Sin always promises to taste good, and there’s some truth in its promise. Eve saw that the tree of the knowledge of good and evil “was good for food . . . a delight to the eyes, and . . . to be desired to make one wise” (Genesis 3:6). Yet, what looked good and tasted good didn’t leave them very wise; they wore fig leaves and hid in shame from their Creator and were eventually banished from paradise.

A few years ago a radio personality coined the phrase “jumping the shark.” The genesis of the phrase comes from an episode in the 70’s television show Happy Days. While waterskiing in his leather jacket, Fonzie actually jumped over a shark.

The phrase now refers to a scene within any television series that provides incriminating evidence that the series is no longer any good. It’s the moment of ridiculousness when the plot is so threadbare and characters so clichéd that you roll not just your eyes, but your whole body grimaces: Are you kidding me—he just jumped the shark?!

In comedy sitcoms especially, main characters invariably become caricatures of themselves. In other eras it was George Costanza on Seinfeld, Michael Scott on The Office, and Ron Swanson on Parks and Recreation. Their original caricature was of something based in reality, but eventually they all became caricatures of their own caricature, which is absurdity. Laughs came only with more difficulty, exaggeration, and convolution. The contemporary show The Man in the High Castle is very well directed, but if it should continue for another five seasons, I suspect even the beautiful complexities of a character like Juliana Crain will be extruded thinner and thinner.

Not only can sitcoms jump the shark, but television genres can as well. I’m no expert in the CSI franchise, but it seems to me that subtlety was long ago replaced with the overt. Slow-cooked, rising tension was replaced with extravagant, violent twists of plot all splashed with sexual innuendo. An early episode of Law and Order, a forerunner in the crime investigation genre, would look boring in comparison—better, but boring.

Sin Aims to the Utmost

My point is not to engage in a “they don’t make them like they used to” rant. The slow, degradation of characters is actually a microcosm showing us the trajectory of sin.

Sin always promises to taste good, and there’s some truth in its promise. Eve saw that the tree of the knowledge of good and evil “was good for food . . . a delight to the eyes, and . . . to be desired to make one wise” (Genesis 3:6). Yet, what looked good and tasted good didn’t leave them very wise; they wore fig leaves and hid in shame from their Creator and were eventually banished from paradise.

Lady Folly in Proverbs says, “Stolen water is sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant” (9:17). Perhaps it is, but this view is nearsighted. When the stolen meal is consumed, sin still won’t be satisfied. Sin will want to eat the styrofoam plate the food was served on, and will still be hungry to gnaw off the arm that held the plate.

Read More