Blimey, this series is just writing itself. And I don’t even need a Quick-Quotes Quill to do it.

It seems everybody is talking again about Christians and Harry Potter. That includes some sporadic sources still trying to keep up the “mark the books demonic; avoid!” mantra. But most of what I’ve heard is from others defending the Potter books and having some snarky howlers over silly legalists and other ignorance — like of course, Pat Robertson, who’s still following the Panicked Email Forwards school of media engagement and discernment.

How long, then, can I restrain my own snarkiness?

I hope permanently, for this series — because I’ve seen what happens when Christians try to fight sin with more of the same.

Examples: Does Harry Potter deceive? Then maybe it’s sort of okay to be loose with facts in return. Do the books promote mysticism? Fight fire with fire, then: let’s act like shamans and fear objects, Things, as if they are possessed by evil spirits. Or maybe we should even outsource discernment to others, who may or may not do discernment Biblically. …

So I suggest it’s not enough just to deflect other Christians’ undiscerning fire against certain books, declaring the books amoral and the critics ignorant. Of course, it’s much better to show how we can glorify God actively with a certain practice. Yet next in this series I’ll explore the fact that many Christians, in the name of “discernment,” may fall into behaviors that are both un-Biblical and even the same sins as those they decry.

This affects Christians in more ways than deciding whether to read or enjoy one book series. How we think about Harry Potter crosses into other real-life beliefs and practices …

7. Because of the Word’s commands not to get tied up in fake rules.

Here’s a long Bible passage that should be read in full to get the full message. (Or is it just me who faces the temptation to skip these parts while reading a book or blog column? 😀 )

And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross. He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him.

Therefore let no one pass judgment on you in questions of food and drink, or with regard to a festival or a new moon or a Sabbath. These are a shadow of the things to come, but the substance belongs to Christ. Let no one disqualify you, insisting on asceticism and worship of angels, going on in detail about visions, puffed up without reason by his sensuous mind, and not holding fast to the Head, from whom the whole body, nourished and knit together through its joints and ligaments, grows with a growth that is from God.

If with Christ you died to the elemental spirits of the world, why, as if you were still alive in the world, do you submit to regulations—“Do not handle, Do not taste, Do not touch” (referring to things that all perish as they are used)—according to human precepts and teachings? These have indeed an appearance of wisdom in promoting self-made religion and asceticism and severity to the body, but they are of no value in stopping the indulgence of the flesh.

— Colossians 2: 13-23

Follow Paul’s beautiful, Spirit-inspired logic, as pertains specifically to discernment choices:

1. Jesus has made all Christians alive. Yes, we still struggle with sin, but He saved us.
2. Christ also publicly mocked and shamed evil entities and demonic authorities. While they still pose a threat, they ultimately have no power over His Kingdom children.
3. “Therefore” avoid rules, imposed by others, requiring us to celebrate holidays, avoid certain foods, or claim other things Scripture doesn’t specifically address. Enforcing Old Testament holidays and food commands as if they are still binding is especially wrong, because “these are a shadow of the things to come” — the real Law that Christ has already fulfilled. (My thought: then how much more absurd would it be to enact standards upon standards, which aren’t even mentioned in the Old Covenant Law!)
4. And if you do base your life on man-made rules like that, they won’t work anyway. They seem decent and wise, but won’t stop the worse problem: “the indulgence of the flesh,” the human heart that, if left unchanged on the inside, will secretly go wild.

Another attempt to blame cultural Things for Christianity’s ills (which could downplay that whole Gospel-rejection issue). So should we turn to media shamanism?

Despite this clear Scripture, someone’s always skipping past it and trying to diagnose and fix problems in the Church apart from the Gospel that changes hearts. Our churches are too big. Too small. Too new. Too old. Too legalistic. Too worldly. Recently I read Tim Challies’ review of one latest attempt: a DVD that portrays most or all youth groups and Sunday schools as things that have corrupted kids and driven them from Christianity. Even if all youth groups are bad, such criticisms seem, again, just more applications of Band-aids to dead bodies. More rules won’t raise the spiritually dead. People must be convicted by the Spirit, using God’s real Law that drives them to Christ, the Gospel, the Kingdom, and joy.

I think many Potter critics, though not all of them, have not fully accepted this. Or if they have, they haven’t yet let it carry over to their media decisions and other discernment beliefs.

8. Because most Christians already believe someone is able to avoid some tough temptations; they just don’t apply this consistently.

The more you think about this one, the more ridiculous it could seem! This is because — and actually to their credit — many critics of things like Harry Potter have not fully avoided the books or movies. Instead they have bravely thrown themselves into the paths of the books or movies, supposedly to see what they’re about, then to warn the rest of us.

That’s fair enough. I enjoy movie reviews from Plugged In and other sites whose writers may tell me whether a film seems worth my attention. And I do believe some Christians, gifted in certain ways, can be stronger than others against assaults from media and anti-God stories.

But in that case, why not try to educate others to be as strong as the critic is?

Instead of Christian Potter critics teaching “This is how I resisted cultural assaults on my beliefs, and here’s how you can too,” we get what can only be called media shamanism.

Growth in grace is not enough protection for you. Instead you also need me! I will bravely face the Evil Object on your behalf. I will get prayed up and spiritually strong to take it on, see what’s evil about it, and let you know what to avoid. To protect you, and in the Public’s Best Interest, I will hear the bad words and censor them, put up with the paganism, and Remove the Offensive Portions of the Image so that you won’t need to be exposed to it.

