Back again for a last tussle with icons, my words in blue, Stephen’s in black.

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Hi, Stephen!

Last week was a total bear…spent most of it in St. Louis, where my daughter’s high school robotics team was competing in the FIRST Robotics World Championships (details here). Thus this late reply and lack of commenting on the website. I’m going to keep the response part of this brief to leave room for summary comments on the series.

Oh, and FYI, the final exam is pass/fail.

Yes, I think there’s a tendency, particularly in Christian fiction but not exclusive to it, for writers to become so caught up in the urgency of their message that they neglect the art of storytelling, and it is an art. Stories are meant to transport a reader or listener from their everyday life and immerse them for a while in something new and wonderful. We see the world through someone else’s eyes, or at another place and time. We might experience a world totally different from our own where things can happen that are impossible here. When that delicate bubble of immersion is lost through clumsy writing, or a sales pitch, or a product placement, or a reminder that there’s going to be a test on this material in a few minutes to make sure everyone’s been paying attention, the opportunity to communicate those things we care about can be lost forever.

Epic stories glorify our Author by showing the growth of characters into “icons.”

They can, but there aren’t many examples of characters, as compared to the total population, who actually manage this. And that’s okay. The community of characters we can rightly call icons in the truest sense of the word should be an elite group.

Surely you jest.

Okay, now you’re just yanking my chain. 🙂  Popularity only scratches the surface, and it’s usually transitory. An iconic character is timeless because they reflect an eternal longing within us. Out of the millions of characters conceived since we began telling stories, a few stand above the rest, and I think if we all sat down for an hour or so and composed our own short list of such characters, we’d agree more often than not.

By contrast, I’d been thinking about this first in the sense of a character trying to be like the ultimate Character/Icon, Christ (or a fantasy-world equivalent). Yet this is similar to a character who wants to be like an idealized icon in his story-world. Luke wants to be the best Jedi Knight. Peter Parker wants to be a great superhero. Aang wants to fulfill his mission as the Avatar, master of all four elements among the four nations. All of those are in a sense quests for “perfection.” They’re what drives the character’s actions.

And most of that is simply muddling through. The characters have only a glimmer of what it is they’re searching for and what it all means. We identify with them because we do the same kinds of things and make similar mistakes along the way in our lives. When the characters keep faith with their quests, and press on when everyone is telling them they don’t have a chance, they transcend their weaknesses and overcome their foes and obstacles. In witnessing their victories, we envision hope for an epiphany of our own, if we endure to the end.

The icon is a point of reference, a target, a bar set a few inches above our personal best.

Exactly. And it seems that in reality and stories, the threshold of “perfection” will always be higher than the person can ever reach. Christ is in His place and we’re in ours, unable to rise further because He was first and always. In reality, we should prefer it that way.

And yet, He calls to us, “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” It’s compelling, and terrifying.

A character is trying to be an icon, an image of the Greater, but hasn’t yet arrived. This leads to a story’s plot. Heroes (and even villains) have not yet achieved their goals.

From the character’s point-of-view, I don’t see this happening very often. Characters are mostly trying to just live their life, or survive to see another sunrise. Their personal growth is something they don’t realize until near the end of their story, though that journey is visible to the reader and part of what keeps us engaged.

Likewise, to use some of your examples, Luke Skywalker’s quest takes on an entirely different meaning once he discovers his father’s true identity. Peter Parker learns that “with great power comes great responsibility,” and the lesson costs him dearly. Aang enters the Avatar State and finds the destination of his journey as much a threat to his soul as a solution.Thus, as I wrap up, a summary of one “formula” resulting from this series.

1. God is the Axiom, the image of no one. He is Himself, the I AM.
2. Jesus Christ, fully God and fully Man, the second Person of the Trinity, in His eternal existence as the God-Man, is the “icon” of God (Col. 1:15; Heb. 1:3).
3. As redeemed saints, Christians are “icons” of Christ (Rom. 6:5, 1 John 3:2).
4. Likewise, story characters are “icons” of us, in their complexities and choices.

Sigh. Yeah, maybe. These are true statements, but as a formulation, it gives me an image of characters designed like little Russian nesting dolls, and that doesn’t feel natural. In a way, it’s emblematic of this entire discussion. The harder we try to make this icon metaphor fit into the practical business of writing and understanding literature, the squishier and messier it becomes. We began with something that sounded like an Ideal Form in the Platonic sense and we’ve come back around to characters that resonate with us precisely because they resemble our fallible, vulnerable selves. We’ve covered the spectrum from characters that represent our most noble and exalted aspirations to characters that give us hope because they’re slogging through the mud of life right beside us. Very different conceptions of “icons,” but each true and important in their own way.

And for me, that’s the bottom line. Show me Christ, of course, but don’t forget He’s the Way, the Truth and the Life. Show me truth. Show me truth in action. Show me truth lived out in a real world filled with real people with real problems, even if it’s a thousand light-years away and runs on magic. Show me truth illustrated so vividly I can feel it to my very core. Don’t tell me what to believe and then figuratively stand off to one side waiting for me to come around to the merit of your argument. Instead, invite me to share a world that will leave me no choice but to believe, once I’ve experienced it.

This has been fun. We ought to do it again sometime, maybe with a topic a little less formidable.

Fred

We’ve run some polls from time to time aimed primarily at writers, but this one is for readers (of which writers are a subset — or ought to be. 😉 ) Where do you get your books?

The book business is changing so fast it’s hard to keep up, but I wonder if readers are changing their habits too. It’s actually tempting to run three separate polls because here’s what I’m curious about:

• How do you determine what books to read?

• Where do you get the books you’re reading?

• Have you changed how you get books in the last five or so years?

For the sake of simplicity, I’ll focus on the middle question — where do you get the books you’re reading.

