First Reformed

First Reformed (2017) contains fundamental ideas concerning the human condition and wrestles with the relationship between religion and politics.  Ideas play a significant role in the film, hence it can be used in support of the thesis that film is a viable medium in which to make philosophical (and theological) ideas transparent and derive dramatic tension from clashing ideas. In this film, the ideas that clash concern the role of religion in the political issue of climate change—or is that issue primarily religious?

Early in the film, Rev. Ernst Toffer counsels a despairing environmentalist, Michael. After listening to Michael provide a litany of scientific reasons for despair on climate change as inevitably leading to the unlivability of the species, Toffer acknowledges that “if Man’s accomplishments have brought us to the place where life as we know it may cease to exist in the near future,” such despair is new. In fact, if “humankind can’t overcome its immediate interests to ensure survival, then you’re right; the logical response is despair.” Nonetheless, Toffer proffers that wisdom is holding two contradictory truths—hope and despair—simultaneously; the holding of these truths simultaneously in the mind is life itself. Blackness—the sense that one’s life has no meaning—is something else. As for that, the reverend states that forgiveness and grace apply to us all. This leads Michael to ask, “Can God forgive us for what we have done to this world?” Rev. Toffer replies, “Who can know the mind of God? But we can choose the righteous life over evil.” The religious response to the despair over climate change rendering our species extinct (or at the very least very uncomfortable) is at the individual level: to lead a righteous life.

Righteous is predominately used in the religious domain; in the moral domain, good is used. It would sound strange to say that the righteous person should get into a political debate over pollution with an executive of a coal company even though prophets in the Torah confront kings over their abuse of power. But if no one can know the mind of God, at least concerning whether God is in favor of climate change, then it would presumably be impious (i.e. highly arrogant) of a person to urge coal company executives to reduce carbon emissions because that’s what God wants. The implication here is that climate change is a political issue, and that religious discourse should not encroach on the other domain.

Yet Rev. Toffer, in meeting in a diner with his senior pastor, Rev. Joel Jefffers, and Balq, an executive with an energy company, turns to the polluter and asks, “Will God forgive us for what we’re doing to his creation?” Balq dismisses the question as “loose talk.” Shifting to the political issue, Toffer tells both men what Michael had said: that a scientific consensus of 97% of relevant scientists provides a very solid basis on which to take climate change, and thus pollution, very seriously. Michael had also told Toffer that in 2010, the IPCC predicted that if nothing is done by 2015, environmental collapse would be irreversible. Nothing was done, Michael said in despair, at least as of 2017. Just as Michael claimed, people—including Barq here—have not been listening. Even worse, I submit, is when people not educated in natural science presume nonetheless that they as individuals have a legitimate veto or override over the scientists. Perhaps just as Yahweh uses a flood to clean the slate on mankind, so too God may be using climate change to expunge such an arrogant species.

Balq is arrogant in dismissing the scientific consensus and any knowledge Toffer may have (e.g., from Michael) by retorting, “It’s a complicated subject.” Toller shakes his head no. It is actually not complicated; just look at who benefits. Who profits? Perhaps Toller is implying that Balq’s presumed superiority in understanding the impact of industry on climate change boils down to a desire to continue profiting? For Balq then shorts, “Can we just keep politics out!” Claiming the turf for religion, Rev. Toller counterclaims, “This isn’t politics—what God wants.” But then Toffer has just slipped into his own trap. “Oh, you know the mind of God?” Balq asks. “You spoke to Him personally? He told you His plans for Earth?”

Toffer himself does not believe that politics and religion are mutually exclusive on this issue, and thus by implication in general. Speaking later in his senior pastor’s office, Toffer says, “The whole world is a manifestation of God’s holy presence [omnipresent]. The Church can lead, but if we say nothing? The U.S. Congress still denies climate change.” Referring back to Balq, Toffer adds, “We know who spoke for big business, but who spoke for God.” At that point, Rev. Jeffers pivots his chair so his back faces Toffer and says, “Creation waits in eager expectation of liberation from bondage.” In other words, don’t anger our major donor by getting involved; rather, wait for God to deal both with the planet and the polluters, assuming of course that big business hasn’t been a tool being used by God to applying judgement on an arrogant, conflict-ridden species. “So we should pollute so God can restore?,” Toffer asks, exacerbated. “We should sin so God can forgive?” Jeffers suggests that exterminating us may be part of God’s plan, to which Toffer almost jumps out of his chair. For 40 days and 40 nights it rained; maybe this time God has had it with the species.

