Electrate Christ: The Allegory of John Lennon

The British Invasion brought with it a group of shaggy haired blokes called the Beatles, and set the cultural landscape of the States on fire with a New Gospel: rock and roll. As was the case with Elvis, parents quickly became more than skeptical of the group: the implicit sexuality; the strange hair and appearance; indeed, perhaps even the fact that they were British. And then John Lennon made the fateful remark: “We’re more popular than Jesus.”

Like Christ, he had admitted what the Elders had long suspected: he “claimed” to be of a higher order than the situated God of the time (is at least what the Elders heard). And like Christ, they set out to crucify him—albeit symbolically, in effigy—for the very same offense.

Yet, John Lennon and the Beatles (who he is not, by the way, wink wink) survived the momentary backlash. Their cultural influence grew, and it grew in direct opposition to the hegemonic values of the time, changing as they were in the turbulent Sixties.  The Beatles—as well as other key voices during this cultural shift—were creating a new Church of sorts (and with such a move, there was plenty of institutional resistance, backlash and actual violence to go around). And despite this seeming displacement, John Lennon’s message seemed hauntingly familiar, like an echo from a figure equally resisted from long ago: the message of Love.

And yet, the symbolic crucifixion of John Lennon became actualized in 1980, when he was shot dead in front of his hotel room. Of course, the most dangerous question, perhaps even a perverse one, is if this was John Lennon’s Fate. It could easily be argued that, within the realm of dubiously dubbed “culture,” John Lennon became as powerful a voice as anyone in recent historical memory. The measure of his change is immeasurable, and still echoes as powerfully as ever when “Imagine” plays. Like Socrates and Christ before him, he could not forever run from the consequences of giving so much.

In many ways, the stories are the same; the institutions are different. And yet, in either case, the ethos behind the narratives are not all that distant: again, merely the emphasis on the resonance of Love. Both reside within the potentiality and possibility of the imaginary: faith in a higher power so as to guide a sense of well-being (in its more desirable form, at least); imagining (or dreaming) as a means by which to move towards well-being.

The problem: institutions care more about their preservation and reproduction than their actual message (and this is quite obvious). The message that models individual behavior, however, merely becomes a delivery system for the reproduction of the institution itself. Of course, this is duly noted in the institutions associated with various epochs (oralityàliteracyàelectracy), and in how these institutions contend with each other. The question, then, is how can we move beyond the otherwise inevitable struggle over power between institutions (hegemony) and into a more de-institutionalized focus on the advancement of well-being in itself and for itself? Otherwise, it seems the same allegory repeats itself. After all, could we not say that John Lennon was, perhaps, the electrate Christ?