When I grew up, the most popular place to get books was the library. I had access to wonderful libraries. My junior high library, for example, would be the envy of many city libraries today.

However, I’m guessing that over time affluence and marketing has changed readers’ procurement habits. First the Big Book Chains supplanted independent book stores. And these very large stores were reader friendly, had an outrageous selection, and carried the newest releases.

Then Amazon came along. Suddenly buying books was cheaper and easier.

As if that wasn’t enough, e-readers opened up a whole new source of literature. Suddenly small press publications became accessible to the greater public, and so did self-pubbed works. Wow! Many more books to choose from.

So how do we? Is it still friend recommendation that matters most? I suspect so. But how have all the changes affected you? Do you buy more books? Use the library less often? Let’s take a look at how we’re getting the books we read.

Choose from the list below the three that most accurately describe how you get the books you read.

By the way, if you happen to leave a comment telling us how you determine what books to read and if your procurement habits have changed in the last five or so years, I wouldn’t be unhappy about it. 😀

The thing I like most about writing sci-fi is you get to ask “what if” questions. I’m not talking about your usual “what if” questions, like “what if they never meet?” or “what if he turns left instead of right?” The questions I’m talking about are the really big ones, like “what if the world ends tomorrow?” or “what if we discover life on another planet?” or even “what if an artificial intelligence were to come to believe in God?” Although, actually, in sci-fi a seemingly innocuous question like “what if he turns left instead of right?” can be used to generate world-changing plot-lines, which is another thing I like about the genre.

The reason I wrote Alpha Redemption was because of the question of whether or not an artificial intelligence might believe in God, if presented with all the facts. Some people suggest that Artificial Intelligence is unlikely or even impossible. They say that there is no way we could ever create something so sophisticated as “intelligence” when we don’t really even understand how our own brains work. Certainly, we can mimic a synaptic network but at what point do we have a “mind”. And even if we manage to create a simple brain that can display some semblance of intelligence, that is a long way away from self-awareness. So, how far way are we really?

I remember as a small child my first impression of the telephone my family owned forty years ago. It was a huge plastic monstrosity, with a big dial on the front. For each number you wanted to ring, you had to insert your index finger into a circular hole on the dial and pull it around to a metal stopper. The number 1 was easy, and involved a quick flick of the finger. The higher numbers got increasingly difficult with the zero requiring an almost complete turn of the dial. If your finger slipped on the way round, you had to hang up and start again. Or if you got careless and did not turn the dial all the way, you could get a wrong number. And let’s not talk about public telephones and the germs lurking within.

Just the other day I was looking at cell phones in a shop. There was a mind-boggling array of models from which to choose. The top of the range I-phone contains more technology than your average PC of just a few years ago. Running through the list of features, I was struck by just how far technology has come in such a short time. Touch-screen display, 8 megapixel camera, 1080 HD video camera, wireless printing, dual core processor … phew! Forty years ago, this was the stuff of science fiction. Had someone suggested back then that one day you would be able to hold a video conference using a device not much bigger than a wallet, they would have been carried off for psychological evaluation. You have to wonder what is waiting for us forty years down the line.

At about the same time as my encounter with the monster telephone, Gordon Moore, the co-founder of Intel, stated that the number of transistors on a computer circuit would double approximately every two years. This became known as Moore’s Law and has been fairly accurate for almost half a century. It does not just apply to transistors on a circuit. Similar growth is occurring in many other areas of digital technology as well. Pixels in a digital camera, for example, follow a similar rule.

You have probably heard the story about the chess-board and the grains of rice (or wheat). There are many variations, but the gist of it involves a king, a hero, a reward, and a chess-board. The basic idea is that a king offers a hero a prize of anything he wishes for completing some task or other. The hero asks for a chess-board filled with rice, starting with one grain on the first square, two grains on the second, four on the next, and so on, doubling the grains for each of all sixty four squares. The king immediately agrees, thinking it must be a small reward. But he is mistaken, because there is not enough rice in the entire kingdom to fulfil the hero’s request.

So what does a story about rice have to do with transistors on a circuit board? Well, what both of these things demonstrate is exponential growth. We are not looking at steady growth but an increase of exponential proportions. The chess-board starts with a single grain of rice. At the end of the first row, the square contains 128 grains, giving a total of 255. On the square at the end of the second row we have 32,768 grains (about the size of a 1kg bag). This seems reasonable enough but, before long, the amount becomes very large very quickly. At the half-way point, our hero is looking at a square with over 2 billion grains of rice (or 66,076 1kg bags, which is 66 metric tons). This is a lot of rice, but things get really serious in the second half of the board. By the time the last square has been filled, we are looking at a pile of rice with 9 billion billion grains, or 280 billion metric tons. If you add together all the rice on all of the squares, you end up with 500 billion metric tons of rice (more than 1000 times the global production of rice in 2011, which was 476 million tons). However you look at it, that’s a lot of rice.

Technology is growing exponentially, which suggests an explosion over the coming years. Until recently, scientists struggled to create a robot that could walk. Not so long ago they demonstrated a bot that could actually run. A video shows that both feet actually leave the ground mid-stride. The same machine can climb up and down stairs, and even lift itself from the floor into a standing position. Just the other day I read an article about a computer that managed to beat the world champions in the game Jeopardy.

The significance of this is huge. What it means is that computers are now smart enough to navigate the intricacies of human language. As time goes by this skill will only improve until computers can use language so effectively that we will be unable to detect whether or not we are conversing with a human or a machine. Of course, the appearance of intelligence is a long way from true intelligence. Computers are still rubbish at analyzing visual data, but I have no doubts that this will change. One day we may have robots that can move like humans, with on-board computers capable of human-like communication, and with the ability to learn. For me, it is not a huge leap from there to something that is aware of its own existence.

