Icon of Christ the Good Shepherd

As our e-mail conversation about icons continued, we moved into more of a give-and-take format, so you’ll see lots of quoting and commenting on things we posted last week. In a couple of places, I’ve added some material for clarity and to round out my observations.  Again, my comments here are in blue, but I’ll leave Stephen’s in black this time for easier reading.

March 29, 2012

Sorry for the slow reply, Stephen. My work schedule combined with spotty internet connectivity has made this a tough week to telecommunicate. Some brief notes below:

I might suggest calling this series “Rearranging Icons,” which definitely gives a visual aspect!

I think that works for a title. I know Eastern Orthodox folks usually have an icon corner or wall in their house, with icons of Jesus given pride of place at the center.

First, I like your working definition of icon, which I’ll adapt a little, here:

An icon can be a picture, symbol, archetype, stereotype, a graphic container or shorthand for something else. In the Christian tradition, an icon can be a specific kind of devotional image.

Works for me.

That leads me to consider some examples of icons:

Picture and/or graphic container for something else. The icons on my computer desktop.

I love computer icons as an example, because they’re an elegant way to represent a huge amount of information or a very complex entity and make it accessible at a touch. 

Symbol. The sign of the bat from Batman…

Accomplishing the same sort of thing as a computer icon, but in a more conceptual way, without the touch or click. Most of the major superheroes have a designated symbol and color scheme that’s distinctively theirs. We see the bat, or Superman’s “S” symbol, or the Flash’s lightning bolt, etc, etc, and we’ve tapped into an idea that transcends language. 

Archetype. These are especially common in stories. They’re the opposite of stereotype, and carry the connotation of a positive, an ideal…

These are the big ones, that we find in every culture from the dawn of time, and they speak to the universal aspirations and longings of mankind.

Stereotype. This is where it gets fuzzy, because the above-mentioned Damsel in Distress could also be an archetype. A stereotype may be a negative archetype, like the “shooting up heroine.”

Yes, we begin here to roll-in the impact of how we employ these images. I agree that stereotypes are almost always negative and often the basis for prejudice and discrimination. They can be useful in satire or cartoons, and can serve as a starting point for building a more complex character over the course of a story. We meet the stereotypical secretary in an office, typing memos and serving coffee, then discover she’s a whole lot more as her character develops and interacts with other characters. If we leave her mired in her stereotype, though, we’ve reinforced the negative aspect of that shorthand image.

Specific devotional image. Most people think of “icons” as a Catholic or Eastern Orthodox thing, but really I think Protestants have just as many icons, if not more. I’m thinking about the Cross on a wall or necklace. Or an outline of clasped hands. Or maybe even the old(?) “WWJD?” bracelets.

Perhaps the ultimate "power tie."

Yes, and 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.  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.

The Bible itself is often employed as a physical icon, open on the altar or Communion table, and that image carries a ton of unspoken meaning for any Christian. Of course, it’s also an icon of Jesus Christ, the Living Word. Like the computer icon,  it contains a huge amount of information in a very compact package, accessible at a touch.

Like you said before, because we’re not talking about computer graphical-user interfaces, superhero crime-fighting psychology, or even devotional images, we’ll likely want to focus tighter here on the “icons” that relate to fiction and literature. Still, I think the others are more related than we think, or else, should be — such as the symbols, or devotional images. “Embedding” an icon in a work of fiction could strengthen its classic value, or even (to borrow from another Christopher Nolan film) commit “inception” in the subconscious mind of a reader. You don’t think you noticed the symbol or icon there, but your brain did. And sometimes those archetypes are so deep that it takes years to find them…

I agree, and 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.

I could get into all kinds of distractions given the relation of mythology and archetypes to Christianity and Christian fiction. So let me instead briefly address the issue you raised, about icons in Church history. You mentioned the icon controversy that was addressed by the Seventh Ecumenical Council in Nicea, in 787 A.D…

The Council surveyed the underlying theology issues — about whether the material universe was good or bad, and how Christ’s incarnation with a human body and face and therefore an “image” Himself affected the controversy. Ultimately the Council ruled in favor of the Iconodules, I’ve read, and said that churches could keep the icons, right alongside symbols of the Cross, and the Bible itself. Here’s a quote I found:

 “I do not worship matter, but the Creator of matter, who for my sake became material and deigned to dwell in matter, who through matter effected my salvation.”

 — St. John of Damascus

 St. John of Damascus’ entire treatise on holy images is available at http://www.ccel.org/ccel/damascus/icons.html. I believe he wrote this while living under Muslim rule, which must have been scary, as Muslims of his day (and still today, I think) were dedicated iconoclasts. Muslim ideas about God and worship were beginning to filter into the wider global culture, and they fueled some of the controversies the Church Councils were dealing with.

For anybody wanting an outline of the Councils and their impact, which continues today, Michael Hyatt (President and CEO of Thomas Nelson Publishing) has provided a great seminar series in podcast, starting at http://ancientfaith.com/podcasts/eastwest/the_ecumenical_councils_-_part_1. The podcasts are accompanied by transcripts if you’d rather just read, but they’re a good listen.

