came out in force to frustrate his ministry. They actually succeeded
in bringing a huge black cloud over the tent which with tornadic force
would rip it to shreds. Brother Branham stepped on the platform and in
Jesus' Name the cloud was instantly dispersed and the sun shone
through."10
Fourth, the shaman can work woe as
well as weal, casting hexes and curses. We are not far from such
voodoo when Kenneth Hagin claims "You can actually exercise authority
over others as long as they are in your presence.... When folks in my
family get excessively angry, I just take authority over it. They know
when I do because they look at me with a startled expression."11
More obviously punitive measures include the abrupt silencing of an
antiglossolalic speaker by a "Full Gospel pastor" of Hagin's
acquaintance.12
Similarly, Franklin Hall recounts the destruction by tornado of a
town which had rejected his preaching of the "gravity-free
Christalujah Power" and the" Fire-and-cloud space flight ministry."13
A garage mechanic made sport of William Branham,
but "Before he could get to his own garage, his own son-in-law,
backing out of the door with his truck full of scrap iron, struck him,
crushing both his feet and ankles.11 A similarly hostile woman, on
leaving a Branham meeting,” stumbled over a board, and falling to the
ground, she broke her arm in fifteen places.” Recalling those who made
excuses not to attend the Great Supper, one man rebuffed Branham's
invitation to attend a revival: “We are too busy to go to any revival;
we raise chickens and haven't time for anything like that.' However,
shortly after that, this man died, so he didn't raise any more
chickens.”14
Fifth, the shaman is to function as the
intermediary between mortals and the supernatural realm. His
intercession with gods is necessarily more effective than ordinary
prayers. And along the same lines, we find Rex Humbard inviting his
viewers to send him their prayer-requests which he will take to the
foot of the Cross itself in Jerusalem. Or Oral Roberts will do the
same at his Oklahoma “Prayer Tower.” In each case the implicit logic
is that the shaman’s prayers have a greater chance of compelling an
otherwise reluctant divinity to act, and all the more so as he takes
the prayer requests to the sacred “axis mundi” (Golgotha or the Prayer
Tower) linking heaven and earth.15
Here is the portal through which prayers may ascend before the gods.
This is, I believe, no mere analogy.
I have been concentrating on the leaders of the
Pentecostal fringe, but as already anticipated, much of the same
superstitious framework is relevant to their many adherents. They,
too, are told to partake of the various occult powers, though one
suspects that the leaders function vicariously in this respect. That
is, most of their fans never personally experience such spectacles,
but their faith is buttressed by the fact that at least someone does.
As long as the shaman himself performs miracles, then the believer's
faith in the miraculous is confirmed.
But there is in the everyday lives of fringe
Charismatics (and some not so fringe) quite a dose of the primitive.
The worldview inculcated by much popular charismatic teaching and
literature is essentially magical. For instance, Merlin Carothers
teaches about a world wherein quite literally every piece of soggy
toast, every stolen parking space, every headache is a sign from God
to the believer.16
This kind of worldview is aptly described (with reference to actual
cultural primitives) by anthropologist Mary Douglas:
The cosmos is turned in, as it were, on man. Its
transforming energy is threaded onto the lives of individuals so that
nothing happens in the way of storms, sickness, blights or droughts
except in virtue of these personal links. So the universe is
man-centered in the sense that it must be interpreted in reference to
humans.17
And how is such "interpretation" practiced in the
world of Carothers? There are two ways. First, with Bill Gothard and
almost all other fundamentalists, he suggests one examine apparently
fortuitous events to divine the will of God. What is he trying to tell
me?18 In
another culture, the believer might read the flight of geese or the
entrails of chickens, but charismagician Merlin and his brethren
advise us to read flat tires and collapsing chairs. And, secondly, if
the divinely prescribed situation is a really dire one (illness,
financial straits, etc.) one may avert divine pressure by the device
of formulary "praise." The clear tendency of the anecdotes given by
Carothers is to lead his readers to believe that if one praises God
for the trials, God will relent. The stated rationale is that God will
then have seen that the believer has learned his lesson of humble
submission, and will call off the calamities. Though on some level all
this is no doubt sincerely meant, it is impossible to miss the plainly
magical character of the whole schema. It is as if one manipulates,
even outwits, the plaguing divinity by the requisite magic words, "Oh,
praise you Lord for this cancer!" Brer Rabbit had the same idea when
he begged to be thrown into the briar patch.
Not all events are thought to be initiated by God
(though in light of the above, this seems inconsistent). There are
also evil spirits to be reckoned with. I will leave aside the obvious
shamanistic elements in the "Deliverance Ministry"19
and instead refer to the practice of "binding the demons.” An
illustration comes to us from the pages of TV Guide. There
born-again musical celebrity Pat Boone describes how he sought to stop
his daughter’s backsliding by tacking up a picture of Jesus among the
rock star posters in her room. Then he walked around the room "binding
the demons.” One may wonder if he had a headdress and a feathered
rattle with him.
