Last week I shared an updated version of a personal blog post I wrote before I had any interest in becoming a publisher–a post that discussed ways to avoid the problem magic in stories creates for Christian authors. A post that didn’t in fact proscribe any specific solution but offered some potential answers. I also said that the only solution I don’t recommend is to ignore or downplay this issue altogether. I could say I had established “why not” well enough without referencing any potential harm that can come to people. I did so by explaining the Bible uses the terms that translate as “magic,” “sorcery,” and “witchcraft” when addressing supernatural power that comes from a source other than God (because God has allowed has allowed his enemies some measure of power, something Rebecca LuElla Miller also noticed, as captured in her post from 2016)–which is forbidden by the Bible. Therefore, if God forbids it, we should be concerned about reproducing in fiction that which God doesn’t allow.

I found myself a bit surprised by several comments that in effect stated this isn’t a real issue at all–it’s only an issue to treat seriously in order to avoid triggering the ire of certain Christians. And one commentator implied perhaps my only reason for stating this concern was based on a desire to sell books to Christians. Um, not so–again, I wrote this post for the first time before I had any inkling of conforming content to match reader expectations.

For me, the issue most importantly is about the commandment Jesus stated was first, that we are to love the Lord God with all our heart, mind, and soul (Matthew 22:36-38, which refers back to Deuteronomy 6:5). If we consider God to be the source of supernatural power we are allowed to have access to through prayer, a power which at times was also accessed by other means in the history of the Bible, such as via the urim and thummim or Moses’s staff, then why would we want to portray supernatural power that has no connection to God? Why would we want to give credit where credit is not due and create stories where God is left entirely out of the picture–where magic is power that does not in any way point back to the Creator of all power or which even worse is stated to come from gods other than the One Lord? Why would we want to undermine the authority, power, and wonder of the God we love “heart, mind, and soul”?

But the issue is more complicated than where I think our hearts should be in regard to desiring to honor God in our portrayal of magic. Yes, we should desire to honor God–but does a mere portrayal of, say, a world that entirely excludes God, does that represent some kind of potential to do harm?

Again, the issue here isn’t just about a potential to do harm, it really should be about us desiring to honor God even in fiction. But is there any potential to affect someone in a negative way via a fictional portrayal of magic? Is there any potential to do harm?

Let’s make this question broader. Is it ever possible to put something in fiction that could harm people?

Let me give a specific example that ties directly into the genre of fantasy. I started reading speculative fiction first in science fiction. But around age 16 or so I started reading quite a bit of fantasy (actually for me it was Narnia that opened the door to reading all kinds of fantasy, whether with Christian themes or not). And I happened to read a book called Tarnsmen of Gor. Gor, if you haven’t heard of it, is a sword-and-planet type fantasy in which the protagonist travels to another world. There’s a lot of sword fighting and nefarious bad guys (who were priests in the first book if I recall correctly). Standard fantasy stuff–though in Gor, slavery is common. Sexual slavery too. Oh, did I forget to mention that in the Gor books women like being enslaved sexually, it gives them pleasure, and is portrayed as a positive good? That women are shown getting slapped around in these stories at times–and they like it? “Slavery is good for woman” is a direct quote from one of the Gor books if my memory serves me right. I don’t remember which one, but it had to be from one of the two I read (at least I stopped at two).

How could that possibly do harm? It’s only fiction, right?

The example I just shared, dear reader, is intended to illustrate how ridiculous the “it’s only fiction” response is to this sort of thing. Yeah, could it be that certain men might read Gor when young and impressionable and draw the conclusion that women really are to be treated as sex slaves? Or at least they could be influenced in that direction? And why in the world would we want to portray women that way in the first place–who would even want to read about women being treated that way?

Though…in spite of my purpose to ridicule the “it’s only fiction” response, I know some people will still offer it. And mean it.

And let’s “give the Devil his due” here, they are not entirely wrong. You can read books that portray serial killers in graphic detail without getting anywhere close to becoming a serial killer yourself. You can read about sexual slavery of women without ever joining the modern trade in sex slaves. And you can read stories that portray magic tied up in Paganism without ever having any interest in becoming Pagan yourself.

But on the other hand, how many serial killers had never even heard of other serial killers? And how many sex slavers had never fantasized about domination of women (and children and men at times) before actually going out and doing it? And how many practicing Witches and modern Neo-Pagans (literal worshipers of gods other than God) had never read about fantasy magic before seeking out the power they perceive exists in their religion(s) of gods and goddesses? (Or for Wiccans, i.e. modern Witchcraft, the singular male god and the singular, much more important, female goddess?)

News flash: People who engage in lifestyles we think of as shocking from a Christian perspective hardly ever jump right in without ever having imagined it first. Normally people are first exposed to an idea, then they think that idea over for a time (sometimes a long time), then after that, after the idea has been meditated on for a while–then they actually do it. Yeah, sometimes a person is introduced to the full thing directly from someone they know and don’t go through much of a “thinking about it stage.” But “normally,” as I said, people think about it first.

Sometimes people never get past the “thinking about it” phase. Frequently even. And some people think and fantasize about evil for a while then wind up violently rejecting this kind of thing and go the opposite way–like a certain publisher of Christian fiction I happen to know very well (ahem).

But in general, even though we cannot predict all the things people do, people in general empathize with the protagonist of a story and at times adopt attitudes and even on occasion practices and beliefs the protagonist holds. Portraying magic in a positive light in a way that has no connection to God invites some-but-nowhere-close-to-all people to seek out magical power via means other than God. And such magical practices really do exist in the real world, even though they are quite different from how fantasy magic is usually shown.

Some people will never even fantasize about using magic themselves based on reading about fantasy magic, some will fantasize about it but that’s all, but some, even if a tiny percentage, will actually seek out real magical power and will find in the world of the Occult not exactly what they were looking for, but real power nonetheless.

Note how different what I’m saying is from the standard Christian objections to, say, Harry Potter. A perception based on a certain view of spiritual warfare holds that particular actions or thoughts give Satan rights to interfere with your life. YOU WILL BE OPPRESSED BY THE DEVIL! if you read Harry Potter. Supposedly. But the view of Satan having rights over a Christian based on specific activities is not actually found in the Bible and I don’t believe things work like that. Satan will not rip off the top of your skull and crawl into your brain if you should ever dare crack open a volume that contains fantasy magic that ascribes power to gods other than God (like Percy Jackson) or continually shows people having power without them ever thinking about God or tying anything back to their Creator (as happens in Harry Potter and Cinderella and Frozen and most other stories that feature fantasy magic).