A few years ago, I watched a documentary in which a programmer created a number of virtual ants. They were just dots on the screen, programmed to follow a set of simple rules, moved around the screen with no apparent order. Every now and then, however, the “ants” would seemingly cooperate and build a straight line across the screen. The programmer said that he hesitated before turning off the computer. How much more difficult will it be to turn off a learning-capable robot? Or a robot that is aware of it’s own existence? What happens of this machine wants to know about God and where it will go when it dies? What would we tell such a machine?

Paul writes science fiction that is both contemplative and profound. Educated in Africa, he works as an analyst/programmer and is studying towards a degree in Creative Writing. He currently lives in a small corner of the Netherlands with his wife and two children and various wildlife.  Visit his website at PABaines.com.

Why are Fred Warren and I still Rearranging Icons? Because icons fill our stories. Because the best readers will be aware of how others affect our minds with “iconography,” whether in novels, movies, religious traditions, or even television commercials. And because the best authors, who understand these transcendent symbols and know how to use them creatively, just might craft the best stories.

We’ll likely wrap up this series next week. Here, I’ll reply to Fred’s Tuesday column, with his comments indented. It seems like we’re closing in on a Grand Theory of Fiction Iconography: that good characters are striving to be icons. However, last week I did not mention something vital: a character never actually attains that status. (Only One has.)

Building icons

People can and will use [icons’] qualities to suit their own agendas, but I’m more interested in the idea that readers can have a richer reading experience and writers can tell richer, deeper stories if they understand how this works.

That leads me to ask, directly: what icons have readers noticed in their favorite novels or films? Or for writers: what icons have you intentionally placed in stories?

More often than not, [Protestant Christians have] forgotten what [icons] mean. On some level, the icon still communicates, but that communication is hindered when it’s taken out of context. It’s like slapping a facsimile of the Mona Lisa on a bumper sticker. More powerful is the iconography of our architecture. Our churches don’t resemble temples so much as lecture halls or convention centers. Big, white boxes with lots of chairs and a premium audiovisual system. Instead of cathedrals, we have “campuses.”

Such a name, resulting from such an supporting mindset, turns the church building into a Place of Learning. It seems to switch focus, from our exalted God whom we “gain” in any kind of true worship according to His self-revelation, to ourselves and our benefits.

One can legitimately critique Middle Ages-style cathedrals for their builders’ theology or means of fiscal support. But the concept of exalting God through excellence is Biblical.

I’d love to find more stories that act like miniature “cathedrals,” built for right reasons. Instead it seems that many Christian novels — not all of them, as overdone critiques say — act more like “campuses.” They have functional plain walls and office carpeting, yet  not a whole lot of beauty meant to draw attention not to homework, but His work.

Moving from campuses and cathedrals, whether literal or metaphorical, to cottages.

[Stephen:] The better critics fault [Thomas] Kinkade not for imagining the perfect world of the future, when sin and death are over and Christ reigns, but for imagining and imaging a nonexistent “universe.” In the Kinkade-verse, serious sin never existed. Not only do you not have to worry about it now, you never did. I’m not sure how that provides true comfort, and reflections of God’s grace, to viewers.

I’m not buying your premise here. I don’t think Kinkade’s work has anything to do with sin, and I highly doubt he was consciously trying to image a perfect, sinless universe.

These quotes may help clarify my starting point. Kinkade did say he wanted to “portray a world without the Fall.” Interestingly, he also recognized his own paintings as iconic — something I wish I had read from him before writing last week’s column. “I want to build the new iconography for the coming millennium,” he said 12 years ago.

Kinkade used the lamp-post as an icon. You likely associate it with another wintry fantasy world.

Again — and especially not wishing to speak ill of him personally — legitimate Kinkade criticisms fault not the artist, but the viewer/consumer, for “making” his paintings into iconography that minimizes sin and therefore God’s victory over it. But if one viewer can abuse the art for sin, another viewer can certainly redeem it. I can enjoy a Kinkade painting, no matter how “sentimental,” for the same reason I can enjoy Avatar: The Last Airbender. A creator may have missed 50 percent of Biblical truth — but God has given His people enough truth to spare. We can easily fill in the rest, redemptively.

Where it falls down as art, I think, is that it doesn’t communicate much beyond the nice. Art surprises, challenges, even confuses at times. It’s meant to show us the world through new eyes and reveal things we haven’t noticed before by virtue of its creative perspective. A picture can be pretty and enjoyable (or ugly and shocking) without being particularly artistic or meaningful, but its utility, audience, and lifespan are limited.

Agreed. (See? It seems we’re still agreeing.) And therein lies the further problem: what happens when someone decides only one kind of iconographic art is the best, the most pure, or the most “Christian”? We end up elevating one kind of truth or beauty above another; our perspective is flattened. It would be like going through the Psalms and cutting out all the “all creation praises the Lord” chapters (these don’t talk enough about sin!) or else cutting out Christ’s mentions of Hell (these don’t remind us that God is love!).

[Stephen:] This may be why people are put off by Kinkade paintings, or novels that have clichéd characters. […]

Maybe, but I think it’s probably more about being  hacked off that the kids are having chocolate cake for breakfast instead of something more nutritious.

You nailed it, brother. And I hope not to come across that way.

Chocolate cake is good. But if I had a child who only wanted to eat it for every single meal, only yelling at him about it is not the answer. The child needs to grow, in his maturity and in his understanding of other kinds of food. For example, what about chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream? Even among sweets, there’s more than one kind.

Reaching for iconhood

[Stephen:] Epic stories glorify our Author by showing the growth of characters into “icons.”

They can, but there aren’t many examples of characters, as compared to the total population, who actually manage this. And that’s okay. The community of characters we can rightly call icons in the truest sense of the word should be an elite group.

You instantly know who this is — even if his films' creator(s) kinda forgot.