One could replace the word “matter” up there with anything else: the church, God’s Word, even stories. In fact, I was recently amused to see a Catholic activist, posting on a Protestant ministry’s page, who accused Christians of worshiping Scripture. For “proof,” he presented a theologian’s quote that praised the Bible’s value to society and Christians. My reply: “This is just plain ol’ silly. Or maybe it’s playground revenge for evangelicals who say Catholics ‘worship saints’ or ‘worship Mary.’ …

A great example of people throwing stereotypes back and forth at each other, and how unproductive that is.

But this does reveal something important: that any icon can be used for good or evil. If we throw out the Gnostic/Pelagian notions that it is our corrupted world, and not our evil hearts, that result in sin, then we are also forced to throw out objections to all icons — even icons in worship. Icon critics err in assuming that any visual representation will result in idolatry. They also are found inconsistent. A modern example may be a Christian who opposes everything about the Catholic Church, but prizes a certain older Bible translation as the only one that any Christian worth anything should value and adore. That’s iconization at least as bad as those in another denomination who start confusing that picture of Jesus with the real Jesus.

And most folks from a tradition that includes icons will recoil at the idea of worshipping the icon itself, but also likely acknowledge that some people veer into malpractice and do that. As per our discussion earlier regarding Protestant icons, throwing out the icons for fear of abuse eliminates neither the icons, nor the abuse.

 

Likewise, avoiding symbols, archetypes, and sometimes even stereotypes in fiction will not prevent their abuse, but may have a worse consequence: the proliferation of poorly-thought-out substitutes. It also discards an opportunity to tap into powerful images able to communicate profound ideas at both the conscious and subconscious levels. 

The Rocketeer continues this tradition.

One illustration I find useful is the scene you’ll find in most WW II movies focusing on the fighter or bomber pilots–The pilot settles into the cockpit, and we see he’s taped a photo of his wife or sweetheart to the instrument panel. He kisses his fingers, touches the photo, and then cranks the engine and takes off. Always makes my eyes water a bit. He’s not in love with the photo, he’s in love with the woman the photo represents, and he’s making a powerful spiritual and physical contact with that woman via the photo. It’s a window that opens onto reality. The photograph brings to mind a host of memories and emotions that encompass the truth and totality of his relationship with a very real person.

Thus, if I start worshiping on icon, I may need to get rid of the icon, but it’s not the icon’s fault. It’s mine. I have confused the means for the ends. And this would be true for any good gift of God that we abuse.

Yep. It’s the distinction between employing something as an aid to worship versus adoring it as an object of worship. And I think it’s important to note, as John of Damascus did, that honor and reverence are not the same thing as adoration. I might have a personal altar where I place a Bible, and a cross, and a picture of Jesus, and I could use those objects to help me focus my worship and remind me in a physical, tangible way of who Jesus is and everything He’s done for me. While I would quite rightly treat them with respect for who and what they represent, it would be a much different thing to take any of those objects and say of them, as the Israelites did of the golden calf, “This is the God who brought me out of captivity into the Promised Land.”

Speaking of the real Jesus, I believe this discussion will keep returning to that, especially given this time of year. It occurs to me that He, and only He, matches all the aspects of your helpful definition of icon, and I’m sure I can find Scripture that proves every one of those. Christ is the ideal, the “exact image” of God the Father. And yet He is also a Man, a real, flesh-and-blood Man. He’s the only perfect unity of each. So if we think of an “icon” as spiritual and more-abstract, and a “character” as physical and tangible, He is both.

Exactly, though 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.

I’m looking forward to our next exchange, and very glad for the opportunity. And though I’ve likely gone on long here, and may edit this when I post it in response to your piece, I hope it covered everything well!

Stephen

I’m enjoying this too. We may want to take another look at your outline and see if there are any issues there we need to discuss in more detail as we get closer to kicking this off on SF.

Fred

I just finished Jill Williamson’s From Darkness Won, book 3 of her epic fantasy series, Blood of Kings, and noted once again how overt the Christianity is. Some might even say preachy. In fact they have in their Amazon reviews.

Of note, a good many other reviewers who apparently agree with the worldview of the author and main characters didn’t find the stories preachy in a negative way.

Nevertheless, there were those that said things like the following:

• it bludgeons you with the faith

• preaching incessantly and without subtlety

• Occasionally, the Christianity approached preaching

• I was getting irritated by the constant preaching

Jill’s work is not alone when it comes to a clear depiction of Christianity in her fantasy. A friend of mine completed a recent release and remarked how surprised she was to find blatant Christianity in that story.

That got me to thinking about the various other books I’ve read that take place in a fantasy world but show the One True God — identified by various different names. Many also have His Son and/or scriptures that can be equated to the Bible. Here are ones that came quickly to mind:

• The Guardian King series by Karen Hancock

• The Sword of Lyric series by Sharon Hinck

• The DragonKeeper Chronicles and the Chiril Chronicles by Donita Paul

• The Door Within trilogy by Wayne Thomas Batson

• The Binding of the Blade series by L. B. Graham

I’m sure there are others.

The presence of Christianity in fantasy, though couched in otherworldly terminology, seems to upset non-Christians. Is this because the Christianity is transparent or because it is heavy handed?

Which brings up my real question, playing off John Otte’s recent posts — is Christian fiction really just for Christians?

The fact is, we live in a day when Christianity seems to be meeting more resistance in the West than it has for some time. Consequently more readers seem irritated with mention of Arman or Wulder or Eidon — fantasy depictions of the One True God.