From a religious standpoint, therefore, we mere mortals cannot know which side of the political debate is consistent with God. We could be inadvertently thwarting God’s plan by inventing carbon-absorption technology, for example, or the inventive spark may come from God and thus be in line with God’s plan. On this issue at least, religion should step back from entering the political domain. To seek to dominate it would be even more presumptuous. 

What then can a religious person do within the religious domain in which God is both the constraint and the hope? The only clue given in the film comes in Toffer’s advice to Michael to live a righteous life. Righteousness is lived out in conformity with God, rather than in presuming to know God’s mind and act outwardly based on that knowledge. Yet righteousness also includes acting as God's stewards of his creation on Earth. This point was not explicit in the film. Our species role as stewards involves doing what God would do. In the case of climate change: either it a case of us failing to do our job or climate change is part of God's plan and therefore arresting the trend lies beyond our normal custodial work. We typically  view climate change as our species' fault and further assume that we have failed as stewards. So we assume a religious rationale for political or business activism to cut carbon emissions. A CEO, for example, may apply Christian stewardship to his or her role as an ethical leader. 

Alternatively, from assuming an abject failure of righteous stewardship, we can see why God may have a plan that excludes our species such that climate change takes on the mythic role of the flood. Kierkegaard would say that we are left with these alternatives, whereas Hegal would urge us to find a higher synthesis. Such a synthesis, which resolves the contradiction in a higher unity, must fall short of knowing the mind of God because the synthesis comes from a finite mind. Divine revelation is of course another story. Absent that, we are not able to divine the divine mind, hence we are not able to know whether climate change is God's will or due to our failure as stewards to tend God's creation on Earth. Wisdom, Rev. Toffer says, is holding two conflicting ideas (hope and despair) in mind simultaneously. Absent divine revelation, our finite minds may are left in this case with the tension in the contradiction of hope and despair as life itself. In regard to the matter of religion claiming the upper hand in other domains such as politics, a higher synthesis is, I submit, possible even absent revelation. 

I submit that encroachment itself is unethical, and dominance in someone else's garden is especially so. It is problematic, therefore, that the boundary between the religious and political domains remains fraught with difficulty, as this may invite incursions. At the very least, that border ought to be respected, at least on the religious side; the political domain is fueled by the desire for expanding power, it being the essence of politics.

The Challenger Disaster

Roger Boisjoly was a booster rocket engineer at a NASA contractor, Morton Thiokol. Boisjoly blew the whistle both within the company and to NASA regarding the danger of the rubber in the o-rings, which seal the connections in the shuttle’s rockets, being insufficiently elastic in cold weather. Although The Challenger Disaster (2019) is not a documentary, the film’s narrative, which centers on Roger, or "Adam," is oriented to understanding why the Challenger space shuttle exploded after being launched on January 28, 1986. In other words, although some names are different and the conversations are not verbatim in the film, the factors that contributed to the actual explosion are presented. In fact, the film leans too much on technical details before the disaster and legal arguments afterwards without adequate entertaining elements to make the film enjoyable. However, the film's political function in informing a mass market of why part of the government-business system was broken is valuable. In fact, this mission demonstrates that the medium of motion pictures is capable of aiding in social, political, economic, and religious awareness and education, and thus development.

Although some individuals can rightly be blamed for the explosion, the problem extended to the relationship that NASA had with its contractors, the encroachment, based solely on power, of management both at NASA and Mortan Thiokol, over experts (i.e., the engineers) on a technical problem requiring expertise, and the internal culture at Mortan Thiokol. In general terms, the problem extended to business-government relations, managerial presumption, and the expedient profit motive in business. 

On the individual level, immaturity played a substantial role in the disaster. Throughout most of the film, Adam, the outspoken advocate of delaying the launch, is yelling either at his superiors at Mortan Thiokol or at the launch engineer at NASA. Adam’s harsh demeanor, a lawyer points out, partly explains why Adam’s warnings did not have sufficient traction especially within the company. In spite of being right about the explosion, Adam has very little credibility inside the company because of his immaturity. In other words, he does not play well with the other children and this impedes his technical credibility. Human nature being what it is, it is susceptible to the fallacy that immaturity undercuts technical expertise. To be sure, Adam was not the only problem-child at the company. Its in-house inspector, Frank, perpetually shouts at Adam from the time he warns that the shuttle could explode. At one point, Frank even lunges violently at Adam. Similarly, NASA's flight engineer's harsh tone and shouting on the conference call with Mortan Thiokol exacerbated the problem. Why so much anger? It clearly impedes a solution whereby nine astronauts would not have died. 