It sounds like you were thinking in the sense of popular-iconic. Like shiny CGI blue people with large over-friendly golden eyes. Or Indiana Jones’ hat. Or Superman’s cape.

By contrast, I’d been thinking about this first in the sense of a character trying to be like the ultimate Character/Icon, Christ (or a fantasy-world equivalent). Yet this is similar to a character who wants to be like an idealized icon in his story-world. Luke wants to be the best Jedi Knight. Peter Parker wants to be a great superhero. Aang wants to fulfill his mission as the Avatar, master of all four elements among the four nations. All of those are in a sense quests for “perfection.” They’re what drives the character’s actions.

Similarly, for the Christian, fighting bad guys, discerning wrong beliefs, or even enjoying beauty are all means to the greater end: Perfection Himself. Christian characters, or their fantasy-world equivalents, are much the same.

The icon is a point of reference, a target, a bar set a few inches above our personal best.

Exactly. And it seems that in reality and stories, the threshold of “perfection” will always be higher than the person can ever reach. Christ is in His place and we’re in ours, unable to rise further because He was first and always. In reality, we should prefer it that way.

[Stephen:] A character is a human figure, shown, described and/or followed in an artwork, song, movie, play, or novel. Unlike icons, a character is not ideal. He or she is “real world,” with all the limitations, likely even sins, that we would expect.

Fair enough, but I don’t quite agree with this:

[Stephen:] A character is trying to be an icon, an image of the Greater, but hasn’t yet arrived. This leads to a story’s plot. Heroes (and even villains) have not yet achieved their goals.

From the character’s point-of-view, I don’t see this happening very often. Characters are mostly trying to just live their life, or survive to see another sunrise. Their personal growth is something they don’t realize until near the end of their story, though that journey is visible to the reader and part of what keeps us engaged.

It depends on the story type. If it includes a Christian character (or fantasy-world equivalent), he is indeed on a conscious mission. It’s not just about survival, but of proactive battle against his own nature and external enemies, and desire to please and become like the One Who saved him. Of course, all that is a grandiose simplification, because often that grand battle appears very dull in one’s life!

The best stories may reflect this in their characters. It can also provide amusement. On his way to a grand struggle against the dark lord to save the realm, the hero gets a rip in the seat of his battle-armor. …

 [Stephen:] Icons are for ideals, and the Ideal God. Not for us. Not for characters who “image” us.

Okay, this begins to touch on something important, I think. In one sense, you’re right—we can’t make ourselves perfect images of God, nor can we fashion “iconic” characters through the force of our own talent and will. Human beings become conformed to the image of God through His power and grace and our cooperation with His work in our lives. We’ve already discussed how all Christians serve as icons of Christ, even imperfectly. Some progress farther on the journey than others in this life. A few may serve as models and exemplars, heroes and heroines of the faith for those of us who follow, long after their death.

Amen. Thus, as I wrap up, a summary of one “formula” resulting from this series.

1. God is the Axiom, the image of no one. He is Himself, the I AM.
2. Jesus Christ, fully God and fully Man, the second Person of the Trinity, in His eternal existence as the God-Man, is the “icon” of God (Col. 1:15; Heb. 1:3).
3. As redeemed saints, Christians are “icons” of Christ (Rom. 6:5, 1 John 3:2).
4. Likewise, story characters are “icons” of us, in their complexities and choices.

But there’s also another dimension for characters in a story: the audience gets a vote. Characters don’t land on the bookshelf as freshly-minted icons on the day of publication. Millions of readers, over years, and even centuries, make that decision in consensus.

That could bring on the beginnings of other I-hope-even-deeper thoughts: that people appreciate character icons as they reflect us and “vote” to make them greater, in ways reminiscent of how Christ loves the Church’s members and makes them even greater.

Just as Christ wants us, His “icons,” to exalt the Father and be one with Him as He and the Father are One (John 17:20-23), so we will want to exalt favored iconic characters.

Back over to you, brother Fred.

Over also to readers, for further thoughts about icons in their favorite fiction. Who do you like? Who is already “iconic” in popular story franchises? Who should be iconic — perhaps a lesser-known character who you believe “images” you most uniquely?

Over the past few posts, I’ve been writing about how, as writers, we should be aware of who our audience is or will be. And I’m not talking about focusing in on, say, “women between the ages of 18 and 25 who were fans of Twilight” or “older teen readers who like a good superhero story” or “men over the age of 18 who liked Star Trek and the Bourne movies” (guess which two of those I’ve written for). I’m talking about our audience in a more general way: who are we writing for? Who should we be writing for?

Now I’ve suggested that, as authors of Christian fiction, we should focus our efforts on writing to Christians. Part of the reason why I’ve suggested that is because . . . well, it kind of makes sense. If we’re writing Christian fiction, who is the audience going to be?

But there’s another reason why I think we need to remember our audience, and that has to do with milk.

In the New Testament, Christian teaching is referred to as “milk” three times. The first time is probably the most well known:

Like newborn babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation . . . 1 Peter 2:2

In that passage, St. Peter urges his readers to seek after milk so their faith can grow. The milk is seen as a positive thing, something to be desired. But the other two times, “spiritual milk” doesn’t have such a positive connotation:

I gave you milk, not solid food, for you were not yet ready for it. Indeed, you are still not ready. 1 Corinthians 3:2

In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God’s word all over again. You need milk, not solid food!  Hebrews 5:12

In both of those cases, we see the same situation: Christians who should have been “weaned” off the spiritual milk can’t be because their faith hasn’t grown. Paul chastises the Corinthians because their faith isn’t ready for “solid food.” And the author of Hebrews says pretty much the same thing, although his words are a bit more scathing. His readers should have been teachers and yet they still need the milk.

I don’t know about you, but I see a pattern here: there’s a time and a place for “spiritual milk.” People who need the milk need it. But we can’t keep going back to it. At some point, we have to grow up and start on “solid food.”