In fact the latter is the most common kind of fictional story in our world–whether referring to a tale that features magic or not–most stories simply leave God out and thereby encourage the notion that God really isn’t that important after all. So that’s another reason to cite God as the source for magic or to seek out a way to honor God in your magical system, however you decide you want to make one. People should not be apathetic to the importance of God in their lives but often are.

I want magic systems in fantasy I write or publish to point back to God, even if very subtly, not just because there is a real, not-high-but-not-zero-either chance of actually doing harm to someone. But because I want to honor God and remind people to think of their Creator. Though that doesn’t mean the issue of harm doesn’t exist or that it doesn’t matter.

I’m going to end this article with what will seem at first like me changing the subject to something completely unrelated to fantasy magic. But bear with me–it relates.

Did you know the ancient Romans used lead piping to deliver the water that aqueducts brought in to homes and public fountains? Did you know they also used containers made of lead as cooking or serving dishes at times–in particular to cook a syrupy sweetener made from grape juice?

Did you also know that some Roman writers actually warned about the dangers of lead exposure based on observation of medical problems for workers in lead mines? But in fact lots of people used lead piping and lead dishes and it didn’t harm them right away. The Romans lacked statistical methods and sufficiently developed standards of public health to prove that exposure to lead could have long-term affects on people. Modern analysis concludes that the exposure from water piping wasn’t so bad because the water supply system flowed continually and flushed out dangerous oxides quickly–but the lead dishes and in particular the sweetener cooked in lead pots was very dangerous. Yet the Romans could never prove the harm was there. People just absorbed the poison over a long period of time, suffered, and died. And life went on as if all of that was normal.

An ancient Roman spell scroll, found in Serbia. Not made of lead, but might as well be…

Did you also know that statistical methods of modern times work well in identifying medical ailments, but detecting how attitudes and ideas spread is much harder to measure, because it depends on surveys, and surveys require people to both know the truth about themselves (sometimes people are in denial) and to tell the truth (of course sometimes people lie)? So don’t look for any percentage figure of modern Neo-Pagans who started out being exposed to their religion via fantasy magic. Such a measurement probably cannot be made.

But let’s not ignore effects just because we can’t measure them. Let’s not in effect cook our stories in lead containers and then feel justified if no one is affected right away. Let’s try to avoid things we have reason to believe are contaminants, even if the effects are subtle. So lets take the portrayal of magic without any reference to God seriously–let’s work to avoid doing that, because there actually is a potential for harm. Even if harm isn’t the primary issue that we should care about.

Note I did not say to ban all portrayal of magic or adopt some sort of legalistic standard in how magic must be portrayed. I haven’t said that at all. Nor have I made any comment on stories you may happen to enjoy. I’m talking about guidelines for creators of stories here.

What are your thoughts on this topic? Of honoring God and concerning the potential for harm?

Two weekends ago, I went to Orlando with my wife and three kids on our annual Florida pilgrimage. We usually visit different theme parks during our trips, and this year we went to Disney’s Animal Kingdom and Universal Studios’ Islands of Adventure. The heat was oppressive, the lines were short, and much water and ice cream was consumed. It was a great trip capped off by a visit to the beach before heading home.

There are plenty of worlds to visit within these parks, both real and imagined, but the highlights are the alien world of Pandora at Animal Kingdom and The Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Islands of Adventure. I’m a scifi guy so Pandora is more exciting for me but my wife was eager to try the new Hagrid’s Motorbike ride with our son, and they said it was well worth the one-hour wait time. Apparently this is where all of the thrill seekers went because the lines for the other rides were just ten minutes, but I wasn’t complaining.

If you’ve ever been to these parks or similar recreated worlds, it can be a truly magical feeling, seeing places and things that only existed in your mind or on the big screen. I’ve never been to New Zealand but I imagine that the LoTR tour would beat anything that a theme park can produce. Yet walking among glowing alien plants or weaving your way through the halls of Hogwarts has a transportive effect that stimulates your senses along with your imagination.

Countless fictional worlds exist only on paper, and many would not translate well into theme park experiences. Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn books take place in an immersive world but making rides and attractions out of swallowing vials of metal flakes suspended in alcohol would be a difficult task. Even the world of Westeros from the Game of Thrones books and TV show seems too big for a theme park, though I wouldn’t be surprised if one was already in development.

There is one world which so far exists only on paper but is far from fiction: the new heavens and new earth that will endure for eternity after Jesus returns. This world will be the home of God’s children, not a heavenly paradise in the clouds. There are numerous interpretations of what is depicted in Scripture, but since we love to use our imagination, let us consider what this new world would look and feel like.

What does the Bible say about our eternal home? Isaiah 65:17 and Revelation 21:1-5 tells us that everything will be new and that the former things have passed away. All pain and sorrow will be forgotten and God will be the joy of our existence. We don’t know if this means we won’t know one another in eternity, but there will be no memory of past hurts or sins. Every moment will be pure joy in the presence of God.

What will this new world look like? The book of Revelation indicates that there is no more sea (21:1) and that believers will dwell in a massive city made of gold and jewels (21:10-21) and that there is no more sun or moon (21:23). This seems to be in contrast with how God’s creation was originally set up, with man and woman living in a garden to cultivate. It seems like a poor use of the world’s space to corral everyone into a city, especially with no more sea. But of course, if that is how God designs it, that is without question the absolutely best eternity possible.

The most important thing is that we will be with God, physically and spiritually. Rev. 21:22 tells us that there is no more temple, because God is the temple. Regardless of how the new world looks, the best part  will be enjoying the presence of God in its fullest sense. That’s something that no depth of imagination can ever approach, and we will just have to wait until that glorious day comes.

Along with all the fun silliness, The Tick‘s second (and final) season on Amazon has good dramatic moments and a powerful theme throughout the series’ main plot.

A fair warning: to discuss the themes, I’ll have to get into some spoilers.

Superheroes under our AEGIS

Season two of Amazon Prime’s The Tick opens with Arthur Everest (Griffin Newman) deciding to continue on as a superhero part-time while returning to his day job as an accountant.