Or, to cite specific examples:

I had plenty of company last Saturday morning as I hurried into the movie theater to see the final film in the Harry Potter series. (from this review of the recent film)

… But you should stay away from it yourself. I caught the grenade for ya. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Walt Disney has used the same subliminal filth in their children’s movies. Here’s the male organ in the scene up close. American society has become so filthy and lewd. (from Joe Camel and Sexual Perversion at Jesus-is-Savior.com)

… So here, it’s the offensive part right in front of your face so you can see how offensive it is!

Many of us object when politicians promise to take more money to help Protect You Better. But swap take your money for take your Biblical freedom? Well, if it’s for my good, sure!

It would be too easy simply to call this hypocrisy, and too hard to avoid implying that all we must do to show a standard is false is to prove some of its advocates don’t really follow it. This alone doesn’t prove a standard un-Biblical. But it does prove that many such adherents do allow exceptions, as long as they get to be the media shamans seen as stronger.

Such activists seem to perceive an invisible choir of victims who must be “protected,” thanks to the shaman’s superior spirituality. That “choir” could include people who actually do need help, such as children. But too many also include Christians who would better be taught how to discern in Biblical ways themselves, rather than outsourcing their discernment to shamans. Christ alone is our “mediator.” He gives His Word and His Spirit to help us grow and figure things out. To say “that’s not enough” comes very close to blasphemy — setting one’s self up as an idol, an extra step, between a Christian and Christ.

“You don’t need to involve yourself in witchcraft, and the occult. … It is seductive.”

Let’s take Pat Robertson from up there as an example — and because he’s too easy a target, and surely means well, I think we can be kind. Maybe he never intended to become a media shaman for others. But I would ask a few questions to discern any “discernment” teacher:

1. Does he regularly encourage others to keep him in check with Scripture?
2. Does he base his teachings on the complete Biblical Gospel and all its fruits?
3. Do his relevant beliefs align with ours, such as about how much power the Devil has?
4. What about his view of where sin originates? Is it Biblical to say “amen” to a Pelagian and false statement like “Don’t give an entryway into your heart, your family’s heart, or your child’s heart,” which ignores what Christ said about sin’s source (Mark 7)?
5. Is he basing anything he “discerns” on outdated, wrong, or slanderous information?

So here’s my suggestion, which works even while accepting the (wrong) premise that Harry Potter is evil, but taking into account the fact that many Christians do believe some people are strong enough to face evils. Instead of crying “protect me from evil spirits!” to un-Biblical outsourced media shamans, why not ask those with more-Biblical discernment: “Hey, can you teach me how you got so spiritually strong so I can also be strong?”

Cut out the middle men. There’s only One of those, and He doesn’t like competition.

Bonus question from above: 6. Might the questionable “discernment” folks actually practice the very sins of “magic” and paganism they claim to avoid? That is a question I’ve had to delay for another column, after more research and thought, and likely for next Thursday.

I’m currently editing a manuscript about effectively planting churches in other cultures. The author deals a lot with oral cultures, and she points out the power of storytelling: more than preaching a three-point sermon or presenting doctrine in abstract form, storytelling reaches the hearts of oral learners with the power to lead them to God and transform their lives.

Ultimately, it has the power to make disciples, not just students.

This has me thinking about the power of story in our own culture. We don’t live in an oral culture, and we do think in abstracts. Yet, storytelling is still powerful. Movies (the story kind, not the informational kind) bring in billions of dollars every year). The big surprise of the e-book revolution is that fiction is outselling nonfiction. And even though many people tend to dismiss fiction as having any real effect on our lives, it’s clear that it does. The stories we take in shape our perception of the world and of ourselves. (This is true of storytelling nonfiction as well–biography, history, Bible stories, etc.)

For us too, stories invite us to participate in something, not merely learn about it. And while that process may start in our imaginations, it tends to spill into our lives.

The author of the missions book I’m editing points out that it doesn’t work, in an oral culture, to tell a story and then “dissect” it–extracting lessons and abstract principles. At the same time, I’m reading a book on the historicity of Adam and Eve that points out that the Old Testament tends to “show,” not “tell.” For example, the story of the Fall never uses words like sin, guilt, disobedience, or fall. Yet it clearly shows the story of all those things, and that story shapes the rest of the biblical narrative.

Jesus also resisted pulling apart his stories for the sake of sermonizing. His stories certainly had morals and truths embedded in them, but he let them speak for themselves.

In our own culture, the most powerful stories operate in the same way. The movie I saw most recently, X-Men: First Class had lots to say about power, alienation, and human choices. But it didn’t need a post-story lecture in order to get those things across. Its truths (or at least, what its makers perceive as truths) are embodied in the story itself.

And ultimately, that might be WHY storytelling is so powerful. Rather than teaching us something, a story engages us in vicariously living it. We come away with an understanding of truth that has involved our minds, yes, but also our emotions, our spirits, our hearts. In some sense, we come away feeling that we have lived a truth, not just heard or critiqued it. And the best stories challenge us to continue living them.

As a Christian storyteller, operating through the medium of writing, I want to use that power well, writing stories that will help people experience righteousness, experience God, experience grace. We are not the only ones in this game: the enemy is actively using stories to shape the people of our culture. (And speculative fiction is a more and more influential genre.) By writing the best and most truthful stories we can, we can step into battle and strike a few decisive blows for truth, challenging people to become disciples.

Coming soon to a womb near you.

Whether it’s a leg-up in the family business, enrollment in the best schools, or access to professional athletic training, parents have always scrambled to secure the maximum advantage for their children. Science has provided more sophisticated, if less ethical, opportunities: Parent-enabled abuse of steroids and human growth hormone attempt to boost athletic performance…and scholarship prospects. Genetic enhancement is the next step, and it would be naive to think it won’t happen once the technology and ambition meet. We’re already at the threshold of theraputic prenatal gene therapy for birth defects. Genetic tweaking for improved intelligence or any number of other characteristics isn’t far behind.