Does that mean, then, that Christian writers should refrain from having their characters do what Christians do — turn to Christ, pray for help, give spiritual counsel, worship with other believers, and so on?

If Christians do want to show their characters acting like Christians, should their books then be confined to Christian circles? Should we indeed write for and market to Christians only?

On the other hand, must writers such as R. J. Anderson who publishes with a general market house limit their depiction of Christianity to oblique references, vague symbology, or typology?

In other words, is there no room for a fantasy version of Peace Like a River? In case you haven’t read that story by Leif Enger, the characters believe in God — in particular, in a miracle-working God. Yet the story, published by a general market publisher, was “hailed as one of the year’s [2002] top five novels by Time, and selected as one of the best books of the year by nearly all major newspapers.” It became a national bestseller, despite the clear belief in God.

But that was 2002. Have things changes so much in the last ten years that an overt fantasy about Christianity can only be considered a story for Christians?

What does it take for readers to care about a story even if their worldview might be different from the one espoused by the main character? I have some ideas, but I’d first really like to hear what you all think.

I blame my husband. I played video games, but they mainly consisted of Mario and Tetris. It wasn’t until we moved to Dallas, Texas, and my husband Dan began attending Dallas Theological Seminary that I first had my taste of the gaming world.

One day, as he was taking a break from homework, I looked over his shoulder to find him playing Age of Mythology, an RTS (Real Time Strategy) computer game. I was intrigued. I started asking him questions. We traded spots, and he started showing me what each unit was and what the main goal was in the game. A couple days later, we linked our computers and became a gaming couple.

At first we started with RTS games. I would gather supplies and he would lead our armies. Then we worked up to some light shooter games like Star Wars Battleground. I usually would play the role of sniper and would cover Dan as he would run into hostile situations.

Eventually we made our way to MMORPGs (Massively multiplayer online role-playing games) and single player games on consoles like the Wii and Xbox. But our favorite games are those we can play together.

Early on in my gaming, I came to realize there needed to be boundaries in what I played. You can do almost anything in the gaming world (maybe everything). And a lot of it is stuff that has no place in my life. That conviction was reinforced when I read an article written by a Christian gamer. The main point he made in the article was never do anything in a game you would not do in real life.

Those are words I live by now in my own gaming. For example, one of my favorite games is the Elder Scrolls series (Oblivion and Skyrim are two of the titles). In those games, you can join the Thieves Guild and the Assassins Guild. Because of my convictions, I chose not to join either guild and therefore did not play those particular parts of the game. Why? I would not steal in real life, therefore I will not steal in a game. I would not choose to murder someone in real life, so I won’t in a game.

Now you might be pointing out that most games consist of killing. Yes and no. It depends on the role you are playing in the game. Are you a soldier? In a war? Well, in that case, there will be some death involved. But I never will be an assassin, killing innocents for money.

I have also made the choice not to play overly gory games. I don’t need to see that kind of stuff on the screen. I’m thankful that there are now options in the settings to remove the gore out of most games.

Another area I place boundaries around is the romantic storyline in a game. I choose not to follow amorous relationships to the bedroom (yes, you can now do that in games and watch the cut scenes). No thank you.

So with all the potential pitfalls and dark elements in the gaming world, why do I still play? After all, wouldn’t it be safer to just not play at all? Sure it would. And I know a lot of Christians who choose not to play video games. But for me, I like playing video games because I like adventure, I like the unique stories, and I like being the hero (or in my case, heroine ;)). It is also something my husband and I can do together and enjoy. And I like meeting other people.

The gaming world is a place full of real people with spouses and kids. It is also filled with people who have lost their jobs, struggling with suicide and looking for hope. In a time and age where front porches have disappeared and meeting people outside our own small circles becomes harder, games have become the new meeting place.

I have met people from all over the world and in every walk of life. I have been able to share my faith, encourage those going through hard times, and make new friends. I have been a part of both Christian guilds and regular guilds. The people on the screen are just as real as the ones you meet on the street.

But aren’t there dangerous people in the virtual world? Yes, there are stalkers and weirdoes and unsavory characters. Navigating through the gaming world requires good judgment and using your common sense. But as one person once pointed out to me, the gaming world is probably one of the least reached spheres of people. It is a dark place in need of light. Trust me, when you play with kindness and integrity, you tend to stand out, much like a candle does in a dark room. This uniqueness leads to opportunities to share the why behind your play style.

Christians and the gaming world do not need to be at odds with each other. Games can be a place to recharge the imagination, come together as a couple or a family, and meet people beyond your physical sphere of influence. And they can be fun too!

– – – – –

Morgan L. Busse is passionate about authentic Christianity and shares from her own life her fears and triumphs as a follower of Jesus Christ. The wife of a pastor and a mother to four children, she has plenty of adventures to draw from.

Morgan blogs at In Darkness There Is Light. She also writes speculative fiction and this month released her debut book, Daughter of Light (described below) with Marcher Lord Press.

As the Shadonae rise in the west and war threatens the north, a young woman discovers she is not human . . .

Rowen Mar finds a strange mark on her hand, and she is banished from her village as a witch. She covers the mark with a leather glove and seeks sanctuary in the White City. She lives in fear that if she touches another person, the power inside her will trigger again, a terrifying power that allows her to see the darkness inside the human heart . . .