In the same vein, it is rather unsettling to see
the ease with which Evangelical missionaries assimilate the animistic
paganism encountered in the field into the categories of their own
belief. They do not doubt the reality of the tribal god N’kangu; they
merely preach that their god Jesus is stronger, able to protect
converts with greater spirit-power. Domestically, one can notice an
equivalent phenomenon in the late-night gatherings of fundamentalist
young people, trading secondhand stories of demon-possession. Though
of course they believe in the factuality of these hair-raising reports
(compiled for instance in Demon Experiences in Many Lands),20
the scene is much the same as the old game of swapping ghost-stories
around the campfire. When one person piously terminates the session,
saying "Listen, we're really glorifying Satan by talking about him
like this; let's talk about the Lord instead, “the meaning in plain
English is: “Hey, no more ghost stories! I’m too scared to walk back
to my tent as it is!"
In my comparison of extremist Pentecostalism with
classical magic, I hope to have made certain puzzling aspects of the
movement more understandable. And, all of it taken together should
help explain one more interesting fact. Why is it that fringe
Pentecostalism has to deal seriously with admitted magic and
“witchcraft” in its own ranks, especially in inner-city areas? The
answer is that it is a family argument. The two are close enough to
throw stones. Suburban Assemblies of God believers may disdain black
magic or palmistry as a rather theoretical pitfall from which they
hope to see “hippies” and others converted. But the fringe
Pentecostals must actively fight against adherence to pagan witchcraft
in their own midst.21
James Rector chides “superstitious saints” with these words: “Some
Church Folks are so Superstitious that they won't walk under a
ladder.... They wear Root Bags, and Rabbit's Feet.” But “if they had
the HOLY GHOST in their Life, they would not be Afraid or
SUPERSTITIOUS!”22
But one does not wonder that such beliefs would tempt the followers of
Reverend Rector who goes on to tell of his experiences with “The Snake
Woman,” “The Spider Woman,” and “The Demon on the Bridge”!23
This minister fulminates against “root-bags” and amulets, but
distributes blessed crosses and vials of anointing oil. In effect, his
message is “Your superstition is false, but my superstition is true!”
One is the mirror image of the other, and it is easy for fringe
Pentecostals to step “through the looking glass.”
FOOTNOTES
1 James Randi, The Faith Healers (Buffalo:
Prometheus Books, 1987), especially chapters 4, 8, 9.
2 Many Pentecostals themselves bemoan the
peculiarities we are discussing. For example, see Gordon D. Fee,
The Disease of the Health and Wealth Gospels (Costa Mesa,
California: The Word for Today, 1979).
3 See Harold Hill’s regrettable books, e.g.,
Instant Answers for King's Kids in Training (Plainfield, New
Jersey: Logos International, 1978).
4. Sermon attended by this writer in Montclair,
New Jersey, 1978
5 Kenneth Hagin, “Practicing Faith” (Los Angeles:
Full Gospel Businessmen's Fellowship (tape).
6 Goethe, Faust (Baltimore: Penguin Books,
1968), p. 72.
7 Kenneth Hagin, I Believe in Visions (Old
Tappan, New Jersey: Fleming H. Revell Company, 1972), pp. 9ff.
8 Kenneth Hagin, Authority of the Believer
(Tulsa, .oklahoma: Kenneth Hagin Evangelistic Association, 1975), p.
29. .
9 Franklin Hall, Subduing the Earth,
Controlling the Elements and Ruling the Nations with Jesus Christ
(Copyright, Franklin Hall, 1966), p. 43.
10 Twentieth Century Prophet, The Messenger to
the Laodicean Church Age (Jeffersonville, Indiana: Spoken Word
Publications, n.d.), p. 43.
11 Kenneth Hagin, Authority of the Believer,
p. 30.
12 Ibid., p. 31.
13 This nomenclature is “explained” in Hall's
Miracle Word Magazine, Spring 1979.
14 Twentieth Century Prophet, pp. 46-47.
15 See Mircea Eliade's discussion of "sacred
space" in The Sacred and the Profane (New York: Harcourt, Brace
& World, Inc., 1959), pp. 20ff.
16 Merlin Carothers, Prison to Praise
(Plainfield, New Jersey: Logos International, 1971), p. 66; and
Bringing Heaven into Hell (Old Tappan: New Jersey: Fleming H.
Revell Company, 1976), p. 90.
17 Mary Douglas, “Primitive Thought-Worlds,” in
Roland Robertson (ed.), Sociology of Religion
(Baltimore: Penguin Books, 1969), pp. 79-99.
18 Bill Gothard, Institute in Basic Youth
Conflicts (syllabus) n.p.