Unfortunately, the accounting firm Arthur works for has figured out his secret identity. This was easy, given that his superhero name is Arthur. However, his dismissal comes at an opportune time because AEGIS—a S.H.I.E.L.D. stand-in—has reopened its office in The City. Its leader is Agent Commander Tyrannosaurus “Ty” Rathbone (Mark Kudisch.) He recruits Arthur and The Tick (Peter Serafinowicz) to join the organization.

The Tick gets in with his superpowers and Arthur is allowed to join to keep an eye on The Tick. The two focus on an effort to track down Lobstercules, a giant Lobster who breaks open bank vaults. Arthur hopes they make it to the Flag Five, the superhero team he idolized as a child and always dreamed of joining.

At the same time, Overkill (Scott Speiser) is bummed about not being allowed to kill after The Tick saved his life. Overkill is ready to flee The City, because he’s viewed as a rogue by AEGIS. However, Arthur’s sister Dot (Valerie Curry) persuades Overkill to talk to Rathbone, who reveals there’s a suspected mole in AEGIS. Dot, meanwhile, is beginning to develop powers and finds herself drawn into a world of action and adventure. She agrees to accompany Overkill, despite Arthur’s vigorous objections.

Meanwhile, Season 1 villain Miss Lent (Yara Martinez) sets herself up as a superhero named Joan of Arc to take out her competition and join the new Flag Five. Throughout the season I wondered whether Lent would really embrace being a hero. At the same time, Superian (Brendan Hines) becomes unhinged by the social media reaction to him being fooled into thinking The Terror was dead.

Less violence, more fun and tomfoolery

The second season of The Tick works on many levels. The scenes of gory violence, the language, and the partial nudity of season one are toned down to the level of a Marvel movie. While Season One was a parody of the gritty Netflix superhero shows, season two parodies Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

So many comedic ideas work in this series. AEGIS is a federal agency, so it runs on hilarious amounts of paperwork and bureaucracy. Arthur’s ability to navigate this becomes vital to the plot several times, including when he’s able to help The Tick through his application by pointing him to the checkbox for “Mysterious Loss of Memory.” AEGIS superheroes get access to a lounge stocked with croissants that are so good, retired heroes put on their uniforms just to get them. Superian’s fall is both tragic and silly as Earth’s first superhero becomes driven by his desire to improve his social media profile. He wanders around unshaven in a flannel shirt and jeans, decides Arthur is his therapist, and acts out a deranged remake of the 1978 classic Superman: The Movie.

We meet a couple new heroes. Past versions of The Tick have featured unheroic walking jokes like Die Fledermaus, Batmanuel, and The Human Bullet. Here, we get a couple that are fun but effective. Flexon (Steven Ogg) is a middle-aged former hero who works as an attorney. Sage, the Supernumerary (Clé Bennett) is a hilarious Doctor Strange parody with a magic tattoo.

When heroes get lost

Dot’s desire to take on a life of adventure and make a difference is a key plot point. To convince Overkill to let her join him, she points out she saved Overkill’s life, too, and uses her wish to cancel out The Tick’s wish from season 1. The second season’s fourth episode, Blood and Cake, features an extended sequence where the four main characters are trapped together. Unlike Author, The Tick affirms Dot’s heroic ambitions, but he warns her about the dangers of the morally gray areas in which Overkill operates.

Dot falls into a web of lies, but so do The Tick and Arthur. They learn Lobstercules is not a villain but rather a female Atlantean warrior who saved Maine fishermen from a storm only to have them kidnap her babies and force her to perform robberies. The Tick exclaims, “She’s not a monster, she’s a momster!” Lobstercules is captured, The Tick and Arthur recover her babies, but find themselves having to lie and deceive AEGIS, who they have reason to fear will harm the babies.

Further, Arthur’s stepfather Walter, their friend Tinfoil Kevin, and Agent Commander Rathbone are all hiding something. This leads to The Tick having a reflective moment with Walter, when our hero takes stock of how they’ve all ended up in the woods. The Tick wonders what Destiny wants to do to them. Walter suggests that the point may be that the truth is precious.

Finally in the final episode of the series, Choose Love, The Tick has an epiphany as they debate whether to rescue Overkill, despite an obvious trap set by the villain. The Tick explains, “Overkill’s been in the woods, but so have we. All these secrets and lies have gotten us lost. The truth about the truth is it’s a choice. You choose love or you choose fear.”

This theme applies to every character in the series in one way or another. Even the series’s villain isn’t an evil megalomaniac like The Terror in season one, but a man who fears “the Categories” (that is, metahumans.) Only by finding the courage to tell the truth can the heroes find their way out of the woods. One character reveals some secrets but still holds on to a big one. Sage knows this and warns there will be consequences (which we sadly won’t learn thanks to the series cancellation.)

In our current world, a lot of us have become lost in the woods, either telling lies or tolerating them for fear of what the truth will bring. The Tick’s realization calls to mind 1 John 4:18: “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.” It illustrates how a work of fiction can bring home a biblical truth without quoting scripture.

With some great comedic moments, a solid story, and a great theme, there’s only a couple minor issues for which I can fault The Tick‘s season two.

In addition to Flexon and Sage, The Tick introduces Bronze Star, who goes on a team up with The Tick, Arthur, and Sage, and later becomes one of the Flag Five. We know nothing about this character from watching the series. He’s just a guy with bronze skin who wears bronze clothes and a bowler hat. We don’t know what his powers are, or if he has powers beyond his skin color. Apparently, according to what one of the co-executive producers said on Reddit, he’s a joke, but it falls flat for me.

The other thing is, season one established that Arthur possessed an advanced flying battle suit. For all the good it does him in season one, he could be fighting crime in a polo shirt and khakis. I understand why the suit was de-emphasized. The season focuses on what makes Arthur a hero, which is his heart, not his suit. And the series is effective in giving Arthur moments to show that heart, which makes you care about him. In addition, without Arthur’s paperwork skills, The Tick would have been lost in the AEGIS bureaucracy. However, if you’re doing a superhero series and you have a hero with an advanced battle suit, you should use it a little.

These are minor issues in a season well-worth watching. It’s an odd season of television that can feature vigilante dance parties before big missions, and still have a theme that challenges you to examine your own life. But The Tick season two is odd in the best way possible.

In the world of books, readers, and reviews, Christian authors live in fear of one simple word: preachy.