All the shouting also makes the film difficult to endure. The bland office settings also do nothing to make the film enticing to watch. Almost all of the scenes are set in drab offices and a conference room in which grey is the basic color. To the extent that the arguments over technical details, which dominate the film, and legal arguments are boring, they are not adequately countered by entertaining devices. For example, scant attention is given to Adam's family life, other than to show him strangely well-adapted as a family man. His pathology apparently only shows up at work. His wife is a cut-board figure of an adoring wife, which is also strange. In short, the film’s value to American society in explaining to a mass audience what went wrong both at NASA and it having private-sector contractors could have been greater were the film more entertaining. 

This is not to say that the extent of arguing, like that of the technical details and even the drabness do not contribute to the film's ability to explain why the disaster occurred. The incessant arguments give the audience a good dose of the role of pathology in the disaster. Also, the extent of technical details, even repeated throughout the film, help the audience to understand why the o-rings failed. Even the drabness of the offices give the viewers a sense of the company's finances, which in turn play a major role in why the company's managers overrule the engineers on economic grounds (over technical objections). 

As for the technical explanation of the disaster, the expected temperature on the Cape at launch the next morning was 30 degrees F. The shuttle’s o-rings, which the contractor put into the rockets to seal connection points, were made out of rubber, which is less elastic, and thus effective, as the temperature decreases. The company’s data, however, only went down to 53 degrees, the previous lowest temperature on a launch. Also, the lower the temperature, the more exhaust passes by the o-rings, causing erosion. This is enough for Adam, who repeatedly says, “It’s too cold to launch!” He put his findings in a memo, but not even the company’s inspection person, Frank, bothered to read it. “The shuttle is made up of millions of parts,” Frank shouts at Adam, adding “The o-ring is just one of them.”  Adam shouts back, “Cold rubber doesn’t work well!” Notably, Frank does not spend as much time reminding Adam that the company needs the contract as reminding Adam and the others that they need their jobs. So much for loyalty to the company; what really counts is the employees’ personal affairs.

Frank takes the matter to his boss, Kurt. He wants a launch-delay because time is needed to get boats out to retrieve the rockets when they fall into the ocean. Adam argues that the company’s recommendation to NASA should turn on an engineering reason rather than a company-specific economic one. In essentially dismissing the consensus of the engineers regarding the technical problems, Kurt, a manager, disagrees. “We might lose our rockets. Besides, the DOD pays NASA’s bills. If they don’t get what they paid for, DOD and NASA might replace us. It is an economic problem.” Relative to this problem, a higher manager will later say before giving NASA the go-ahead on the launch, the safety of the astronauts “is not our concern” even though the astronauts have been relying on NASA and the contractors.

In the film, the company’s organizational culture is highly dysfunctional. The company’s upper management is focused only on keeping its contract with NASA even though the result is far worse for the company. The management has allowed the company to become too financially dependent on NASA. As a result, the upper management lied to NASA, telling the flight engineer that the company would be fine with the launch as set. Faced with an enquiry by the presidential commission on the disaster, the company’s management claims that Adam was a malcontent employee wanting to cause trouble. The extent of lying is itself a red flag concerning the lack of business ethics in the company’s management.

The relationship between NASA and the contract is also a contributing cause of the disaster. This is evident from the conference call that includes NASA and the contractor the day before the launch. NASA’s flight engineer, who is openly hostile toward the contractor from the start, begins by pointing out that the contractor (Frank in particular) is at fault for having taking the temperature problem off the reports submitted to NASA.  The company is so dependent on its rocket contract with NASA that the employee tasked with keeping NASA informed has removed a potentially dangerous problem from NASA’s radar screen.

The lack of communication is compounded by the adversarial relationship. On the call, for instance, Adam and the flight engineer at NASA reach the point of shouting at each other. The engineer orders Adam to “quantify.” Adam replies, ”I can’t.” In public policy as in business, not everything can be given a number. Sometimes when one is given, it brings with it false accuracy. With data only going down to 53 degrees, Adam cannot put a number on the percentage risk. Furthermore, how high of a percentage risk that the o-rings will fail on launch at 30 degrees could the flight engineer accept? The flight engineer wants a number to protect himself. Just as the managers at the contractor don’t want to lose their jobs, neither does the flight engineer. Meanwhile, no one is looking out for the human beings who will blast off the next day.