But the mark is a summons, and those called cannot hide forever. For the salvation of her people lies within her hand.

(Make sure to read Fred Warren’s introduction to this new series, about icons in the Bible, history, and speculative stories. This series is based on our ongoing email conversation.)

Good morning, Fred,

This series does seem more ambitious. We might be cheating by basing it on our emails back and forth. Or this might be exactly what we need: the wisdom of Speculative Faith readers, and other contributors, who come from different perspectives and different denominations, and can offer us more — especially about how icons have been used in Church history, and how some have distorted their use, either for them or against them.

First, I like your working definition of icon, which I’ll adapt, here:

An icon can be a picture, symbol, archetype, stereotype, a graphic container or shorthand for something else. In the Christian tradition, an icon can be a specific kind of devotional image.

That leads me to consider …

Examples of icons

• Picture and/or graphic container for something else. The icons on my computer.
• Symbol. The sign of the bat from Batman. In particular, I recall the film Batman Begins, when Bruce Wayne is returning to Gotham City, determined to start cleaning up the place. “People need dramatic examples to shake them out of apathy, and I can’t do that as Bruce Wayne,” he says. “As a man, I’m flesh and blood — I can be ignored, I can be destroyed. But as a symbol — as a symbol I can be incorruptible. I can be everlasting. … Something elemental, something terrifying.”
• Archetype. These are especially common in stories. They’re the opposite of stereotype, and carry the connotation of a positive, an ideal. I’m thinking of the Sacrificial Hero — an archetype clearly founded by Christ — and others such as the Wise Mentor, or the Damsel in Distress.
• Stereotype. This is where it gets fuzzy, because the above-mentioned Damsel in Distress could also be an archetype. A stereotype may be a negative archetype, like the “shooting up heroine.”
• Specific devotional image. Most people think of “icons” as a Catholic or Eastern Orthodox thing, but really I think Protestants have just as many icons, if not more. I’m thinking about the Cross on a wall or necklace. Or an outline of clasped hands. Or maybe even the old(?) “WWJD?” bracelets.

Like you said before, because we’re not talking about computer graphical-user interfaces, superhero crime-fighting psychology, or even devotional images, we’ll likely want to focus tighter here on the “icons” that relate to fiction and literature.

Icons in fiction

Still, I think the others are more related than we think, or else, should be — such as the symbols, or devotional images. “Embedding” an icon in a work of fiction could strengthen its classic value, or even (to borrow from another Christopher Nolan film) commit “inception” in the subconscious mind of a reader.

You don’t think you noticed the symbol or icon there, but your brain did.

Sometimes those archetypes are so deep that it takes years to find them. One notable example is Prof. Michael Ward’s theory, which I believe to be valid, that C.S. Lewis, given his literary and mythological background, embedded references to the seven medieval planets in The Chronicles of Narnia, such as theming The Last Battle around Saturn.

I could get into all kinds of distractions given the relation of mythology and archetypes to Christianity and Christian fiction. So let me instead briefly discuss the issue you raised, about icons in Church history.

Icons in history

You mentioned the icon controversy that was addressed by the Seventh Ecumenical Council in Nicea, in 787 A.D. In this corner were the Iconodules, who defended the use of icons, and in that corner were the Iconoclasts (a more-familiar word that has passed into modern use), who suspected the icons of causing sin.

The Council surveyed the underlying theology issues — about whether the material universe was good or bad, and how Christ’s incarnation with a human body and face and therefore an “image” Himself affected the controversy. Ultimately the Council ruled in favor of the Iconodules, I’ve read, and said that churches could keep the icons, right alongside symbols of the Cross, and the Bible itself. Here’s a quote I found:

“I do not worship matter, but the Creator of matter, who for my sake became material and deigned to dwell in matter, who through matter effected my salvation.”

— St. John of Damascus

One could replace the word “matter” up there with anything else: the church, God’s Word, even stories. We shouldn’t worship those, but they’re also not evil. In fact, I was recently amused to see a Catholic activist, posting on a Protestant ministry’s page, who accused Christians of worshiping Scripture. For “proof,” he presented a theologian’s quote that praised the Bible’s value to society and Christians. My reply: “This is just plain ol’ silly. Or maybe it’s playground revenge for evangelicals who say Catholics ‘worship saints’ or ‘worship Mary.’ Now, take what you guys say in response to that (‘we don’t worship! we just like them a whole lot!’). That’s the answer about the Bible.”

But this does reveal something important: that any icon can be used for good or evil.

If we throw out the un-Biblical Gnostic/Pelagian notions — that it is our corrupted world, and not our evil hearts, that lead us to sin — then we are also forced to throw out objections to all icons — even icons in worship.

Icon critics err in assuming that any visual representation will result in idolatry. They are also inconsistent.

Some may even worship this. But Firefox will crash on you. (Did so for me yesterday.)

A modern example may be a Christian who opposes everything about the Catholic Church, but prizes a certain older Bible translation as the only one that any Christian worth anything should value and adore. That iconicization is at least as bad as people in another denomination who start confusing an image of Jesus with the real Jesus.