Now, I entirely agree that a book that pushes the forward momentum of the plot aside to sermonize on the author’s latest soapbox deserves to have a star or two knocked off a review, not for the author’s viewpoint, but for ham-fisted delivery.

But a great many authors, new to the game of navigating the minefield of public opinion, develop a new fear after hearing their writing comrades share the woes of one-star reviews and Twitter trolling. “Preach fear” broadens its infectious influence and drives some writers to ask, with trepidation, “Are themes no longer allowed in fiction?”

To me, this feels a lot like the subset of church culture that leans heavily upon the mantra “Come as you are” as they seek to draw in unchurched readers, with the motivation of wanting to express that personal perfection is not a requirement of attending a service.

Don’t get me wrong, I fully support the notion that having it all together is nothing more than an illusion and an excuse. Where “come as you are” sometimes goes wrong is when it putrefies into the non-confrontational practice of avoiding any mention that believers are to be transformed, to turn from habits that hurt their relationship with Christ.

A total avoidance of themes in fiction is like a church that never elaborates on “God loves you.”

So, as a writer, I’m pretty adamant that books (and churches) don’t have a duty to be non-confrontational. Stories can carry intense thematic elements without being preachy. Unfortunately, not every reader/reviewer knows the difference between encountering an idea that makes them uncomfortable and being hammered with an author soliloquy.

I’ve been exploring the notion of “Come as you are, but face your flaws and overcome them in Christ’s strength” in my fiction.

My Windrider Saga trilogy began as an experiment in writing an unlikeable protagonist, and I know that I’ve lost readers who struggle to put up with my main character’s deeply flawed personality. He’s ornery, impulsive, speaks his mind when he should hold his tongue, or just picks ungracious words to express himself. But it’s all a cover-up for his brokenness. The rejection he’s lived. The trauma of his childhood and his present-day. These are deep wounds, and just as we wouldn’t expect a long-time alcoholic to suddenly be sober and have every aspect of their life together the moment they hear the gospel, so it is with my Windrider.

As of September 10, I’ve reached the finale of a long cycle of re-releasing my four previously published books under my own self-publishing banner. It’s been an exciting time of recognizing some of my newbie writer mistakes (which I very much was when Divine Summons came out the first time) and having the opportunity to improve upon them. I “came as I was” in 2011. But here in 2019, I know my writing craft and my relationship with God had transformed. Now that the re-release process is over, I’m beginning to view my time being out of the published author game as a blessing—a needed time of growth and equipping.

And so, as I build these improved editions of my backlist and forge onward to writing new novels, I walk a hazy line in the realm of themes. I must tread carefully between offering the theme of hope: “You’re not stuck. Small steps in the right direction are valid. And God can use you even if you’re a serious work-in-progress” and indulging my characters some easy preaching. It’s nervous work to weave inspiring character transformation into an engaging story, especially when an author can’t control whether readers who catch a whiff of a Judeo-Christian worldview in a book will sound the Preach Alarm.

When it comes down to it, the work is worth it, though. Who wants to read (or write) a book that simply unpacks a series of events, that doesn’t endeavor to offer some points of reflection? As an artist, my ultimate goal centers on reflection, to offer stories in which readers see a reflection of some aspect of themselves, and ultimately, for my themes to reflect the character of the Creator, the one who has inspired me to make stories in the first place.

Please note this post is a re-edited and slightly updated version of an article I first published on my own personal blog in 2014 on this topic. It seemed appropriate to share this because another article from 2014 dealing with magic by E. Stephen Burnett was linked to comments on Facebook and he and I discussed this topic via social media just last week. I disagreed with his approach but instead of simply disagreeing, I felt it was better to share how I’ve handled this topic in the past via my “seven ways” post:

First off, what is the problem with magic for Christians? Or sorcery? Or witchcraft? (Are all of those things even the same?)

An entire book could be written on this topic (perhaps I’ll do that someday) but to keep this as brief as possible, the short reason this is a problem is the Bible has nothing good to say about the practice of magic (neither does extra-Biblical Christian tradition). No translation of Scripture will record the 12 Disciples watching Jesus walk on the water and say, “Wow, that was magical!” Nor is the mana falling from heaven in Israel’s wilderness wanderings described as some kind of powerful spell that Moses used, nor even is his rod described as “magic,” even though Moses had the power granted to him by God to turn it into a serpent at whatever time he chose. No, the Bible describes events like these as “miracles,” or “signs,” or “wonders.”

Supernatural power from God at the parting of the Red Sea. Image credit: Allcreatures.org

On the other hand, when the Bible talks about “magic” and calls people “magicians” or “sorcerers” (you could substitute “wizards” if you wanted), it includes the court magicians of Pharaoh, who resisted Moses by demonstrating to Pharaoh that the power Moses showed from God was not really that special after all, because they could imitate it. The Bible also makes mention of a death penalty for witches (Exodus 22:18–though the Bible does not record any instances of this particular death penalty being carried out). It also mocks the interpreters of dreams who worked for Nebuchadnezzar in the book of Daniel, showed sorcerers converting to Christianity and demonstrating the genuineness of their faith by voluntarily burning all of their own scrolls of magic (Acts 19:19), lists magic as a sin from which the Earth under judgment from God will not repent in Revelation 9:21 (the Greek word for “magic” or “sorcery” shares the same etymology as the word “pharmacology” and indicates the use of drugs to induce mental states associated with sorcery), and in general has only bad things to say when the word “magic” or related words like “sorcery,” or “witchcraft” come up.

A verse in Isaiah (8:19) directly contrasts reliance on God with the use of magic: “When they say to you, ‘Consult the mediums and spiritists who whisper and mutter,’ should not a people consult their God? Should they consult the dead on the behalf of the living?” (That’s the NASB–the King James Version uses the word “wizards” instead of “spiritists.”) Note this verse is specifically talking about necromancy for the purpose of divination in context, but note that the Bible has many examples of non-divination magic, magic also not shown to be directly connected to raising up spirits. This passage points out the fundamental reason why seeking “magic” (as the Bible defines it) is wrong and the reason is not limited to necromancy–it’s wrong because it detracts from seeking God and his power.

