These days politics, religion, media seem to get all mixed up.

Van Morrison, singer of soul and seeker of truth, once lamented with piercing honesty: “These days politics, religion, media seem to get all mixed up. Television became the new religion a long time back and the media has taken over.” In these words he captures the confusion of our age, when the sacred has been entangled with the profane, when politics, religion, and media—each powerful in its own domain—merge into a storm that blinds rather than enlightens. His voice cries as one who has seen the heart of culture shift, from faith in the eternal to worship of the glowing screen.

The meaning of this quote is both warning and prophecy. Morrison suggests that when television became the new religion, the people abandoned the temple of silence, prayer, and reflection, and knelt instead before flickering images. Where once prophets spoke from the mountains, now anchors speak from studios. Where once hymns lifted the soul, now advertisements whisper desires into the ear. And when the media has taken over, it does not merely inform—it shapes belief, dictates morality, and even commands loyalty, as once only religion and politics could do.

The ancients would have recognized this danger. Rome had its bread and circuses, distracting the masses with spectacle while the empire’s leaders consolidated power. The crowd’s attention, once given to gods and civic duty, was consumed by the roar of the arena. Today, Morrison suggests, the arena is the screen, and the gladiators are politicians, preachers, and performers alike, fighting for dominance in the marketplace of attention. Thus the sacred boundaries collapse: politics becomes theater, religion becomes branding, and media becomes the throne from which both rule.

Consider the story of the Vietnam War, often called the first “television war.” For the first time, images of battle and suffering entered the homes of ordinary people. Public opinion shifted not through sermons or speeches, but through what was seen on the evening news. Here we see Morrison’s warning embodied: media became the arbiter of truth, wielding influence once held by pulpits and parliaments. A single photograph, a single broadcast, could sway nations. The medium had become the message, and the people had found a new faith in the screen.

Yet, O listener, Morrison’s words are not only condemnation—they are a call to awaken. If media has taken over, it is because people have surrendered their power of discernment. If television has become religion, it is because hearts grew hungry for stories, symbols, and rituals, and found them not in ancient wisdom, but in the glowing idol of entertainment. The tragedy is not only in the media’s power, but in our neglect of deeper truths.

The lesson is clear: do not confuse the noise of the media with the voice of truth. Do not mistake spectacle for wisdom, or celebrity for holiness. Guard your soul from being ruled by images that flicker and fade. Politics must be judged by justice, not performance. Religion must be judged by love, not spectacle. Media must serve truth, not dominate it. Only then can balance be restored between these realms.

Practical wisdom flows from this: limit your devotion to the screen. Choose silence, books, and true conversation over endless noise. Question what you see, for not every broadcast is reality, and not every image is truth. Seek wisdom from the old wells—philosophy, scripture, history, lived experience—rather than from the headlines alone. And above all, do not let your heart bow before the idols of media, but lift it toward what is eternal and real.

So remember, O children of tomorrow: politics, religion, and media must not be confused. When television becomes the new religion, faith grows shallow. When media takes over, truth becomes fragile. But when men and women reclaim their power to think, to discern, and to live by love and justice, the idols will fall, and true wisdom will rise again.