Thus, if I start worshiping on icon, I may need to get rid of the icon’s presence in my life. But it’s not the icon’s fault. It’s mine. I have confused the means for the ends. And this would be true for any good gift of God that we abuse.

Speaking of the real Jesus, I believe this discussion will keep returning to that, especially given this time of year. It occurs to me that He, and only He, matches all the aspects of your helpful definition of icon, and I’m sure I can find Scripture that proves every one of those. Christ is the ideal, the exact “image of the invisible God” the Father (Colossians 1:15), the “exact imprint of His nature” (Hebrews 1:3). And yet He is also a Man, a real, flesh-and-blood Man. He’s the only perfect unity of each. So if we think of an “icon” as spiritual and more-abstract, and a “character” as physical and tangible, He is both.

So two weeks ago, I posed a stumper:

[W]ho is it that actually reads Christian fiction? I’ll give you a hint by re-asking the question: Who is it that actually reads CHRISTIAN fiction?

I hope I didn’t give away the answer.

Okay, so I did. But there was an interesting response in the comments. Rebecca Luella Miller pointed out that Matt Mikalatos’s latest book, Night of the Living Dead Christians . . . well, I’ll just let her speak for herself:

Interestingly, I think the book the CSFF Blog Tour just finished touring shoots this theory to smithereens. Seriously.

I’m talking about Matt Mikalatos‘s Night of the Living Dead Christian. It’s a book for Christians; it’s a book Christians can give to “seekers.”

And it preaches. My does it preach. But it isn’t preachy. But if you don’t believe me, check out the posts from other people on the tour. I think I’ve read nearly every one and in the 50 some articles, I don’t remember a single one saying it was preachy. Convicting, yes. Holding up a mirror for us to see ourselves, yes. Transforming, yes.

I suppose I could have argued in the comments, but it was the run-up to Holy Week and I thought I’d hold off on that until I could write a longer response.

Rebecca suggests that Mikalatos’s book shoots my theory to smithereens but I disagree. Again, the question isn’t, “Can a non-Christian get something out of a Christian book?” The question is, “Who is this book written for?” I would argue that Mikalatos’s book is primarily aimed at  Christians who consider themselves alive but are really dead or, at best, are undead.

That doesn’t mean that a non-Christian couldn’t pick up the book and get something out of it. I would hope and pray that they do. That would be awesome. Now that Failstate has joined the ranks of the published, I would love to get a note from someone that said that they read my book as a non-Christian and it started them on the path to salvation. That would be cool.

But I’m not holding my breath.

The reason why is because as near as I can see, there are only four reasons why a  non-Christian would pick up Christian fiction and read it. They’re the four exceptions that “prove the rule,” so to speak, and here they are:

1) They didn’t realize it was Christian. Now this may sound far-fetched. Ten years ago, this would never happen. To get Christian fiction, a person would have to either go into a Christian bookstore or wander into “that section” of Barnes and Noble. Maybe they could find something in the library and not realize that it was Christian, but that would be rare indeed.

But thanks to the ereader revolution, this happens with greater and greater frequency. People will stumble over a book on Amazon, not realize that they’re seeing a Christian book, and download it. Then they get angry and vent their ire in the review section over being “tricked” into buying Christian fiction.

So yeah, I don’t think this is a valid way to get Christian fiction into the hands of non-believers.

2) The author has a sizable non-Christian fan base already. I actually have some experience here. About ten years ago, I was browsing through the speculative fiction section of Christian Book Distributors and I stumbled on an author name that looked familiar. I was pretty sure I had never read any Christian fiction by this author, but I couldn’t figure out why I knew that name. So I glanced up at my bookshelf and my gaze landed on The Truce at Bakura and it all fell into place. What I had found was Firebird, and since I had read the Star Wars novel, I immediately ordered the Christian novel.

This episode actually got me helped me stumble down the road to pursuing publication. But that’s a different story entirely. My point is that since I was familiar with Kathy Tyer’s secular book, it prompted me to buy her Christian books.

We’ve also seen that strategy used by vampire-queen Anne Rice. Several years ago, she revealed herself to be Catholic (although apparently that hasn’t exactly stuck) and wrote religious fiction. I’m sure a number of her fans followed her to her new venture.

Only I’m still not sure if this works as a general strategy either. The reason I bought Firebird was because I was already Christian (and a pastor to boot, for crying out loud). Again, I’ve seen reviews from some readers that preferred Firebird in its original, secular form when it was published by Bantam (I think) because they didn’t appreciate the “preachiness” in the new version.

So again, I’m not sure this is a viable strategy to get Christian fiction into the hands of non-Christians. First, you would have to establish yourself as a secular author, which is tough enough. Then you would have to survive the transition to Christian fiction and hope that your fans go with you.

I guess we’d better move on to the third possibility.

3) Write something “controversial.” Back a number of years ago, Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins unleashed the juggernaut that is the Left Behind series onto the world. Now, I have problems with this series from a theological perspective. I’m an ardent and staunch amillennialist, and so I don’t find much to agree with when it comes to the series’ dispensational premillennialism. But that’s not the point here.

Instead, this series garnered worldwide attention. It flew off the bookstore shelves and made headlines. I remember seeing TIME Magazine do a cover story on it at the series’ height. I’m sure that there were a few non-Christians (or maybe more than a few) who grabbed a copy and read it to see what all the fuss was about. And it’s entirely possible that these hypothetical non-Christian readers came to Jesus as a result. I don’t know; I’ve never heard any stories one way or the other.