Note that the passage in Deuteronomy 18 that E. Stephen Burnett made the focus of his comments (verses 10-11) says: “¹⁰ There shall not be found among you anyone who makes his son or his daughter pass through the fire, or one who practices witchcraft, or a soothsayer, or one who interprets omens, or a sorcerer, ¹¹ or one who conjures spells, or a medium, or a spiritist, or one who calls up the dead.” The very first thing this passage references is a Canaanite practice of offering an infant to their gods in an attempt to manipulate their favor–that is, the very first act condemned along with a list of magical practices is actually something the Canaanites would have defined as an act of worship to their gods. This why “seeking supernatural power from sources other than God” is the glue that binds this passage together and which applies to all the specific practices it lists. Yes, at the time of writing of that passage, divination was probably the most common practice of those who sought to work “magic”–but it was by no means the only one. It was not even the first or most important one in this particular passage and as I’ve already shared, magic refers to many other things that have no connection to divination in the Bible, including manipulation of forces of nature by Pharaoh’s men, which looks pretty much like magic in many fantasy stories.

So, having looked at multiple words for “magic” in Scripture to draw a conclusion as to what it means in the Bible, the basic definition of magic is: Magic is the attempt to use supernatural power outside of relying on the one Creator God of the Bible. Note I’ve phrased this so that it does not comment on whether “magic” really does contain supernatural power. The very attempt to circumvent God to gain access to the supernatural is, Biblically speaking, a problem. Whether it really works or not.

“So why bother putting magic in stories at all?” someone might ask. “If magic can be an issue, why shouldn’t a Christian writer leave it out of stories altogether?” I’d say there are three basic reasons to work out a means to include magic in stories: 1) Fantasy is a popular genre with loads of readers. It makes sense to desire to reach them within their genre expectations from a strictly analytical point of view. Not to mention it can inherently interesting to write fantasy for people who’ve read it–and fantasy normally contains magic. 2) Fantasy has the ability to use analogy or allegory or myth-making to create powerful messages about the world we live in. And what the story calls “magic” can be a key part of any such analogy. C.S. Lewis achieved using the word “magic” that way in the Chronicles of Narnia, in fact. 3) And it so happens to be that magic is a staple of fantasy as much as aliens are a staple of science fiction. You could write the one without including the other, but it would not really represent the genre well for the most part. Or be as interesting.

So, how to proceed? I would say the basic task is to make it plain the magic in the story world is not the same thing as the sorcery the Bible condemns. In order to harmonize with the Bible’s condemnation, a Christian writer must make it plain that the supernatural power referenced in the story is not in fact in opposition to reliance on the Creator God of the Bible. I know of six good ways to do this (and will reference a seventh way):

1. Only the villains have “magic.” 
This is probably the most straightforward approach. Bad guys use spells, sorcery, incantations, and magic items. Good guys are stuck with either plain items devoid of any magical powers, or have supernatural power openly linked to God and under His control rather than theirs (and which is never described by the term “magic”). The Left Behind series actually shows baddies into witchcraft whereas the good guys, especially the two prophets in Jerusalem, call down supernatural power overtly in the name of God. To take this notion into the realm of fantasy, take this same sort of thing but instead of setting it on Planet Earth, put it in a world of imagination, but one where God is still God, though perhaps under a different name (e.g. Aslan–though note that magic in Narnia is not just reserved for the villains).

2. Rename miracles and prophets as “magic” and “wizards.”
Take a person who acts like a prophet of the Old Testament, but call him or her something other than “prophet.” Create situations similar to Moses parting the Red Sea or Elijah lighting the sacrifice to God with fire from heaven, but don’t call it prophecy or a miracle or a sign or a wonder. Call it “magic” or “sorcery” instead and those who them “wizards” who call upon the equivalent of the name of God in the story. By linking the activity you’re calling “magic” clearly to the Creator God in the story, you’re making it plain that you’ve simply changed the functional definition of “magic” within the context of your story world. Doing this would take advantage of the fact that fantasy readers expect magic in a tale, but turns their expectation on its head so the story magic works the opposite from how the Bible negatively uses the word. Therefore, done correctly, such wizards would really point back to prophets and their sorcery powers back to God’s power (by whatever name He is presented in the story). Readers who are not Bible-savvy may not immediately notice that the story points back to a Biblical way of seeing the supernatural, even though that’s what it would do. By the way, L. B. Graham, Christian author of fantasy, has used this approach in some of his books.

3. Treat “magic” as an allegory for the workings of God.
I’m thinking especially of how C.S. Lewis used the term “Deep Magic” as a description of what the “Emperor-beyond-the-sea” had written in the stone table where Aslan was sacrificed (in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe). It stated that the White Witch was entitled to kill every traitor and if anyone denied her that right, then all of Narnia would perish in fire and water. But an even deeper magic said that if a willing innocent victim was killed in the place of a traitor, then the Stone Table would crack and death would be overcome. Clearly this references how Christians see Christ dying on the cross for sin, but is phrased as “magic.” A story could call other acts of God or properties of God that parallel what we know to be true, “magic.” Wizardry of this sort would not in fact allow characters to use spells (because “magic” is part of the structure of the universe) and as such might call for the addition of another method of dealing with “sorcery” (one that does allow spells). Though I can imagine a fantasy story without spells at all in which all references to “magic” are simply to acts of God in allegorical form.

4. Treat magic as a form of undiscovered science.
I have imagined in stories I’ve written that magic is a kind of physics that operates in other universes but which is undetectable here. I conceived of magic as a form of power that flows though the multiverse not unlike how electricity flows through a circuit. For universes closest to the source, this power is readily available. The power is subject to manipulation by acts of the will and spoken words (so the use of this power resembles spells), but other universes drain most of the power by the time it hits our universe, so it has never been discovered in our world. In universes that have active magic, wizards are like scientists who study the properties of the invisible and learn how to use it, like how scientists learn to manipulate the forms of energy and matter we know about. Like science, such power can be used for either good or evil and like technology, there are unexpected residual wastes that can be harmful. 

Other novelists have invented other means in which “magic” is either science by another name (as I’ve done myself in the “Time of Magic” referenced in Medieval Mars) or have stated magic is an undiscovered science. Note that making sorcery equal science may create a story universe very similar to ones written from a non-Christian perspective, of the sort that have wizards and spells. But the difference is the kind of story that creates magical power which can be used in a neutral sense isn’t really supernatural power anymore. It’s the power derived from the ordinary physical world as much as photography, internal combustion engines, and atomic power is. What is called “magic” really should be considered part of the natural order in such stories.