If you had the chance to maximize your baby’s brainpower, would you? How about if that opportunity was freely available to everyone?

Take a couple of minutes and think about the implications of that decision.

In an online article for Discover magazine, Kyle Munkittrick uses Orson Scott Card’s Ender novels to launch a discussion about artificially-enhanced intelligence. Mr.  Munkittrick argues that intellectual enhancement via genetic engineering and/or cybernetics is not a zero-sum game or unfair competitive advantage because it has the potential to benefit everyone–and it’s hard to see an obvious downside in boosting mankind’s average IQ.

Of course, as with any new technology, there may be unintended consequences. Here’s another perspective on a future of genetically-enhanced children, from Greg Bear’s short story, “Sisters.”

Some PPCs had been designed by their parents to qualify physically and mentally for space careers. Some had been equipped with bichemistries, one of which became active in Earth’s gravity, the other in space. How could an NG compete with that?

Of the seven hundred adolescents in her high school training programs, Letitia Blakely was one of ten NGs–possessors of natural, unaltered genomes. Everyone else was the proud bearer of juggled genes, PPCs or Pre-Planned Children, all lovely and stable with just the proper amount of adipose tissue and just the proper infusion of parental characteristics and chosen features to be beautiful and different; tall, healthy, hair manageable, skin unblemished, well-adjusted (except for the occasional blitzer) with warm and sunny personalities. The old derogatory slang for PPCs was RC–Recombined.

Letitia, slightly overweight, skin pasty, hair frizzy, bulbous-nosed and weak-chinned, one breast larger than the other and already showing a droop pronounced enough to grip a stylus–with painful menstrual periods and an absolute indisposition to athletics–was the Sport. That’s what they were called. NG Sports. TBs–Throwbacks. Neanderthals.

Before long, we discover the ability to create designer children may result in more than new prejudices, but I won’t spoil that for you.

Their genes have been spliced.

As Christian speculative fiction writers and readers, I think it’s part of our charter to explore the moral and spiritual impacts of these sorts of changes…before they happen. At what point do we cross the line into playing God? What happens when intelligence is valued over wisdom? How might altering the intellectual balance of our society change how we treat each other, for better or worse? Is there such a thing as a Christian approach to genetic engineering, and if so, what would it look like? Is a genetically-engineered person more or less than a human being? How would a future Church minister to genetically-enhanced people, or non-enhanced people in a world where most have been modified in some fashion?

Lots of story ideas here, but you’d better hurry…the science fiction is about to become reality.

I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord. Be strong and let your heart take courage. Yes, wait for the Lord.

So says King David in Psalm 27:14. It’s a statement of hope. With enemies encircling him and war rising against him, in the face of abandonment, David turned to God and found hope.

Another term might be inspiration, the courage to go on. I’ve thought about this subject recently because of a post Mike Duran wrote at Decompose regarding inspirational fiction. [Please note, Mike’s article was the catalyst for my thoughts. I am in no way attempting to write a rebuttal or a critique or a spin off of his thoughts. I am merely crediting him with the inspiration — pun intended — for this article. 😀 ]

When all seems darkest, who thinks turning out the lights will help? Who wants to snuff out the last candle or throw away the flashlight?

Instead, when darkness surrounds us, our instinct is to search for some source of light, even the brief flicker of a match. We want to be oriented aright. We want to be assured of our path. We want to be warned of the obstacles in front of us. Most of all, we want a glimpse of our destination.

J. R. R. Tolkien famously expressed the role of fantasy in serving as a light in the dark in his essay, “On Fairy-Stories”:

I have claimed that Escape is one of the main functions of fairy-stories, and since I do not disapprove of them, it is plain that I do not accept the tone of scorn or pity with which ‘Escape’ is now so often used. Why should a man be scorned if, finding himself in prison, he tries to get out and go home? Or if he cannot do so, he thinks and talks about other topics than jailers and prison-walls?

The question that comes to my mind, however, is whether or not people in western society today are escaping, not to home as Tolkien stated in his metaphor, but to inspiration, or hope, itself. Has the end destination become the land of escape?

Fantasy — stories exploring the struggle between good and evil — has the framework in place to show readers “home.” But if, instead, its stories do not deliver truth, I suggest they merely offer hope in hope.

Further, I believe that fantasies delivering false hope are worse than those offering no hope — true dystopian stories.

Fantasies need to tell the truth about both good and evil. What would The Lion, The Witch, And The Wardrobe be without the witch?

The White Witch was important because she showed evil on many levels. She showed the seduction of power and pleasure in her relationship with Edmund. She showed how the grip of fear and suspicion could lead to compromise when she intimidated Mr. Tumnus the Fawn. She showed how forestalling Christmas forestalled the coming of new life and the renewal of the world. She showed how her own desire for personal power led to a disregard for life.

In other words, she was an accurate portrayal of evil.

Enter the Lion.

Aslan was equally an accurate portrayal of good. He the self-sacrificing forgiver who had power to save was the hero who brought life from death.

In these accurate portrayals, C. S. Lewis created true inspiration. He painted the home to which we must escape if we are truly to come free of prison.