This point has been driven home to me in recent months. Nine months ago, I became a father again when we adopted a son. From the day he was born, our son has been a milk fiend. He loves his bottles. But in recent weeks, we’ve started him on baby food. Carrots seem to be his favorite. Within a few more months, he’ll be eating the same food we eat. He’ll be off the bottle and drinking whole milk. It’s all a part of his growing up.

But suppose for a moment that my wife and I kept trying to force feed him a bottle. Would that benefit his growth? Sure, maybe he’d do okay with it for a while, but eventually, his health would start to suffer. He needs to move on from the milk/formula eventually.

I think the same thing is true when it comes to “spiritual milk.” It has its place. Non-/new Christians need their milk so their faith can grow. Just as I wouldn’t give my son a steak and expect him to dig in, so too we need to consider where our readers are in their faith journey. Do they need milk or solid food?

And that right there is the key question we should ask: who typically reads Christian fiction? How far along are they in their faith journey? Do they need milk? Or are they in need of solid food?

It’s my belief (and yes, this is my unscientific opinion) that most people who read Christian fiction aren’t non-/new Christians. These are folks who are stronger in their walk, who are in need of “solid food.” And that’s the reason why I think we can’t and shouldn’t target our writing for non-/new Christians. It’s offering milk to those who should be on solid food.

We see this sort of thing happen in the New Testament, actually. Consider two of the most diametrically opposed passages in the New Testament:

For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast. Ephesians 2:8-9

In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead. James 2:17

Now, on the surface, it seems like Paul and James are contradicting each other. Paul says it’s faith, not works. James says it’s works, not just faith. So which is it?

Well, that’s a question that would take a whole ‘nother blog post to sort through, but here’s where part of the confusion comes from: who are Paul and James writing to? If they were writing to the same audience, I would say that yes, this is a contradiction that has to be dealt with. But I don’t think that’s the case. I think that Paul is writing to “baby Christians” in Ephesus, people who need to be reminded that salvation is by grace alone, through faith, and not by what they do. James, on the other hand, was writing to veteran Christians, people who knew the grace alone business but lost sight of the fact that faith, to be living, has to be active, a faith that works. Two different audiences at two different points in their journey, thus two seemingly different messages.

Now obviously, the analogy of milk and solid food breaks down if you poke at it too much. Can a non-/new Christian get something out of a book written for mature Christians? Absolutely. I’m not discounting that possibility. My point is that as writers, we should remember who will be reading what we’re writing and tailor our message to them. And it’s my belief that if we’re writing Christian fiction, our readers are more mature than we seem ready to give them credit for.

So that’s it for me this week. In two weeks, I’ll talk about some books/series that seem to “get it” better than others. Until then, let me have it.

The Martyrdom of St. Stephen

(Once again, my remarks in blue, Stephen’s in black)

Stephen,

Response to your last installment. Sorry I didn’t get this to you earlier–busy week at work.

I think it’s more elegance (expressing a complicated idea concisely) than simplicity, because icons are complex. They distill ideas, information, and emotions into a compact package that can be understood intuitively. If you tried to explain all of that in a speech or essay, it might take hours and dozens of pages.

It’s an efficient means of communication, and speaks directly to the subconscious. People can and will use those qualities to suit their own agendas, but I’m more interested in the idea that readers can have a richer reading experience and writers can tell richer, deeper stories if they understand how this works.

Your discussion turns to art at this point…

This is by no means unknown to the (Protestant Evangelical) Christian world. We may not have necklaces with Masonic symbols (not sure what you’re referencing here), or simple-lined, flat-colored artwork, like the representations of Jesus Christ that you have included in part 1 and part 3 of this series. But we do have icons.

Yes, but more often than not, we’ve forgotten what they mean. On some level, the icon still communicates, but that communication is hindered when it’s taken out of context. It’s like slapping a facsimile of the Mona Lisa on a bumper sticker. More powerful is the iconography of our architecture. Our churches don’t resemble temples so much as lecture halls or convention centers. Big, white boxes with lots of chairs and a premium audiovisual system. Instead of cathedrals, we have “campuses.”

This brings me to a brief analysis of Thomas Kinkade, fleshing out a modern example of how icons are not bad, only abused. Kinkade paintings, and some fans, may reveal this.

I’m not buying your premise here. I don’t think Kinkade’s work has anything to do with sin, and I highly doubt he was consciously trying to image a perfect, sinless universe. He painted pretty pictures of pleasant scenes that elicited a restful state of mind. He liked to play around with light on a 2D canvas, and he found a formula that was attractive and appealing—and sold his paintings. I don’t think it’s much more complex than that.  Nice pictures for nice Christians. Where it falls down as art, I think, is that it doesn’t communicate much beyond the nice. Art surprises, challenges, even confuses at times. It’s meant to show us the world through new eyes and reveal things we haven’t noticed before by virtue of its creative perspective. A picture can be pretty and enjoyable (or ugly and shocking) without being particularly artistic or meaningful, but its utility, audience, and lifespan are limited.

Deep.

Maybe, but I think it’s probably more about being  hacked off that the kids are having chocolate cake for breakfast instead of something more nutritious. Our sense of aesthetic justice is offended. VanGogh dies penniless, but people pay thousands of dollars to create their own private Kinkade galleries, or worse, cover their walls with Velvet Elvis or Dogs Playing Poker. It’s just not fair. Sometimes beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and that perception, to the chagrin of artists and authors across time, is often unfathomable.

Back to stories now…

From the character’s point-of-view, I don’t see this happening very often. Characters are mostly trying to just live their life, or survive to see another sunrise. Their personal growth is something they don’t realize until near the end of their story, though that journey is visible to the reader and part of what keeps us engaged.