It still would be possible for a character to seek supernatural power in an illicit way in such a story world by knowingly circumventing whatever understanding of God he or she had, which would amount to the sin of witchcraft, i.e. trying gain supernatural power without God. Which in that story universe would be a separate thing from the use of magic as in science by another name or in another form.

5. Blend the lines between the supernatural and natural into a strange universe.
What I just suggested in effect blends the supernatural and natural by making acts that would appear to be supernatural merely natural acts, merely the acts of a type of science instead. But I’m suggesting here goes the opposite way. 

A recent example of a Christian writer using “strange universe magic.” Image copyright: C.E. White

Instead of giving everything a natural explanation, nothing has one. Everything is off-the-rails strange and nothing can be said to be a deliberate attempt to achieve the supernatural without God because everything (or most everything) is already supernatural from the point of view of planet Earth as we know it. I’m thinking of Alice in Wonderland or The Wizard of Oz type story universes, where scarecrows and rabbits talk, where changing your size is a matter of what you eat and drink, and tornadoes will transport a house to another land without killing its occupants.In this kind of strange universe, magic is so worked into the fabric of everything that it isn’t special and using it is as natural as walking and breathing. Then that sort of magic does not relate to the Biblical condemnation of people seeking the supernatural without God. Though such a story can shut out God by never mentioning Him and can act as a sort of allegory for witchcraft, it certainly does not have to be. A story universe like this can just as soon mention God in various ways, even though the classic examples I mentioned do not.

6. Treat magic as an innate special ability in analogy to spiritual gifts.
This approach in some ways is a subset of #5, but can also employ notions of #4 as well. It might seem logically contradictory for a story to be both more and less scientific in its approach to the supernatural at the same time, but the author I know who uses this method makes both work. Kat Heckenbach starting in Finding Angel treats the power of magic as a gift that an individual has, given from beyond herself or himself. As such, her approach runs parallel to what the Bible has to say about spiritual gifts, almost forming an allegory of them. Yet since working the supernatural is just a natural ability, she in effect makes the supernatural more common and ordinary as per point #5. But at times she gives specific descriptions of how someone’s ability affects matter or energy in terms someone who has studied science on planet Earth would recognize. Which goes back to #4. In truth, Kat’s approach is unique, but her basic idea of making magic an inherent gift the magic user possesses can well harmonize with a worldview that does not include witchcraft in the Biblical sense of the term.

Dragging magic God condemns into an examination of God’s gifts. Image credit: ohippo.com

Note though that Pagans too have imagined that someone could be born with an innate ability to perform magic that does not really require casting of spells in the ordinary sense. Obviously, if they link such an inherent ability to their gods and goddesses, this would be a portrayal of magic the Bible would condemn. (It’s even possible to corrupt this idea in other ways, as to imagine Christians should be using astrology, tarot, ouija, or other forms of divination the Bible would condemn to find out their “spiritual gift from God”.)

So in a way, what really matters in this discussion is how God is portrayed in stories and what is the relationship between the user of magic and God. That matters more than how magic itself is portrayed.

7. Downplay the Biblical objection in the first place.
This approach seventh would be to either ignore altogether what the Bible says about magic or claim it only references a specific kind of attempt to gain supernatural power without God. I have heard people use the verse I quoted in Isaiah to claim the Bible does not condemn all magic, it only condemned necromancy, that is, trying to interact with or raise the dead. Or as I mentioned, some claim that Deuteronomy 18 only references divination or the point of Isaiah 8 amounts to divination as well. So as long as you stay away from these specific kinds of magic, the thinking goes, you’re clear. Which is why I gave examples outside of Isaiah and Deuteronomy. In fact, the Bible condemns far more that just necromancy and divination. It takes a broad shot at seeking supernatural power apart from God as a whole, though we need to understand by study what that really means.

I don’t recommend approach #7. I think one of the things that distinguishes an overtly Christian writer of speculative fiction is the attempt to work these issues out by some means or other. Not to ignore them. It does not mean conformity to just one way of thinking and it doesn’t mean it’s impossible to be creative or imaginative. (Kat certainly was creative in her solution.)

There’s no reason in most cases to use just one of 1-6 above. In some instances, you can blend two or more of them. Or create your own. I’d be fascinated to see in comments below if there are any other methods to resolve this issue that I didn’t think of. Or of course if you disagree with my definition of “magic” in the Bible–or any other pertinent points. 

Let me tell you what a snob is. But first, let’s talk about what a snob is not.

A snob is not a critic. Nobody likes a critic, of course, and some people deal with criticism by ruling it out of order. (By the way, in the great war of opinions, it is an implicit surrender to huff about people enjoying things.) All of us – even those not unduly sensitive about such things – have been annoyed and occasionally angered by other people’s criticism. But criticism is not snobbery. You can’t invite people to experience art and then expect them not to judge it.

A snob is not someone who refuses to like what other people like. A snob is not someone who refuses to like what you like.

A snob is not someone who thinks that popular art is bad, or even that it is vulgar. A snob is not someone who prefers what we vaguely call culture – Shakespeare, Beethoven, and all the rest – and insists on its superiority.

A snob is not someone who holds – however stubbornly, pedantically, or harshly – to inalterable standards of Real Art.

So what is a snob? A snob is the sort of person who might deliver the gibe Whittaker Chambers fancied he would receive: “How can anyone take seriously a man who says flatly that his life has been influenced by Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables?”

It is not that I have a high opinion of Les Miserables. Having never read the book, I have no opinion at all (this is the perfect objectivity that comes of abject ignorance). But the point I am trying to make is remarkably, though obliquely, illustrated by Chambers’ defense of his life having been influenced by Les Miserables: “I can only answer that, behind its colossal failings, its melodrama, its windy philosophizing, its clots of useless knowledge, its overblown rhetoric and repellent posturings, which offend me, like everybody else, on almost every page, Les Miserables is a great act of the human spirit.”

Chambers saw the artistic failings of the book as clearly as any critic (or snob!). But he also saw the great triumph of its humanness. Art is more than craftsmanship; art is intensely human. Art that is truly great – probably even art that is merely popular – forges its achievement through reaching something elementally human. Maybe it moves the heart or reaches the intellect; maybe it only plays on the nerves. Craftsmanship helps the human achievement, but it isn’t necessary. Bad art can play the nerves and the emotions powerfully, and usually does so shamelessly. Criticize it freely. But understand it.