Inspiration was an important aspect of fantasy for Tolkien as well. As N. Lund stated in his essay “How to Read Tolkien: For Enjoyment, Escape or Edification? Or perhaps all of the above?”:

Tolkien asserted that fairy tales (fantasy) depend upon “consolation,” which he defined as “the happy ending.” Tolkien and Lewis coined their own term for this: “eucatastrophe” (literally, the “happy disaster” or “happy sudden turn”). Tolkien stated that the greatest eucatastrophe, and the model for all eucatastrophes, was the resurrection of Christ from the dead. It is the moment of joyful surprise at unexpected deliverance from evil. In attempting to explain this critical element in fantasy, Tolkien then employed the New Testament term “evangelium,” which means “the Gospel.” Tolkien asserted: “in the ‘eucatastrophe’ we see in a brief vision that the answer may be greater — it may be a far-off gleam or echo or evangelium in the real world.” He concluded: “The Christian may now perceive that all his bents and faculties have a purpose, which can be redeemed. So great is the bounty with which he has been treated that he may now, perhaps, fairly dare to guess that in Fantasy he may actually assist in the effoliation and multiple enrichment of creation.”

As I see it, few people today deny that the world is dark. Consequently, many writers offer hope. The problem is, believing harder doesn’t change the dark. Believing that the dark isn’t actually dark doesn’t change the dark. Believing that I can see in the dark, doesn’t change the fact that I can’t. Only one thing can deal with the dark, and that’s light.

Christian fantasy is situated to offer true hope, real inspiration, not false or pretend or temporary escape that leaves us still imprisoned.

I embrace inspiration because I agree with Tolkien: even the small inspiration of fiction points to the ultimate inspiration of the resurrection, the means to the ultimate escape to the ultimate Home.

I have become a caricature to my best friends.

You would think that would bother me, but it actually makes me really happy.

I don’t know if it’s healthy or dysfunctional, but I tend to feel loved when I’m teased by my buddies. I’m not talking about mean-spirited fun, but the kind that prevents me from taking myself too seriously — to reckon with my quirks and delight in what a miracle it is that my family, my friends, and my God choose to walk with me in fellowship.

I go on a Christmas tour every year with a group of pretty incredible musicians and artists who happen to be some of my dearest friends, and it’s become a tradition to print up tour t-shirts bearing our nicknames, most of which have origins too obscure to make any sense to anyone but us: “Chaos,” “Styles,” “Hot Toddie,” and “Nueve,” for example. Jill Phillips, the only female on the tour, got the nickname “Girl” which isn’t so obscure, I suppose. We all have a good time with it, and after all these years the nicknaming makes it feel like we’re old army buddies on a tour of duty.

The reason I tell you all that is to tell you this: my nickname on the tour is “Dragon Sword.” (I just laughed out loud while I typed that.) I have a t-shirt and a head band, both of which display the nickname and announce my giant nerdiness to the world. Of the twelve people on the tour, only one of us is a part-time fantasy novelist, you see, so there’s no end to the happy ridicule. You know those goofy pewter wizards and dragons you see for sale at truck stops? The ones with the little crystal embedded into the wizard’s grip? You know those swords hanging on the wall at the knife shop in the mall? My touring buddies all think I collect those. (I don’t.) They think I’ll read any book if the cover features a dragon, a pirate ship, or a laser gun. (I won’t.) They think I’ve watched all eighty-seven hours of the Lord of the Rings extended editions in one sitting. (I haven’t.) They think I grew up playing Dungeons & Dragons. (I didn’t.) They think I dressed up like Prince Caspian for the Narnia premiers. (Nope.) They think I was the kid in high school always drawing dragons and swords on his folders. (That one’s true, actually.)

When I step on the bus and they yell, “Dragon Sword!” my heart gloweth. It really does crack me up. What I don’t usually tell them is that of the books I’ve read in the last ten years, only a handful would be considered fantasy novels. Of the movies I’ve loved the most, few (if any) had any dragons in them. The paintings I saw by Van Gogh and Leonardo at the National Gallery in Washington, D.C. this summer managed to take my breath away even though there wasn’t an elf in sight.

I’ll be honest — I really do walk through the sci-fi/fantasy section at the bookstore every time I visit; I do the same for the young readers section. I love a great cover illustration. Call me a nerd if you want. But wait! I also walk through the fiction section, and I browse the poetry shelf, and I peruse the art aisle, and (these days) the gardening books. When I visit the library I usually end up with a stack of books about everything from Batman to tree houses to John Adams.

What I’m getting at is that I don’t love only speculative fiction. In fact, I have a deep-seated loathing for most of it.

Then why in Aerwiar am I writing the Wingfeather Saga?

If I loathe most fantasy, why do I adore the Lord of the Rings and the Narnia books? The simple answer is that I care more about good writing than genre. I care more about story than setting. I care more about sentences than swords.

C.S. Lewis, in an essay called “On Stories,” talks about setting, and makes a great case for why it matters. One of his students argues (if I remember right) that a writer could take a story set in, say, the Old West, remove all mention of six-shooters and cattle and old saloons, replace them with swords, steeds, and taverns, and the reader would delight in the story just as much. Lewis, on the other hand, argued that the world the story is set in is integral to the story itself; the delight is in the details. I think of Hogwarts with its moving staircases and floating candlestands; I think of Rivendell with its waterfalls and ancient architecture; I think of Sherlock on the foggy streets of London; I think of a lamppost in a snowy wood. So yes, come to think of it, I do care about setting.

For Lewis, a sense of atmosphere was crucial. But you’ll notice that each of the descriptions I just gave conjure up more than just pictures. They give you a feeling, too. They’re so connected to the story taking place that you can’t divorce the two. The setting, among other things, represents the story to the imagination of the reader — it composts the soil where the story grows. But atmosphere isn’t enough. To follow the soil analogy a little farther, rich soil feeds grass and thistle just as well as it feeds corn and pumpkin. (I know, because I just had to till between my corn rows a few days ago.) If the story isn’t strong, the setting isn’t either. Or, put it this way: the setting is only as strong as the story that fills it.