But again, this is a problematic approach to getting non-Christians to read Christian fiction because really, how can you plan on writing a “controversial” novel? There’s no way you can do that. It’s just something that happens.

That leaves us with the final possibility:

4) A Christian reader passes along your book to a non-Christian friend. This is the likeliest scenario and, I think, it’s the one that Rebecca had in mind when she commented two weeks ago.

Can this happen? Sure! Does it happen? Sure! Could people be converted by reading a Christian book? Absolutely!

Except . . .

Except who read it first? The Christian did. So who would the book be targeted for?

Not only that, but I think it would be highly unlikely that this hypothetical book would be the only contact that the non-Christian would have with a Christian worldview. No, it’s far more likely that the Christian friend would have been witnessing already and would be using the book to help show what they’ve been talking about. Or the Christian friend would use the book to try to prompt further and deeper discussion with their non-Christian friend. In either case, who deserves the credit for the friend’s conversion if/when it happens? Well, besides the Holy Spirit, I mean.

It’s great to want to reach out to the lost and fallen through our fiction, but I think we need to be more realistic about who reads it and structure our stories to that audience. If we can minister to non-Christians along the way, that’s great, but we still have to remember who our primary audience is.

In two weeks, I’ll dive into the pitfalls a little more. Until then, let me know what you think.

Icon of the Resurrection

A few months ago, Stephen and I wandered into a conversation about the meaning of icons in literature and their connection to Christian faith, and we agreed it was a topic worth examining in more detail in a feature here at Speculative Faith.

After some head-scratching about how to approach this task and divide the labor, we decided to simply continue our conversation via e-mail and post the discussion here in several parts with some notes to provide context. This way, we hope, it will feel more like a chat between friends rather than a series of lectures or essays.

So today, we come in shortly after the conversation started, when we were hashing out the details and talking about definitions. We’re both busy guys, so you’ll see there are some gaps in these exchanges, but the great thing about written correspondence like this is that the conversation “keeps” until one or both of us has the opportunity to give it our full attention.

Please feel free to enter and expand the discussion in comments to these posts.

To keep things straight, we’ll show my comments in blue, Stephen’s in green, and notes external to the conversation in black.

Fred

———–

March 15, 2012

Fred,

Good gravy. It’s been exactly a month since your message. Please forgive my delay. And I hope this message finds you and yours doing well!

A few quick thoughts:

 Might we start this next month, earlier in the month — to include the concept of Easter / Resurrection Sunday, the culmination of the only perfect icon and person, Christ Himself?

 I love the idea of trading emails back and forth. I’ve done that at least once before and the results made for a great read. For that to work, though, and not to frustrate you, I’ll need to make sure to commit, now, to one email per week, sent your direction. End of project? When it ends, I guess.

Starting out with definitions and history sounds like a great idea. In fact, it seems you’ve already begun with the definitions. I’d love to follow up with the history, both summaries of “icons” in Scripture — the construction of the Tabernacle, especially — and in church history. A future column or two could explore how Christians in the Reformation began hating on icons, and the dangers they did pose then and do pose now … but also expand into Biblical balance.

Over and out, and Godspeed, brother,

Stephen

——–

March 15, 2012

Young Adult fiction is dark, one writer recently said in a prominent periodical. And few can deny the popularity of monster, dystopian, or post-apocalyptic stories. Television is following the trend with shows sporting such happy titles as Grimm and Revenge.

The end of Suzanne Collins’ Hunger Games trilogy, a popular series now going to the big screen, seems to illustrate the movement in fiction away from hope. The final book, Mockingjay, left a lot of readers unhappy — it received an average customer rating at Amazon of 3.5 stars, a full point lower than the first in the series. Here are a few excerpts (spoiler alert) from some of the “disappointed” reviews:

• I can’t fathom what Collins wanted me, as a reader, to feel at that point. Life is misery and then we die? War destroys everything and there’s no hope?
• We were fools for hoping for a happy ending.
• Speaking of dead characters, for some reason Collins felt the need to kill off all of the hope bearing ones in Mockingjay.

Even Christian fiction may be following the same progression. Recently I read reviews of the first book, Solitary, by Christian speculative writer Travis Thrasher. Some Goodreads reviewers were unhappy because of the Christian content, but some because of the hopelessness. (Again, spoiler alert).

• It’s genius writing, in my opinion. Just…don’t expect the super-mega happy ending.
• if you like happy endings, then I don’t recommend this book.
• There are glimmers of hope, help for Chris, but they all end up being useless and powerless. Good does not overcome, so what’s the point?!

Granted, Solitary, unlike Mockingjay, is the first in the series, so there’s still the possibility that the end will not be as bleak, but that doesn’t disprove the popularity of stories that deal with death and failure and loss.

So I have to ask — is fiction killing hope?

Or is fiction reflecting the hopelessness seeping into Western culture?