The hallmark of a snob is that he forgets the humanity of art. He forgets that all great art is an act of the human spirit. He forgets that even bad art is an expression of human nature. A great deal of popular art is bad art, but you don’t have to overlook that to see its humanity. And yet the snob doesn’t see. The snob can’t imagine that there is any reason, besides poor taste, for the popularity of inferior works.

Because a snob is someone who doesn’t understand that the most important part of art is not its artistry but its humanity.

Spiritual fiction is a type of speculative fiction that has found some acceptance in the church, for good or for ill.

This genre has usually presented angels coming to earth in human form to get involved in human affairs, although angels and demons battling each other has been popular at least since Peretti’s books This Present Darkness and Piercing the Darkness. Other stories explore an alt-world version of Christ, such as Aslan in the Chronicles of Narnia stories.

But the late Rev. Joseph F. Girzone took this one step further in his book Joshua: A Parable for Today.

The plot of Joshua

Auburn is a small town, a place where usually not much happens, but of late there’s been a stir. A guy named Joshua has moved to this small town, and outside of living quietly as a woodworker, he’s also doing strange things like talking about God and religion and the church whenever people bring up those topics. Joshua stirs up so much controversy that he’s eventually summoned to Vatican City itself to answer for his statements.

But there’s more to Joshua than first meets the eye. He remembers a previous life, long ago and far away from the U.S., in places with names like Bethlehem and Jerusalem, and among people with names like Peter and John. For this Joshua is nothing less than Jesus himself, returned to earth in a quiet and unassuming way.

The good of Joshua

First, one curious bit of inspiration can be taken from this book, applying specifically to writers.

This is not a well-written story. It is filled with repetitions of information, telling instead of showing, and characters who receive little if any real development. But for all of that, it’s still a book that has sold over a million copies, according to The New York Times.¹

Anyone who’s tried to get into writing stories has no doubt been hit with all manner of strange rules. They’re told practices to follow and avoid: show don’t tell, definitely don’t use adverbs, don’t use adjectives, don’t write long sentences (like this one), don’t use “was” and “is,” don’t use “said,” don’t use whatever is meant by “the passive voice,” don’t head hop, and, whatever else, don’t use exclamation marks!

So, there is a strange sense of inspiration that comes from reading a book like Joshua, one where the author has broken almost all of the “rules” that are supposed to make for good writing, and yet has had the kind of success that most writers can only dream about.

It’s kinda fascinating, really, to think that the average reader just doesn’t care about all the rules writers think we must follow. They really don’t care about adverb usages and “to be” verbs. It can make us wonder what readers truly want in the stories they read.

The bad of Joshua

But if bad writing can still be popular, being popular still doesn’t mean the story wasn’t written badly.

For one thing, there are the great outrages Joshua causes over his remarks about religion and the church. Keep in mind, Joshua lives in a small town that is located in a country known for such things as freedom of speech, freedom of expression, and freedom of religion. Even in regards to Christianity, this country has many different denominations, factions within denominations, and cultic offshoots. In the real world, what Joshua says might cause some discussion at the local diner, but even in today’s outrage culture, it would pass under most people’s radars.

It’s understandable that the main characters in a story will give voice and actions to what the author thinks. When, for example, I read a lot of Louis L’amour several years ago, I got a pretty good idea of L’amour’s ideas from what the characters in his books said and what they did. And those things were often stated plainly, not hinted at in subtexts.

Most of the characters in Joshua serve two functions: one is to give the main character Joshua a reason to start talking about his opinions, and the other is to heap unstinting praise on Joshua himself and on every statement he makes.

Very little about this is subtle. After a while, it gets tiresome to read over and over again about how people just uncritically accept and praise every rather trite and simplistic thing Joshua says as if it were the most profound statement anyone had ever made.

In some places, this uncritical acceptance becomes especially unbelievable. For example, one history teacher at a university accepts “Joshua’s intimate knowledge of historical events” and “incorporate[s] many of Joshua’s interpretations of history into his courses.” ² But the story doesn’t tell us how this teacher verified that Joshua’s knowledge of these events was true. Neither does the author give any examples of Joshua’s great knowledge of what was really happening during these historical events.

Of course, we find a few people disagreeing with Joshua, because every book needs its villains, too.

A few years ago, I read this book and reviewed it on Amazon. In that review, I remarked about my impression that this book made me feel I were reading the author’s idea of what a fan club would be like. It’s as though Joshua, the author, surrounds himself with people who will uncritically accept every thing he says without any serious questions, and will praise to the heavens his every trite and mundane statement.

The ugly of Joshua

What makes this unconditional acceptance most bothersome is that so very much of what Joshua says simply isn’t biblical, and it’s not much at all the types of things Jesus really said and did.

Here is one example from a statement Joshua makes to another character:

“I think, Marcia, that you can best find God is you look within yourself. The most powerful revelation of God’s presence and his love lies within you.”³

We may wonder how frustrating it must be for God, having spent over a thousand years giving the human race a divinely inspired book, one that while very difficult in places to understand is still overall rather clear in its main message, to then have people claim that they can get a better idea of who God is by looking somewhere else, such as inside themselves.

Because the only think you’re going to find inside yourself is more of yourself, because this type of “look within yourself” thinking doesn’t put your eyes and mind on God, but on you and on that most unreliable and subjective part of yourself, your heart, your feelings.

This is Mysticism. This is the rule every authentic Christian ought to fight to the death to break as often as possible. When you are the source, when you are the foundation, when you are the heart of your spirituality, you have fallen prey to Mysticism’s old lie dressed up as the triumph of the individual (and with it the death of the community) in Western civilization. Worse yet, even if you have also found the true God in American mystical Christianity (because His Word is just that cool, working even through the lies we pile on top of it), the emotions that we confuse with God’s presence on a regular basis still always come with a timer. One day, no matter how new the trend is, no matter how clever the next gimmick, you’re going to go to the trough looking for another meal of mystical food and find out that Christianity just isn’t cutting it anymore.⁴

Here is another example of a type of idea that comes up throughout the book.