I get the feeling sometimes, when looking at the hundreds and hundreds of fantasy novels on the shelf at Barnes & Noble, that many of the authors (and publishers) are so geeked out about the accoutrements of fantasy (orcs! dragons! quests!) that they’ve forgotten that the story is the thing. It’s like when my daughter sets her play table for a pretend feast. The cute little napkins, tea cups, forks and knives, and plastic muttons are immaculately displayed on the table, but there’s no actual meal.

As delightful as it can be to imagine food, all it does is make one hungry for dinner. What I mean by dinner, of course, is great writing. And we can’t learn how to be great writers by reading mediocre books. It’s true that one can learn a lot about what not to do by reading bad books, but without a standard by which to measure the bad, we lose sight of what makes great books great. It’s good to cultivate a little bit of literary snobbery, at least insofar as it teaches you to be humble enough to work harder.

Tolkien, the godfather of modern fantasy, didn’t read much speculative fiction. We know, because before Tolkien there was no fantasy genre. Legend has it that Tolkien and Lewis started writing the kind of books they wrote because nobody else was doing it for them. (Of course, we could classify Norse mythology as a kind of imaginative fiction, but you know what I mean.) So what did they read? Classics. Scripture. Poetry. Essays. They were well-versed in ancient verse. They were scholars who studied mythology and language and could wax academic about a host of subjects, in multiple languages. I contend that the reason their books have lasted all these years is that they knew that great books are made of great stories; great stories are made of great sentences; great sentences are made by lovers of words.

So you can put a cool picture on the cover of the book, you can populate your world with all manner of strangeness, and you can even send your characters on a grand quest — but if you don’t love the sound of a beautiful sentence, if you aren’t a student of thematic nuance and story structure, if you haven’t cultivated discernment about what makes good books good, then your readers will know it. People won’t return to your book year after year to re-read passages. Your book will gather dust. Time will out you.

Now would probably be a good time to make a disclaimer: I realize I’m not a great writer. I’ll never write a book as lasting or beautiful as The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. I’m not a great writer now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be one someday, as unlikely as that is. Being a Christian doesn’t let me off the literary hook — it raises the literary bar (yes, I just mixed metaphors. See? Not a great writer). So what I’m getting at is this: if we want to write great speculative fiction, we have to eat our vegetables. We have to humble ourselves and realize that we have a lot to learn from the Great Ones of the Elder Age. That means you should study the Inklings, of course. But don’t stop there. Read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. Again. Read To Kill a Mockingbird. Read At the Back of the North Wind. Read King Lear. Read Milton (I haven’t yet, but I plan to this year). Read poetry. For goodness’ sake read poetry! Read it even if you don’t like it — read it especially if you don’t like it. Read Thoreau. Learn what a spondee is, and a poetic foot, and chiastic structure. Read Pulitzer Prize winners, like Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek and marvel at sentences doing things you didn’t know were possible. Let Mark Helprin’s exuberant imagination blow your mind.

Then, reader, sit at your desk, take a deep breath, and write your novel. If the story that presents itself to you has dragons in it, then fine. Follow the thrush to the hidden doorway and find your dragon. But don’t just think of it as a fantasy novel. Think of it as a book for the ages. Chances are it will be terrible (I promise you the first draft will be). But don’t let that stop you from working to make something beautiful, from the cover to the paper stock, all the way to the sound of the sentences and the utter absence of every possible adverb.

I don’t think the fantasy genre (or the speculative fiction genre, if you like) will produce anything really lasting until its writers stop writing fantasy and start writing great books that happen to be speculative. I suspect my heart will always leap a little at the thought of a quest in the perilous realm, and as the title of Lewis’s essay stated, “Sometimes a fairy story may say best what’s to be said.” But not always. Sometimes an entirely different kind of story will do. And those are just as worthy of our study, consideration, and enjoyment. In the meantime, I’ll keep wearing my “Dragon Sword” shirt on the tour, and I’ll hide a copy of Crime and Punishment under my pillow, safe from the prying eyes of the band.

I’d hate to disappoint them.

Judging from last week’s column, it seems there’s plenty of life left in the Harry Potter discussion between Christians — even before delving into the related issues of how our reactions to that particular series also overlap into our real-life beliefs and practice.

Thus, let’s continue with this series, today with a focus especially on how our thinking about the Harry Potter series also relates to how we view Biblical discernment.

For all these, the Harry Potter discussion matters …

4. Because Christians might overdo “discernment” practices in one extreme or another, based mainly on reactions.

Unlike some who were exposed early to abject worldliness and no discernment, and who are thus more careful about that, I grew up exposed to other well-meaning Christians’ overdone, un-Biblical discernment: treating outside Things as evil, while ignoring their own heart sins.

Yet others may not think that’s as serious a problem. And in some sense, I would agree. For many professing Christians, extreme and un-Biblical discernment is not as prevalent as total lack of discernment. “Whatever,” or “it’s just a book/movie/song,” is heard far more often than cautions to Beware the World. I do believe Christians should bring up such problems.

However, it won’t work just to say “we need to discern more!” or maybe suggest “this will keep people from leaving Christianity.” That’s the equivalent of applying a Band-aid, not just to a bleeding gaping wound, but to a dead body. Instead, before anyone gets anywhere near teaching on how to discern Things, people need spiritual resurrection. They need to see that Christ personally is worth more to them than other “pleasures,” and thus even the seemingly minor sin of wasting time on Things is foolish.

Also, we may often risk saying too much about what Things to avoid without saying why. Or we may not caution about how one can overdo “discernment” in un-Biblical ways. Or well-meaning Christians may only teach rightly about what to shun without giving alternatives about how we might actively honor our Savior in our creative or entertainment pursuits.

