When the news of Jerry Falwell’s death broke, the major
Republican presidential contenders were quick to pay tribute. Sen.
John McCain, who famously characterized Falwell and Pat Robertson
as “agents of intolerance,” remembered the televangelist as a “man
of distinguished accomplishment who devoted his life to serving his
faith and country.” Rudy Giuliani, perhaps the least Falwell-like
of the GOP hopefuls, praised him as a “person who told you what he
thought.”
Even such longtime Falwell detractors as Hustler’s
Larry Flynt and Americans United for Separation of Church and
State’s Barry Lynn were restrained and polite in their public
statements. But nobody has forgotten how polarizing the Moral
Majority founder could be. Matt Foreman, executive director of the
National Gay and Lesbian Task Force, recalled him as a “founder and
leader of America’s anti-gay industry.” It was a rare news story
that didn’t refer to Falwell’s predictions about the Antichrist —
definitely a Jewish male — or his complaint that feminists, gays,
and ACLU types helped bring about 9/11.
Falwell’s foot-in-mouth syndrome didn’t keep him from changing
American politics. The three biggest Republican triumphs of the
last 30 years — Ronald Reagan’s election in 1980, the GOP
congressional takeover in 1994, and George W. Bush’s reelection —
would have been impossible without the Christian right. Today,
religious conservatives are the largest single voting bloc within
the Republican Party. They supplied more than a third of Bush’s
2004 tally.
Yet for the movement he led to prominence, Falwell’s legacy will
remain a mixed blessing. His strident and sometimes irresponsible
public pronouncements helped set the tone for conservative
Christian political involvement. That tone — angry, bombastic, and
frequently puritanical — was easily caricatured as hateful and
intolerant of women, homosexuals, and religious minorities. Worse,
it was often difficult to square with the Gospel.
This problem is well known to many politically active
evangelicals, who have tried to approach these emotionally charged
debates in a spirit of Christian compassion only to have some of
their leaders’ more outrageous comments quoted back to them.
Falwell may have helped empower conservative Christians, but by the
end of his career he was as often an impediment — and sometimes an
embarrassment — to them.
Another failing of the Falwell-era organized Christian right is
that it frequently prioritized access and power above results. When
Falwell dissolved the Moral Majority in 1989, he announced that it
had accomplished the things it set out to do. But Supreme Court
decisions legalizing abortion, banning school prayer, and banishing
the Bible from public schools all still stood (and, with some
modifications, still stand today). At that time, divorce, sexually
transmitted diseases, and out-of-wedlock births were all on the
rise. In 1990, a record 1.6 million abortions were performed in the
United States.
There were plenty of people holding office who were willing to
invite Moral Majority officials to meetings and photo-ops. Far
fewer elected officials were interested in spending political
capital on the group’s substantive agenda.
Ironically, Falwell was well positioned to understand the limits
of politics in promoting cultural and moral change. He pioneered
the use of television in Christian evangelism. He helped encourage
Protestant fundamentalists to engage the wider culture and founded
Liberty University. None of these things required government
action. Yet after fifty years in ministry at Thomas Road Baptist
Church, the American public remembers Falwell as a political rather
than a spiritual leader.
Falwell deserves credit for helping millions of pro-life,
pro-family, and pro-faith Americans find their voice in politics.
The movement he led will only prevail if it learns from his
failures as well as his successes.