In a recent blog post, author William McGrath identified hope as a key component in fantasy, then said this:

In my mind, fantasy and hope are so closely tied together that I sometimes worry about people who dislike fantasy. I have to wonder if they have given up on hope. I suspect that it isn’t the elves or wizards that they find “unrealistic,” but the happy endings. (Excerpt from “Why Tolkien”)

What’s troubling to me is the idea that this death of hope, whether fostered or reflected by fiction, seems contrary to the “God-shaped vacuum” Pascal referenced:

There is a God shaped vacuum in the heart of every man which cannot be filled by any created thing, but only by God, the Creator, made known through Jesus.
― Blaise Pascal, Pensees

Pascal wasn’t inventing something, I don’t think. He simply gave a succinct statement of truth contained in Scripture — Mankind created with eternity in our hearts, for God’s good pleasure, to be in communion with Him, is separated from Him by our sin. As part of our sin or as a result of our sinful hearts, we turn to idols to fill up the longings God alone can assuage.

But what happens when we say, in true nihilistic fashion, there is nothing that satisfies or can satisfy. What happens when a society decides there is no hope?

Are we as readers being swept into this trend against our will, or do we find something appealing to the dark, the hopeless? Or, as Christians, are we saying, Yes, this world offers no hope; that comes from Christ alone.

Are we as writers being swept into this trend, and how can Christians authors offer hope when it seems like a growing portion of the culture isn’t interested?

Or is this a passing fad?

What do you think about hopelessness?

All this next could be questioned if even one commentator, or even better, a Christian speculative publisher, can prove the word “weird” is market-tested. If hordes of readers are thrilled at the thought of getting their hands on “weird” Christian fiction, my dislike of this term may prove only personal.

Yet I do dislike it — the word weird, when applied to Christian speculative fiction.

By no means am I picking on publishers or authors who use the term! Yet I also wonder if, by stressing this word, we’re needlessly limiting the genre and its potential growth.

Here we have two potential motivations for reading a Christian speculative story:

1. I like Christian spec-fiction because it’s Weird. In the morning I get up and want stories You Probably Haven’t Heard Of. Part of me also wants to “stick it” to stories that “normal” people enjoy. You can have your modern dramatic fiction without magical worlds, and straight-up histories instead of alternate-history steampunk craziness! Give me weird any day! The weirder, the better!
2. I like Christian speculative stories because they, unlike other genres, most closely match the wonders of the true-life Story, the Bible, and show us the nature of the Author, His truths, fantastic wonders, and love. In the morning I get up and wonder (or should wonder!): “How can I learn about and love this Author more today?” I’ve tried other genres. While they have their place, it is speculative stories that draw me closer to Him. Magic, alternate histories, science fiction, horror, paranormal, even “weirdness” — they’re all only means to the greatest End.

Sure, I’ve simplified things a bit. I may have also strongly implied that I wholly agree with number 2 and detest number 1. That’s not true. Maybe we all have a little “hipster” in us. Maybe we all would like to beat the other reader to a popular story, or out-Weird another person in our reading preferences, or have our own private revolutions against admittedly tame and artificially “safe” Christian fiction. I know I often act like this.

But I also don’t want to stay there. Battles for “unsafe” stories, that push limits and may show the world as it really is, are means to a greater chief End. So is freedom to explore worlds where people and rules aren’t exactly the same as they are here. So is weirdness.

So why market Christian speculative books based solely on the fact that they’re Weird?

Here are three reasons why we should at least make that argument secondary to others:

1. Speculative stories aren’t really “weird” anyway.

When we’re trying to “sell” reluctant Christian friends on the merits of a speculative novel, taking a reactionary position (Christian fiction today is just too safe!) or else an “indie,” hipster appeal (you’ve probably never heard of it) just doesn’t cut it.

This is not a theological objection. Those come in a moment. It’s a marketing one.

A better case could be made like this. I’ve seen this work at least to provoke curiosity in people who would otherwise not touch a “weird” novel, or be swayed by that term.

Speculative stories may sound strange and subversive. You may like that presentation of them. Others may not. But for either set: consider the highest-grossing films of all time. (Becky’s 2006 top-ten list is here; an updated list is here.) Of the top 20 films, only two — Titanic and The Passion of the Christ — could be considered non-speculative. But they’re still fantasy-esque (especially Titanic), and epic in scope.

In Christian circles, the most popular fiction authors perennially prove to be C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. Are they Weird? At first, perhaps. But now they are mainstream.

Are all these stories Weird? Not at all. Instead they prove that speculative stories are the dominant, perhaps default, genre of fiction. I don’t call that weird. Rather, I’d have to conclude that those who feel this genre is weird are themselves strange characters.

2. The Bible itself is epic, miraculous, fantastic, even “speculative.”

Those who avoid speculative stories because they are Weird, and those who agree but push those stories because they consider Weirdness a plus, might want to ponder this.

The Bible is the most incredible Book ever, full of incredible stories and themes: battles, miracles, the nastiness of sin, rising nations, fantastic creatures, and the central Story of God’s creation of man, man’s fall, and God’s plan to save His creation. Over all of that is the Story’s infinite Author and Hero. He’s infinite, incredible, creative, loving, and holy.

So I would ask why many Christian stories don’t better reflect these themes. At present, most Christian novels are from non-speculative genres that include God as a supporting character. That’s not evil, of course. But they do tend to be detached from the greatest Story of the Bible — the Gospel. They may be fun to read, but how do they help us in our fantastic reality, in which this incredible God is always working, even in small ways, to save sinners and redeem His creation? How do they remind us of the true Story?