Scripture’s main rule for discernment is not “look first at what the world is doing, then do the opposite.” That would be wrong to believe, for even a sinful world can echo God’s truths thanks to His common grace.

But it would also be impossible to practice that consistently. The very fact that we’re using the internet to discuss this proves we can’t practice an ethics based on we-must-avoid-everything-of-the-world. Instead of basing our beliefs on reaction to bad guys, real or imagined, Christians are meant to imitate Christ actively, looking first to Him personally and His goodness. If we happen to see that in the world, great. If not, we should avoid it.

But let’s not let “the world” — however we define that — set our agendas.

5. Because “that looks bad/demonic/wicked to me” is not the same as Biblically based discernment.

Yesterday I was reminded of how well-intended but flawed practices of discernment can not only raise our standard above the level Scripture itself raises, but come back to bite us.

Harry Potter himself may have broken rules, but Hermione hated that — and she's also clearly a more Biblical-behaving woman, than, say, other figures of classic literature.

Last summer I posted on Spec-Faith about Mark Driscoll of Seattle, one of the Famous Christian Pastors, who was on video ranting about Twilight. Now, as rants go it was okay, but as I noted in August, Driscoll kept overdoing his mostly-valid criticism of Twilight’s content. His main argument: it looks demonic, so file it under Avoid. Sure, that can be true, but for things like Twilight one should say more. You can’t just assume “the Devil is behind it” based on appearance or similarity to other stuff that may be more easily proven harmful.

Otherwise, you run into situations like Driscoll himself recently encountered — after the internet went nuts with a critique of Driscoll’s condemnation of supposedly effeminate men. Anthony Bradley, a World magazine columnist, summarized this yesterday, and I had to note the irony: Driscoll himself said some books appear “demonic,” then others blasted him for similar reasons. Both sets assume this: “that Thing or person looks bad to me, based on my personal background or struggles.” But that’s not only simplistic, but un-Biblical. We can find better reasons to oppose Twilight, or critique Driscoll, besides mere appearances.

6. Because this helps us see our inconsistencies, which come when we enjoy other imagined “worlds” without direct God or Biblical parallels, then have different expectations for a “secular” story.

Many questions over Harry Potter specifically arise when people compare those stories to other stories they trust, such as The Chronicles of Narnia. They note the differences, and decide they don’t want to bother with things that don’t follow Narnia’s Story-World rules.

For example, this was one of the fairer objections to Harry Potter I’ve heard, from Wretched Radio host Todd Friel (whom I respect). I took these notes from his June 10 program:

One difference between Narnia and Harry Potter is Narnia’s clear defining of good versus evil. Harry Potter is different. In Narnia, “the evil is not glamorized. It is clearly presented as, you know, evil.” So there’s no confusion for children or adults. But Harry Potter only shows bad versus even badder. “Nothing in there is identified as coming from God, being a representative of God, versus evil.”

Harry Potter himself is supposed to be a kind of Messiah-figure, but he lies and is also a bit of a scoundrel. He practices “black magic that is kind of masked in white. It’s more dark versus darker in Harry Potter, versus darkness-versus-light in Narnia.”

Did Christ tell the story about the dishonest, shrewd money manager while impressionable children were present?

I guess I’d simply ask why then we’ve been letting Jesus’ parables get by. After all, though many of His stories do have allegorical elements and characters “standing in” for God, sinners, or even evangelism itself, other parables don’t follow the expected Narnia template. (That’s true especially if one assumes, contrary to C.S. Lewis’s statements,  that Narnia is made up of Direct Allegories.)

Instead, Jesus told parables in which people behave badly, using those to show points about His Kingdom and the natures of those who’ll dwell there. Compare with these statements:

• “Nothing in there is identified as coming from God, being a representative of God.” I’m thinking of the woman looking for her lost coin, or the man giving all he has to gain treasure in a field. These are “secular” stories with a point, not to put allegories into each element, but to reinforce His message: the Kingdom is worth everything. Is it a rule that every story must have a God-representing figure? If so, why?
• Harry Potter is a scoundrel. So was King David, the apostle Paul, and every person before Christ saved us (and quite a lot afterward, too!). Even for stories, whence comes this sudden rule that characters must behave perfectly? Jesus did not follow that “rule.” Instead He told stories about ten virgins behaving “selfishly” (Matt. 25: 1-13) and a shrewd money manager (Luke 16: 1-13), not to say “imitate all their behavior” but to say My Kingdom is coming; you’d best respond accordingly. (Anyway, Harry doesn’t stay a scoundrel; he grows, as part of a much bigger story.)

Because Christ Himself in his parables did not follow these “rules” for Christ-figures and moral behavior, why might we expect more of Potter and other stories? Do we expect only the secular stories to have decent characters who are not “rogues,” or Christ-figure characters, or even more obvious sources for “magic” in their worlds’ rules, or even higher distinctions between good and evil to make absolutely sure we aren’t confused?

Even if we enjoy fiction, do we subconsciously believe stories, both Christian and otherwise, would best be pressed into obeying the same Story-world rules of The Chronicles of Narnia?

I don’t think that’s a Biblical expectation. And I think most people, when asked graciously about this, might see that it’s better to be consistent in their expectations of stories. After all, they likely already enjoy less-controversial fare such as Pixar movies, traditional fairy tales and Christ’s own parables! Thus my suggestion would become not just adopt my view, but: consider applying more consistently the view you already hold in other areas.

Next week: what does Scripture say about getting tied up in rules that (hint) “have indeed an appearance of wisdom”? And don’t most Christians believe anyway that someone out there is strong enough to be exposed to bad Things so as to warn us about them?