Okay, this begins to touch on something important, I think. In one sense, you’re right—we can’t make ourselves perfect images of God, nor can we fashion “iconic” characters through the force of our own talent and will. Human beings become conformed to the image of God through His power and grace and our cooperation with His work in our lives. We’ve already discussed how all Christians serve as icons of Christ, even imperfectly. Some progress farther on the journey than others in this life. A few may serve as models and exemplars, heroes and heroines of the faith for those of us who follow, long after their death.

"Oh, Aslan...You're an Icon!"

But there’s also another dimension for characters in a story: the audience gets a vote. Characters don’t land on the bookshelf as freshly-minted icons on the day of publication. Millions of readers, over years, and even centuries, make that decision in consensus. Odysseus, Romeo and Juliet, Oliver Twist, Aslan, Frodo…we can all rattle off a list of famous literary characters that few would dispute are iconic, but they all started out as characters in a story no one but the author had seen.  When people read the stories, these characters spoke to something profound and enduring within them. People talked about the stories and the characters, and shared them with their friends. Over time, the characters grew in stature and significance as they touched more and more lives. Just hearing their names is enough to trigger a flood of thoughts and emotions.

Sounds good, though I think I’m going to post this as part 5, then maybe you can follow with your specific example and I’ll finish with mine.

Best Wishes,

Fred

Defend the Truth. Live the Faith. Advance the Kingdom. These became the hallmarks of Chuck Colson’s life and ministry. The founder of Prison Fellowship passed away last Saturday at the age of eighty.

To my knowledge, he had no connection with speculative fiction, but he was staunchly engaged with faith. He came to Christ at the crisis point of his life — in the midst of the 1973 Watergate scandal. His involvement eventually sent him to prison when he pleaded guilty to obstruction of justice and received a 1-3 year jail sentence.

God used a variety of factors to draw Mr. Colson to Himself. For those of us who have been influenced by C. S. Lewis, it is gratifying to learn that he was one of those factors. Mr. Colson said in Mere Christianity he saw himself as the person steeped in pride that Lewis painted.

When Mr. Colson went to prison, he did so as a Christian. Later he said the experience was the best thing that happened to him because he found out what life was all about.

In the years that followed, Mr. Colson involved himself in a variety of ministries in addition to Prison Fellowship, including BreakPoint, a radio program offering Christian commentary to the news of the day, and the Colson Center for Christian Worldview — both Christian worldview ministries that seek “to build and resource a movement of Christians committed to living and defending Christian worldview in all areas of life.”

He also authored, solely or with other writers, more than thirty books — Born Again, his autobiography about coming to Christ, being his first. Other titles include How Now Shall We Live?, The Sky Is Not Falling: Living Fearlessly in These Turbulent Times , The Good Life, Loving God, and The Faith: What Christians Believe, Why They Believe It, and Why It Matters.

Mr. Colson spoke at any number of venues as well, but he did not capitalize on his fame in order to get rich. Instead he donated his speaker fees and book royalties to ministries.

In 2008 he received the Presidential Citizens Medal for “his good heart and his compassionate efforts to renew a spirit of purpose in the lives of countless individuals.” Years earlier, on the Family Life Today radio program, he said he considered a life of ministry to be his duty, coming from a heart of gratitude for what his Savior had done for him.

Many tributes to his life are beginning to appear, from Christians and non-Christians alike. A man once notorious, his name synonymous with scandal and corruption, he is now known for his servant’s heart. As Pastor Chuck Swindoll quoted in his comments about Chuck Colson, he “fought the good fight, finished the course, and kept the faith.”

I’m confident he’s already received his “well done, good and faithful servant,” the first of many rewards awaiting him in heaven.

What impact has Chuck Colson had on your life, your view of the world, your ministry?

With this month’s release of Daystar, one of the most popular Christian space-opera series ever, the Firebird novels, is now complete. Now, author Kathy Tyers (who also wrote Shivering World and the Star Wars expanded-universe novel New Jedi Order: Balance Point), shares more about the story behind the story.

I didn’t start writing science fiction for the Christian market. I was a young mom who needed a creative outlet, who’d just seen the U.S. Air Force Thunderbirds fly an air show, and who’d left the third Star Wars movie disappointed because there was no love interest for Luke Skywalker. So my original story spark wasn’t particularly spiritual or intellectual, but the emotional need for a good story. It grew in directions I didn’t expect, and I’m grateful! The spiritual elements in the original Firebird (Bantam Books, 1987) were subtle. It was a cultural conversion story, not a spiritual parable – but I’ve always written in “layers.” Once I know who my characters are and what predicament they’re in, I hear them speaking to each other long before I see them. Settings come even later. I write multiple drafts of everything, even emails. Layering makes me a slow writer, but it’s important to my process.

So teasing out Firebird’s underlying history and spirituality, and layering it into the novels as I rewrote them for Bethany House, was a natural, organic part of what I do.

Reading the discussion that ensued here after my first interview [April 29, 2011] at first I just sat back and shook my head. It’s a space opera—essentially an adventure-romance story—and the primary story is the characters’ story. Whatever back story has been layered in, it’s primarily the historical aspect of the setting, an attempt to give the characters’ lives the richness of reality.

But for better or worse, fascinated as I was by the Hebrew language, I drew on Hebrew words for my “good guy” character’s family history. In early versions of the Firebird books, I deliberately separated my story world from reality. Later, my thesis professor at Regent College challenged me: Since I’d fallen to a temptation common to Christian speculative novelists by borrowing Hebrew words, I should link the Firebird universe more solidly with ours. By then, I’d already invented the telepathic Sentinel group. I’d already been challenged by some of my friends to make sure I didn’t claim that God hadn’t originally made humans “good enough.” The idea that the Sentinels were survivors of genetic experiments, duty-bound to use their unusual abilities for the good of others, seemed to work. Naturally there would be individuals who used those gifts for evil. They made Firebird all the more fun as a space opera. Real villains!