Pat also realized that Joshua’s understanding of religion was not blasphemous but, on the contrary, that he saw to the very core of what religion should be, an expression of people’s healthy growth as human beings inspired by a deep love of God and humanity and all of God’s creatures.⁵

God never intended that religion become what it is today. Jesus came to earth to try to free people from that kind of regimented religion where people are threatened if they don’t obey rules and rituals invented by the clergy. Jesus came to teach people that they are God’s children and, as God’s children, they are free, free to grow as human beings, to become beautiful people as God intended.⁶

The book’s “good” religious ideas are strongly man-centered. They’re are all about what man does and how he grows. But this ideology is putting the cart before the horse.

For example, where does Jesus say that all people are God’s children? I cannot remember any place in the gospels that record him saying that. Where do those same gospels record that Jesus said that people are free to grow and become the beautiful people God intended them to be? Again, I can’t recall such a place, and the author provides no references for his claims.

If anything, Jesus and the New Testament writers had negative views of people. Jesus told some religious rulers that their father was the devil (John 8:44), yet he also had common people turn away from him when he told them they followed him only because he could provide them with free food (John 6:25–27). Jesus even told the disciples, the men closest to him, that they would deny him and that one from among them would betray him. The book of Romans plainly states that none of us are righteous, none of us do good, the whole world stands guilty before God (Romans 3:9–19).

Jesus didn’t die for us because we were such fine folks; Jesus had to die for us because we are such great and terrible sinners. Jesus’ message was not that we can grow to become beautiful people, bur rather that we are enemies of God who can be reconciled to God only through the sacrificial death of God himself.

Conclusion

Somehow this book has become some kind of Christian classic, and the author wrote numerous sequels and even a prequel. For some reason, a movie was made from this book. Looking at it solely as a work of Christian fiction, I have to wonder how this book had any level of success at all, because while there is plenty of talk of God and the church, there is no real Christian content in it.

Joshua is not a book to which I can give any kind of recommendation. Instead, this is a book that should be read with great discernment. Do not let the simplicity and hominess of the style cause you to turn your brains off. And do not let the other characters’ constant praise of Joshua’s ideas cause you to accept them without thought.

Funny, how the things that are important to us find their way into our stories whether we mean for them to or not. Things like forgiveness.

Years ago, a dear friend and I parted ways—because of me. We didn’t fight or reach any sort of impasse in our relationship. I simply felt like there were too many unresolved differences and that it would be better for me to release her. So I did.

I likened my decision to the Biblical account of Abraham and Lot, who amicably separated because their shepherds kept arguing. “I forgive you,” I wrote in response to my friend’s having asked me to forgive her, “but I think it would be better if we parted ways.”

Over the years, every so often, my husband would (irritatingly) suggest that I forgive my friend. Always, he was met with my defensiveness: “I don’t need to forgive her! I already have! We’ve just gone separate ways.”

Except.

Forgiveness doesn’t feel like a need to pull away from someone.

Forgiveness doesn’t keep replaying scenes that stir up past anger, hurt, or disappointment.

Forgiveness doesn’t drive a wedge between friends.

And after too many years, I realized that my husband was right. The real, ugly-as-it-gets reason that I’d ended the friendship was because I hadn’t forgiven my friend for all the times she’d hurt me. I spent months working through things in my heart with God, until one day, while I was driving, it suddenly occurred to me that I loved my friend.

I wept. In that singular, joyful moment, I realized I had the capacity, after all, to be a friend to this woman, simply because I had forgiven her.

We have a relationship once again. (And the grace she offered me after years of lost friendship is one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever been given.)

Forgiveness is powerful—it frees us from a prison of resentment and unresolved anger we were never meant to be in. And because I passionately believe that forgiveness is the key to emotional and relational health, it makes sense that some of my characters’ strongest moments happen when they forgive.

Mind you, I never wrote, “Rain will forgive this person” or “This is the scene where so-and-so forgives Rain” while I was plotting Stormrise. Rather, the forgiveness expressed in these scenes is a natural outgrowth of the character arcs, according to my views on forgiveness. In each instance, a character can choose whether to forgive or not. And I believe choosing forgiveness is the stronger (though not necessarily the likely) path.

Unforgiveness plays an equally strong role, not only in plotting, but in character backstory. For instance, in one brief comment, Sedge, one of the less likeable characters in Stormrise, reveals more than he means to:

It’s not fair, the way the good ones go first,” Sedge said. “I’d have traded my father for Grandmaster Denerek in a swift second.

In this scene, the characters are discussing the death of their Grandmaster. Sedge’s comment smacks of unforgiveness, whether Sedge knows it or not (and he probably doesn’t). His attitude and outlook have been formed by his lack of a good relationship with his father, and by the fact that he has (unconsciously) chosen to stay angry about it. What he’s really saying is, “I wish my father had died instead of Grandmaster Denerek.”

Wishing his dad were dead is a pretty good sign that he hasn’t forgiven him.

There are even more pivotal moments of forgiveness in Stormrise that I don’t want to mention (because, spoilers). But the bottom line is that I didn’t set out to weave the theme of forgiveness into my story. It was a natural outgrowth of the state of my heart.

I am forgiven. So I forgive.

Not that forgiveness is easy. Sometimes our hurt is so big (like Sedge’s) that it takes a lot of processing before we can truly forgive the person who has hurt us. And sometimes we aren’t aware that we’re carrying a secret grudge. (Psst. Grudge = unforgiveness.)

To deny the thread of forgiveness that makes its way into my writing—both the presence and the lack of it—is to deny my own heart. I know what years of unforgiveness feel like, and I know the sublime freedom of finally forgiving someone. It doesn’t surprise me that it’s such an important theme in my writing, despite never having set out for it to be.

Stormrise isn’t a story about forgiveness; it’s a story about a girl who hides herself in order to ultimately discover her identity and step forward to save her land and everyone she loves. But it wouldn’t be the story it is without the thread of forgiveness woven through its words.

And I didn’t even do it on purpose.

BIO—JILLIAN BOEHME

JILLIAN BOEHME is known to the online writing community as Authoress, hostess of Miss Snark’s First Victim, a blog for aspiring authors. In real life, she holds a degree in Music Education, sings with the Nashville Symphony Chorus, and homeschools her remaining youngster-at-home. She’s still crazy in love with her husband of more than thirty years and is happy to be surrounded by family and friends amid the rolling knolls of Middle Tennessee. Stormrise is her debut novel.

You may find her online in these places: her author web site (where you may enter a Stormrise preorder contest—details below), Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Goodreads, and Miss Snarks’s First Victim.

Stormrise Pre-order Contest

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