Time marches on, priorities shift, and old dreams are shelved in the face of new realities. While the final flight of shuttle Atlantis doesn’t mark the end of either NASA or the U.S. space program, it may be a good long while before we send American astronauts into space with the regularity to which we’ve grown accustomed. Thus, I offer…

Astronaut Career Moves After Termination of the Space Shuttle Program

1. Advisor to the China National Space Administration
2. Docent at Smithsonian Air and Space Museum
3. Have brain installed in robot body, then reapply to NASA
4. Official Tweeter for Mars Rover Curiosity
5. Buzz Lightyear character performer, Walt Disney World
6. Member of Congress
7. Executive Director of SETI@Home
8. Pilot, Virgin Galactic Spaceways
9. Enter cryogenic suspended animation and wait for mission to Mars
10. Science fiction writer specializing in tales of future American manned space missions

…feel free to add your own suggestions.

Recently I posted an open letter to readers of Christian fantasy over at Facebook. The article centers on what readers can do to promote the books they like with the ultimate goal to send a message to publishers to put out more.

A day or two later I posted a somewhat snarky comment about blog posts that promote their own work. Both have generated a bit of discussion.

Add in John Olson’s recent post here at Spec Faith about creating a community of Christian speculative writers and then Bruce Hennigan’s article Friday with Pete Peterson about Hutchmoot, and it seems we’re talking about relating to writers and their work — or not.

I had one friend tell me point blank he didn’t feel it was his job to promote others writing Christian fiction.

Maybe it’s not. Not his job or anybody else’s job other than authors and their own teams. But then I wonder, what does this idea of “community” mean?

Inklings: Dundas Grant, Hardie, Harvard, Lewis, Hardie's Son

For the Inklings that Bruce mentioned in his article, it meant frequent physical meetings, feedback about their writing, discussion of ideas, encouragement to become better. I’ve long thought how ideal that atmosphere must have been.

Hutchmoot sounds similar but different. It’s physical but not frequent. It’s much larger than the Inklings and doesn’t seem designed to offer feedback about individual projects.

Neither of them seems concerned with promotion.

In contrast, John Olson’s ideas seemed centered on marketing. A group like the Christian Science Fiction and Fantasy Blog Tour (for the sake of full disclosure, I’m involved in the administration of CSFF), is set up primarily for promotion, though exchanging ideas has become more and more a key of successful tours.

Add in fans — readers who love an author’s work, who engage one another in forums or post book reviews (generally of the five-star variety) on blogs and at Amazon. One person referred to these people as shills for the publisher. Often writers, editors, or agents have a group of fans that become regular visitors at their sites whose comments rarely diverge from a “you’re the best” theme.

I imagine that response is encouraging, but is gathering a fan base or an entourage what it means to develop a community?

How are we Christians to handle this side of writing? Are we to support — and promote — every other Christian speculative writer for no other reason than that they are Christian and are writing in the genre that we love?

Are we to ignore others and go about cultivating our own platform, our own fan base? Or is this call to community a Third Thing we should explore more?

And if the Third Thing is something we think is worth pursuing, will it isolate Christian speculative fiction in a niche where “us four and no more” will find what we want to read plus listening ears to our complaints against everyone else in the industry?

Here’s what I’m wondering: are we Christian speculative writers reading the work of other Christians? Are we telling anybody about the good books we find? Are we giving honest feedback in some forum or group or online site that encourages writers to improve?

Or is my friend right and it really isn’t my job to promote other Christian writers?

What do you think — is a greater community of Christian readers and writers interested in Speculative Fiction something desirable? And if so, what should it look like?

For additional thoughts on this subject, see “Writing Lone Wolves Or Inkling-like Writing Communities”

Long ago, C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien met regularly with other writers and called themselves “The Inklings”. They met at a pub in Oxford and called their meeting room, the Rabbit Room.

I did not know there were so many authors from the distant past who would, by today’s standards qualify as authors of speculative fiction. I learned more about such writers as C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, Flannery O’Connor, George MacDonald, Wendell Berry, Walter Wangerin, Jr., and Frederick Buechner at Hutchmoot 2010.

Hutchwhat? Whatmoot?

Here is the official description of Hutchmoot from the Rabbit Room website and its proprietor, author/songwriter/singer Andrew Peterson:

I knew that my life had been impacted on a deep spiritual level by the works of artists and writers who were Christians, and from what I could tell those artists and writers were fashioning those works in community.

They not only cared about the excellence of their work, they understood, on some level, that they needed each other. So they met every week in the original Rabbit Room and shared a pint by the fire. They nourished friendships, they celebrated one another’s gifts (and since they were men, and British, I’m sure that means they also made fun of each other), they wagged their jaws, and they shared their writings. They may have even chortled. So, what is a Hutchmoot? It’s a gathering. A meeting. A retreat. A conference. A powwow. A shebang. An entmoot, without the ents.

Interview with A.S. Peterson

To understand the importance of community to authors, particularly those of us on the “fringe” in speculative fiction, I thought I would reach out to this really cool author of “Fiddler’s Gun” and “Fiddler’s Green” (which can be read here), A. S. Peterson, affectionately known as “Pete”. Pete is a co-founder of the Hutchmoot and he agreed to a few questions about Hutchmoot, his writing, and the process that brought this fantastic weekend to life in August, 2010.

Bruce: Why did the contributors to the Rabbit Room decide to hold a conference like Hutchmoot?

Pete: For a couple of years readers kept suggesting that we should put on some kind of conference. Initially we just rolled our eyes. The idea of it seemed preposterous. We didn’t think anyone would come.

But the more we considered it the more we thought we could do something that was unique, and fun, and meaningful. Finally, last year, we decided to give it a go. We’d been talking about creative community for so long in the digital realm that we thought it was time to bring that into the real world—bring the virtual community together in a real place and see what happened.