To create the continuity Loren Wilkinson (my prof) wanted, I added a richer alternate history–but it’s so far in the dim past that my characters don’t know it.

In this alternate universe, when Gabriel visits the Virgin Mary, she focuses on the shame that her pregnancy could bring upon her loved ones, and she declines the honor. The same Lord who let Adam and Eve rebel also allows Mary this choice. (Human freedom as the greatest gift after life itself is a major theme in Daystar.) Her decision utterly changes human history. Within a year, an Earth-orbit-crossing asteroid that would have bounced harmlessly but dramatically off Earth’s atmosphere (with angelic help), guiding the magi to Bethlehem, slams into the Mediterranean instead. Civilization barely survives. The human race develops technology without Christianity. We despoil Earth and leap to the stars in a great wave of space colonization. The Davidic family survives simply because God’s promises will not be broken.

The cycle repeats on Ehret, a world where the Sentinels’ ancestors are genetically modified … and yes, Ehret is derived from the Hebrew eretz, “earth” or “world.” I still don’t know why Jewish settlers had such a strong influence on that world’s settlement. But the sacrifices offered in the Ehretan temple – that memory the Sentinels pass down telepathically, as recounted in Daystar and Fusion Fire – testify that some Ehretans represent faithful descendants of Earth’s righteous Jews.

Also note that the fictional the holy books Dabar and Mattah don’t include any of our familiar prophets. In this alternate universe, Mary’s refusal – like Adam’s fall – was anticipated, and so God inspired different prophets.

The idea that the same God might demonstrate his unchanging character differently under different circumstances was another impetus behind Daystar. There’s no character who’s supposed to be John the Baptist, for instance. I tried to write parables that would be meaningful to this Messiah’s audience, and to show miracles that would demonstrate his authority over creation—and love for it—in a different setting. Have I missed some details? Yes, I’m sure! But it’s a messiah tale, not a gospel. It focuses more closely on the people around him than on his life story, like The Robe or Ben-Hur, stories I enjoyed years ago.

I wanted to tell another emotionally satisfying story—and give people a fresh perspective on how wonderful Jesus is. I also had a bit of fun in both Wind and Shadow and Daystar with the creeping Gnosticism I see around me. Both books challenge the Gnostic idea that if something is non-physical, it’s intrinsically superior to ordinary, physical, created matter. Including our bodies.

Thanks for reading.

The Annotated Firebird (Firebird, Fusion Fire, and Crown of Fire), Wind and Shadow, and Daystar are now available from Marcher Lord Press. So is an inexpensive, limited-time offering of the first book in the five-book series, Firebird: Book One of the Annotated Trilogy, for Nook or Kindle. Daystar or Wind and Shadow can be read on their own, since they focus on new characters in new generations. For details, visit KathyTyers.com or MarcherLordPress.com.

(This series is based on our ongoing email conversation between author Fred Warren and myself, about icons in the Bible, church history, and present-day stories.)

Fred,

Just last week, this series became more current, and not only because of Resurrection Sunday, about the only true “icon,” our risen Savior, Jesus Christ. I say this because a certain entrepreneur and painter, very popular in the evangelical world, happened to pass away on Good Friday, April 6.

That would be Thomas Kinkade, whom you had mentioned in the email you had already written. And though I will broach only the topic of Kinkade’s artwork — not his motives or personality — below, I know this may be a more-controversial topic.

That’s because how we view icons relates to how we enjoy, or critique, a painting like the kind(s) Thomas Kinkade made. It also relates to the idea of growing into an icon.

Icons are inevitable

Though this series has brought some varying views, so far we have not disagreed on anything. It seems most readers, too recognize that icons — i.e., symbolic or graphical representation of a larger series of truths or ideals — are inevitable in our lives.

Whether we look at the history of the Church, modern-day stories, or the Bible itself, we can’t help finding those simple, recognizable icons that are “implanted” in our minds.

And it would seem those who are not aware of how this concept works may likely be taken advantage of, by storytellers, artists, and even ad-makers. (This makes me nearly wonder if that long-since-discredited “subliminal message” conspiracy theory was itself the real conspiracy theory, to distract us from how artists may really influence people!)

This is by no means unknown to the Christian world. We may not have necklaces with Masonic symbols, or simple-lined, flat-colored artwork, like the representations of Jesus Christ that you have included in part 1 and part 3 of this series. But we do have icons.

As you wrote in part 3 on Tuesday:

I think most people never realize this. We Protestants have scrubbed our religious culture of obvious icons, but have become tone-deaf to the meaning and power of the iconic images we’ve gathered to fill that void, many of which send incoherent messages or clash with one another because they’ve been adopted without much thought. I’ve seen some references to the plasma screen as a modern Protestant icon.

This is the first time I’ve heard of the plasma screen in that context. But it makes sense. Other church icons, some of which have replaced older icons, could be: the overhead projector (replacing the hymn book); the guitar (replacing the organ); and the closed-eyes, weaving-body, hands-raised worshipers (replacing a quiet and more-“reverential” posture). Note: I’m not critiquing any of these, old or new. Changes may be inevitable.

Where you do find art displayed in Protestant churches, it’s often a grab-bag of popular images like the “praying hands” you mentioned, or Richard Hook’s Jesus pictures, or the bearded gentleman praying at a table set with a cup and a loaf of bread, or more recently, Thomas Kinkade’s work. Our pastors may not wear vestments, but they have their dark suits and power ties (or chinos and polo shirts). We’ve got lecterns, and banners, and, still, some stained glass windows.

And this is where, as Texans may say, many of our readers will be fixin’ to complain.