If we avoid stories that echo the great Story, that’s what’s truly Weird. Even “escapist.”

3. The “weird” term may limit readerships only to Christians with fringe interests.

Do we want this genre to grow, to be “mainstream” as it should have been all along?

Or do we want to keep focusing on a narrow readership: Christians, who have already been persuaded that speculative stories are “weird” and that they should like them that way, that Weird by itself is good, and that stories need no benefit beyond being Weird?

These may be more oversimplifications. I also don’t mean to imply that speculative fans should, say, disregard all the delightful, quirky, even “indie” types of readers, in favor of acquiring only garden-variety wholesome middle-class Christian moms with suburban homes, flower-print-covered Bibles, and 2.2 children in the backseat of the minivan.

But is it too much to ask for both?

Why emphasize only the rarity of this genre, instead of joyously proclaiming: these stories honor God and His Story even better, and have been doing this for generations?

Then we could have both the “weird for its own sake” readers, and those who sincerely want to glorify God in their reading choices but have for years, by default, acted as if speculative stories are “that weird stuff,” maybe harmless, but of little spiritual benefit.

Someone may ask: what about nonbelievers who prefer “weird” fiction, who may dislike spiritually based appeals to read books? I suggest that catering only to those potential readers would reduce readerships even more. If they really only want weird stuff, the presence of “it’s a weird novel! and even weirder because it’s Christian!” appeals won’t be sufficiently Weird. A pagan will always be able to out-Weird us, and more effectively — because unlike the Christian authors, pagan authors don’t question your Weirdest sins.

Christianity does not, and should not, succeed because it’s Weird, but because it’s true.

Our speculative stories should have a similar mission. Sure, weirdness can be fun. Yet weirdness is only a means to our Chief End: glorifying God and enjoying Him forever.

“I don’t like Katniss,” my wife, Lacy, explained the other day.

Yes, we’ve been reading The Hunger Games books, being very un-cool only to read them after the film released and the series again proved popular. As Lacy recently explained to a co-worker, being aware of novels like these is now our “family business.” After all, sad to say, many Christians frankly prove they either don’t understand fiction, or think that a Bad Book gives us license to be careless or even lie about its contents or author.

Still, that doesn’t mean anyone must read the books, or must enjoy them while reading. So far, Lacy’s perspective is the latter. And now that we’ve both finished the first book, I find that I somewhat agree. Though there’s growth, sacrifice, victory, and solid themes about our culture’s celebrity “warfare” sins, it’s still depressing stuff.

But until Lacy made her remark about Katniss, central character of The Hunger Games series, I hadn’t even thought about whether I liked her — that is, Katniss — personally.

Thus my question: for a good story, must its central character be likeable?

Or can a skilled storyteller skip what would otherwise be that requirement by creating a character who is mainly sympathetic?

"I feel cranky and pubescent today, and I don't know why. Rrrrrrr! I'm gonna take it out on people I like."

This also applies to Harry Potter, by the way. Many readers, including my wife, find him not nearly as personally likeable as the supporting cast: Hermione, Ron, the Weasley twins, and many of the Hogwarts’ teachers. But if you had the world’s most evil wizard climbing inside your head, who made you an orphan, and who kept interfering with an otherwise ordinary wizarding education, you’d have people sympathizing with you, too. If anything, more-likeable supporting characters make the character of Harry even more sympathetic. And their natures make a better story; one case of Wizard Angst is enough.

For Christian stories, the likeable/sympathetic dilemma may be even more pronounced.

As author John Otte remarked last week, most Christian fiction is likely read by, um, Christians — yet so many of our novels feature main characters who are non-Christians. Are they likeable? For the Christian reader, perhaps not. Instead they are sympathetic. This is true especially if the story’s plot turning point, or climax, is his/her salvation.

Don’t misunderstand. I like plenty of nonbelievers in reality! Still, it’s like the difference between liking a female friend and loving my wife: I appreciate other women, but there is no comparison (and there shouldn’t be!). Similarly, I appreciate nonbelievers for their talents and kindnesses. But I only feel at home with faithful Christians. They aren’t just likeable people, with good traits despite their fallenness. They are redeemed family.

This also applies to nonbelievers’ and believers’ stories. Maybe it’s why I often prefer cheap, little-literary-value novels by Christians to masterpieces by nonbelievers. The non-Christian’s story may be a blockbuster. But that cheap tale — it’s by my brother.

Still, my brothers and sisters often produce stories with only sympathetic non-Christian characters, instead of likeable, though struggling, heroes who are also family.

With that in mind, I can level with non-Christian characters such as Katniss Everdeen, or Harry Potter, who are mainly sympathetic, likeable only at times. If their stories are great, and they are moving toward likeability, so much the better.

Yet for a Christian’s story, whose truths and beauties must move beyond common-grace echoes into specific-grace songs, I much prefer Christian characters. True heroes who remind Christian readers of themselves, with redemption and struggles alike. People who are not merely sympathetic, but likeable. People who remind me of Christ Himself, of God’s already-established yet coming Kingdom, of resurrection, and of family.

Note: After nearly two years of regular columns, Kaci Hill has needed to step back from her work. We wish Kaci well, and look forward to her future guest pieces.