We wanted to steer clear of becoming just another creative workshop-style event. There are plenty of those and they do a great job. We really wanted to focus on what it meant to create in the context of community. And we also wanted to welcome people who weren’t necessarily creators but were genuine appreciators of the writers, and musicians, and other artists we talk about and look up to.

We still didn’t think anyone would come but, thankfully, we were wrong. We sold out in a couple of weeks and to our surprise the weekend was a huge success. It was great to meet so many folks and spend the weekend with them. The response was so strong that we started planning this year’s Hutchmoot right away. When we announced it in February, it sold out in five hours.

(Bruce: I was in the process of rewriting my second book for Realms and I was hoping to learn some “nuts and bolts” from this conference. I showed up in Nashville and dove right in to Hutchmoot. But, I discovered very quickly, there were no “Nuts & Bolts” to be offered. We had sessions that dealt with authors I mentioned above and Walter Wangerin, Jr. spoke eloquently for almost two hours on the power of Story. That word kept coming up over and over and over. Story. Story. Story. I was reminded of the Clinton era war cry “It’s the economy, stupid!” only the war cry here was “It’s the Story, stupid!” And, after God pounded me over the head with that concept, I got it. It was all about Story. Sure, the nuts and bolts are important. But, if the Story is king, the nuts and bolts will follow. So, I asked Pete about Story.)

Bruce: “The Rabbit Room is a place for stories. For artists who believe in the power of old tales, tales as old as the earth itself, who find hope in them and beauty in the shadows and in the light and in the source of the light.” I love this quote from the Rabbit Room site. How important is story to our walk as Christians?

Pete: I think it’s of incredible importance because we’re living in the middle of the greatest story ever told. When you begin to look at history as a story, especially from a writer’s perspective, I think you gain a new understanding of the mind of God. As a writer you create characters and entire worlds. You set them in motion and you watch as your creation takes on its own life. You see it writhe and struggle and suffer amid the conflict of the tale. Your characters ask why you do these things, why you put them through such awful terrors and you keep writing because you know how the story ends, you know that there’s a reason for everything, that nothing is wasted, that there’s a moment of transformation just a few pages away and it’s going to be worth what it cost to get there.

When you start to think like that about your own creation, you’re peeking into the “mind of the maker” (as Dorothy Sayers would say). We’re all living in the midst of the great epic of creation and without an understanding of Story, we’re missing half the show. I think Marilynne Robinson sums it up beautifully in this passage from Gilead:

I feel sometimes as if I were a child who opens its eyes on the world once and sees amazing things it will never know any names for and then has to close its eyes again. I know this is all mere apparition compared to what awaits us, but it is only lovelier for that. There is a human beauty in it. And I can’t believe that, when we have all been changed and put on incorruptibility, we will forget our fantastic condition of mortality and impermanence, the great bright dream of procreating and perishing that meant the whole world to us. In eternity this world will be Troy, I believe, and all that has passed here will be the epic of the universe, the ballad they sing in the streets. Because I don’t imagine any reality putting this one in the shade entirely, and I think piety forbids me to try.

As important as Story seemed to be at Hutchmoot, equally impressive was the sense of community.

Bruce: How has the community of artists that form the Rabbit Room inspired or encouraged you as a writer and an artist?

Pete: They remind me that I’m not alone. I think every artist struggles with the fear that no one else understands him, that no one knows what it’s like to need to create something meaningful, that no one else feels that holy restlessness. But as tempting as that is to believe, it’s not true. There’s art erupting all around us and community helps us to remember that. For me personally, it not only gives me confidence and reminds me that I’m not crazy, but it drives me to better myself. I don’t want to settle, I don’t want to disappoint the faith that others have in me, so I’m constantly pushed forward.

Bruce: To those authors out there who are struggling with stories from a Christian worldview that are on the “fringe” what advice and/or encouragement can you give them?

I think it’s largely a myth that the market has a bias against Christian works. The shelves are full of great literature by authors with Christian worldviews from Hugo, Tolstoy, and Dickens to Marilynne Robinson, J.K. Rowling, Leif Enger, Wendell Berry, Frederick Buechner, Madeleine L’Engle, Walt Wangerin, Jr., Anne Rice, and dozens of others. You could even build a solid case for folks like Stephen King, and John Irving. So I’m not sure it’s productive to wonder why some things are pushed to the fringe. I think it’s more useful to wonder why other things are pushed to the forefront. The answer is great storytelling built around believable, fallible characters. Concentrate on being the best storywright you can be. Write a great tale and the world will want to read it.

Forget about trying to tell a “Christian” story and just make sure you are telling a good one. If you hone your craft, and tell a story that rings true to people, Christian and non-Christian alike, then it’s going to be a book that people will want to read and tell their friends about. If you concentrate on telling the best story you can, you won’t be able to keep Christ out of it. He’ll show up, he’ll haunt the pages even though you may never see him. Trust that. Rather than looking for ways to use Christ, concentrate on writing the leanest, tightest story you can and trust that Christ can use you.

Questions

The bad news is Hutchmoot 2011 is sold out. How then can we produce such an extended community? Do you think community, sometimes an overused word, is important to writers? Is it possible we could develop local, physical “hutchmoots” in our own geographical locations to bring together Christian artists in community? If so, how would we do this?

Bruce Hennigan is a practicing radiologist, novelist, dramatist, and apologist living in Shreveport, Louisiana with his wife Sherry. He is the co-author of Conquering Depression and his book series The Chronicles of Jonathan Steel will debut with the novel The 13th Demon: Altar of the Spiral Eye from Realms in October, 2011.