Why? Because too often, pastors or church decorators will merely sprinkle in such art as afterthoughts. This isn’t a criticism, merely an observation, and it applies mainly to the stuff that goes on walls, because by contrast, vestments and stained-glass windows are expected, and the lectern necessary. Yet for the praying-hands paintings or framed prints of a Thomas Kinkade work, they’re mainly there to fill space. Very likely a pastor, elder, deacon, whomever, feels no need to ask deeper questions about a work of art and how its presence in a church building will honor God. Perhaps also, that is not their job.

All these are likely limited to church services. But icons certainly are not. We find them on TV — negative stereotypes, such as bumbling sitcom dads — and in many stories — positive archetypes, such as fantasy heroes who sacrifice themselves. And as you noted, Scripture itself serves as an icon, by the image of the open book, and by revealing Christ.

Icons in artworks

This brings me to a brief analysis of Thomas Kinkade, fleshing out a modern example of how icons are not bad, only abused. Kinkade paintings, and some fans, may reveal this.

At left: Thomas Kinkade, 1998 (like his older works). At right: Kinkade rebooted, 2004.

First, take a look at this. It’s not just at another artsy criticism of Kinkade as some sell-out (which may be an unfair personal attack anyway, especially after he has just died). It’s also not another emotional defense of his works. Rather, it’s a comparison, between Kinkade’s earlier artworks and his more-popular, light-drenched, firm-lined images.

I am no art critic. But I begin to see why people fault Kinkade’s later works. Once I had thought those critics merely wanted “gritty,” “real-world” stuff, and disliked visual representations of an ideal. I now see, though, that the better critics fault Kinkade not for imagining the perfect world of the future, when sin and death are over and Christ reigns, but for imagining and imaging a nonexistent “universe.” In the Kinkade-verse, serious sin never existed. Not only do you not have to worry about it now, you never did. I’m not sure how that provides true comfort, and reflections of God’s grace, to viewers.

This is because in the real world, you need to get through sin before being perfect.

However, I also suggest it’s not wrong to enjoy Kinkade’s paintings. They are what they are: iconic. One can quibble whether these icon are helpful. But to blast them simply for being iconic, for not including my favorite topic or for not exactly representing a real-world Cottage By the Seashore, would be silly, even legalistic.

Not knowing much about Kinkade’s career, and not wanting to make this about a person, I can still suggest this: Kinkade should not be blamed for these kinds of images. Rather, we should ask: why do people clamor for them? What do they see reflected that might actually result from legitimate desires? How might those desires be misdirected or endorsed by the wrong kinds of iconic visual art? How can we repair that corruption?

Stories: from characters to icons

The answer may be the same as the reason why we’re writing a series about a broader art-related topic on Speculative Faith, with its emphasis on Christian visionary fiction:

Epic stories glorify our Author by showing the growth of characters into “icons.”

You said this here:

I think this is a central issue of this series, the fact that when we tap into the strongest, most universal icons in our fiction, we create a powerful resonance in the mind of the reader. Very little “telling” is necessary. You see the image in your mind, and you know. “There’s truth here, and somewhere deep within me, I recognize it.” The truer the archetype, I think, the stronger the reaction, which leads directly to your point about Jesus as the ultimate icon.

This may be why people are put off by Kinkade paintings, or novels that have clichéd characters. To them, they’re not “just entertainment” or “just pretty.” Instead they see storytelling and beauty as only means to recognizing that greatest truth: the ultimate Author/Artist, Jesus Christ, the only true combination of Character and Icon.

That leads to my suggestion for defining a character, as opposed to an icon. You said:

I might suggest that the difference between a “character” and an “icon,” in the literary sense, is more an issue of scope than physicality. A character seems to me to be more of a specific case that may incorporate elements of an icon, or several icons. It conveys truth, but not its fullness. If Jesus is an icon, we, his servants and disciples, are characters that in turn reflect His perfect image, as yet imperfectly.

Thus, as Jesus images or “icons” (verb) the Father, so we image or “icon” Jesus — or so we should, and so someday we will! If that’s true, then, characters in a novel are images of us. In this they are one more degree removed from Christ, but still, they help:

A character is a human figure, shown, described and/or followed in an artwork, song, movie, play, or novel. Unlike icons, a character is not ideal. He or she is “real world,” with all the limitations, likely even sins, that we would expect.

What do you think?

I agree that the difference between characters and icons is not one of physicality, but of scope. A character is trying to be an icon, an image of the Greater, but hasn’t yet arrived. This leads to a story’s plot. Heroes (and even villains) have not yet achieved their goals.

Thus, a novel that has little to no plot, but presents fake characters that have not yet really gone through this process (e.g., the Perfect Wife or Husband) strikes us as absurd.

Icons are for ideals, and the Ideal God. Not for us. Not for characters who “image” us.

If Christ Himself, the exact image of the Father Who never sinned, had to go through a long, arduous process to achieve His goal, why not us? And why not also characters in a story, who “image” us as we image Christ? They must also pass from characters to icons.

That seems to reflect the truth of the resurrection. As “characters” now, we are far less than ideal. We sin. We die. Yet Christ has begun changing us from the inside. We already had God’s Image about us; now it’s begun to be fully restored from within, thanks to the Spirit Who regenerated our spirits. Next comes our bodies. In the future, they will be resurrected, just as our spirits are resurrected now (Romans 8). So will creation.

Will we then only be boring icons? Like the dull sitcom dad who never learns? Like a flat image of frowning Jesus? Like the painting of an idealized and cottage-intensive world?

I don’t think so. As resurrected human beings, we will have that process behind us. What a great conversation-starter! With that life story, “iconic” life could never be boring, and certainly not when we could have never become “icons” of Christ without having been characters first. We already see this in stories. It’s not difficult to imagine about real life.

That might have gone overlong. But it’s an in-depth topic to explore! What do you think about exploring specific examples, by name, in our next two columns — one apiece — with the help of readers, before we likely wrap up by part 6?