 NASA cannot go against the contractor’s recommendation to stop the launch. The flight engineer knows this, so he puts pressure on the contractor’s managers, who capitulate because the company cannot lose the contract. In bending NASA’s policy by pushing for a reversal from the contractor—and by the company’s management overruling the engineers on an engineering problem—the flight engineer is reckless (even as he tries to protect himself by demanding quantification).

In response, the contractor’s managers huddle. “NASA might find another contractor if we recommend delaying launch,” one manager says. “NASA might lay off people.  15,000 jobs here are on the line; we need this contract.” The manager then says to the entire group, “We need to make a management decision.” One of the engineers then shouts, “We cannot guarantee a good seal!” The manager appeals to the personal financial interests of all the engineers in the room.  “Don’t you have a mortgage? Don’t you want your jobs?” Adam chimes in, “There are nine astronauts; their lives are in our hands. The manager coldly replies, “they know the risks; that’s not our concern.” This brings Adam to a rage, “How dare you play with human lives like that. . . . You won’t give these poor souls a chance so we can make a buck or two. . . . This is not a management decision.”  That manager ignores this point and tells NASA it’s a go.

The philosopher Kant’s ethical theory can be formulated in terms of treating other rational beings not just as means, but also as ends in themselves. The contractor’s managers treat the astronauts unethically because they are just a means to the company getting paid for its rockets. NASA’s flight engineer does the same thing.  NASA has already delayed the launch, and avoiding the embarrassment of delaying again, even by hours, is motivating the flight engineer at the expense of the astronauts. Both NASA and the contractor’s management have lost perspective with selfish, skewed priorities.

Inferno: A Sequel that Goes Up in Flames

With the allure of additional profits to be had, Hollywood has been all too willing to torch high-quality brands as if with perfect impunity. A case in point is the film, Inferno, which followed The De Vinci Code and Angels & Demons in the Robert Langdon film series spanning ten years (2006-2016) based on novels by Dan Brown.

Noticeably absent from Inferno were any traces of theology, which had given the first film such narrative force, are arguably even sustained the second film. On first seeing the title, Inferno, I expected the film to involve the Christian concept of hell (hence Dante’s Inferno). L’Inferno, the 1911 European silent film, for example, is loosely based on Dante’s classic text. The film was an international success, taking in more than $2 million in the U.S. alone.[1] In contrast, the 2016 film received generally negative reviews and did not do well financially in the U.S. Rather than being about hell, or even religion,  Inferno is about climate change and over-population combined with biological warfare. The link to religious symbolism is tenuous at best, so the justification for the protagonist, Robert Langdon, is insufficient.

Film can indeed handle substantive theological issues. Films such as Rosemary’s Baby, Agora, The Last Temptation of Christ, The Greatest Story Ever Told, and The Devil’s are but a few stellar examples—exemplary still because their respective producers did not risk the brands by attempting to squeeze out more profits from a line of diminishing sequels. In contrast, the reputation of The Exorcist was diminished by Exorcist II: The Heretic and Dominion: Prequel to the Exorcist; both films, justifiably receiving stinging reviews, departed from the original storyline without bothering to be faithful to the original.

Producing sequels until the marginal revenue approaches zero is not a good business model for Hollywood. It is indeed possible for ensuing scripts of sequels to burn, or at least tinge, the original even long after it has been made into a film. Even from a business standpoint, the box-office flop of a sequel can negatively impact sales of the original film because of the hit to its reputation. Contradicting elements of the original story, such as occurred in sequels to The Exorcist, burn holes in the believability of the storyline itself. Was or was not the African boy, Kokumo, possessed by the demon Pazuzu?

In short, too much of a good thing can be counter-productive. If the reputation of a film’s “brand” means anything, it should be protected rather than prostituted out. Rather than pushing for sequel scripts, producers with one hit “under their belt” can better satisfy their economic and personal-brand self-interests by looking for another unique script. In the case of films with a theological dimension, scripts that engage a viewership with substantive problems rather than superficial protagonist-antagonist “drama” are the best bet.  

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[1] Antonella Braida, "Dante's Inferno in the 1900s: From Drama to Film." In Antonella Braida, Antonella and Luisa Calé, Dante on View: The Reception of Dante in the Visual and Performing Arts (Aldershot, UK: Ashgate Publishing, 2007): 47-49.