As we consider the question of what makes fiction Christian, one of the first things we have to wonder is: Why are we asking this question? Does anybody else? Are there agnostics or Hindus batting definitions of agnostic or Hindu fiction back and forth? Were Christians trying to define Christian novels a hundred years ago, or were novels just novels then?

I don’t claim the authority to answer all these questions. It can’t be a coincidence, however, that our attempts to define Christian fiction are occurring after “Christian fiction” became an identifiable genre – with its own publishers, its own section in bookstores and libraries, its own awards, even its own style of covers. (Forget the back covers. Many – not all, but many – Christian novels can be identified solely by their front covers.)

The Christian publishing industry has inevitably required a defining of Christian fiction. If you’re going to sell Christian novels, both you and your audience need to know what you mean by that, just as people who go to the theaters have a general understanding of what a superhero movie or a family film is. In an unintended way, it has even encouraged a redefinition of Christian fiction. I am convinced that part of the Christian fiction debate is driven by people who want Christian novels, but a different sort of Christian novels, and wish to expand the definition of Christian fiction and the Christian publishing industry in the same direction.

What makes fiction Christian is, or often is, a business question. But it is also an artistic and a philosophical question, as even those who ask it from within the industry know. Christian publishing itself is part of a larger phenomenon, the rise of the Christian subculture in America. And I’ve come to wonder if all these things – the Christian subculture, the Christian publishing industry, and all our cultural debates – figure into an even larger picture.

I wonder if they are all driven, in part, by the ever-widening gulf that we, as Christians, experience between our religion and our culture. Gone is the easy talk of Christian civilization, and Christian nations, and (the phrase makes one shudder) a Christian race. I would not oversimplify the past, or our ancestors. History is always messier and more complex in the making than it appears when we look back on it finished. Yet I think it true that in older days, the Christian religion was often taken as part and parcel with western civilization, like Shakespeare and the common law and scientific advancements.

Today we are conscious of Christianity as something distinct, and in no way inextricably bound, to our society; society could go on without it, and many days seems to intend to. This separation, like all separations, may be painful. In some respects, it is no doubt to be regretted. But the old association between Christianity and society, while more comfortable than the present distance, could be too comfortable. There is value in being forced onto new ground, in being forced to define again how our faith and culture meet and ought to meet.

There is value in reevaluation and redefinition, even of Christian fiction.

Have you ever wanted to show appreciation for your favorite fantasy characters?

Or celebrate the awesomeness of fantasy?

Now you have the chance with the first ever Silmarillion Awards.

This idea was cooked up by DJ Edwardson and Jenelle Schmidt as a way to honor J.R.R. Tolkien as the Father of Modern Fantasy, open up a discussion about other favorite fantasy works, and to have a ton of fun this summer.

Being the fantasy giant it is, The Lord of the Rings has an unfair advantage. To make things a bit more interesting, The Silmarillion Awards will have characters from LOTR and The Hobbit present the awards as examples of the ultimate standard for each award. Hopefully that will even the playing field a bit.

Ten authors will each be hosting the presentation of these awards, called Silmarils, on their blogs towards the end of July.

But for the awards to work, YOUR involvement is needed! Starting June 20th and proceeding through July 1st, the nomination period for each award will be open. Please visit the participating bloggers (found in the list below), read the descriptions of the awards, and make your nominations!

Nominate characters in the comments of each blog post. If someone has already nominated the character you would have nominated, you may either second that nomination, open a new nomination, or do both. The 5 characters with the most “seconds” will move on to the final voting period that will take place between July 4th – 13th, so you may also “third,” “fourth,” “fifth,” etc. any nominations you particularly like.

Here’s what you need to know:

1) Please do not nominate anything from one of your OWN books!

2) You may nominate a character AND second, third, fourth a character… but please only vote once. (i.e. You cannot nominate a character and then also second that same character).

3) Please share about the Silmarillion Awards on social media to spread the excitement far and wide across Middle Earth. Use the hashtag: #silmawards2016 wherever possible!

4) Don’t nominate a Tolkien character for the awards, as the characters presenting the awards are already the standard for each award.

5) Don’t stress if a character you nominate doesn’t win this year. We are hoping to make this an annual tradition, and these awards are LIFETIME AWARDS, meaning that they cannot be won by the same character more than once!

Official Schedule:

Phase 1 – June 20-July 1: Award nominations open

Phase 2 – July 4: the final nominees will be announced and voting will open and last through July 14th

Phase 3 – July 16-28: Presentation of the awards, 1 per day, each award will be hosted on a different blog each day

Phase 4 – Celebration! July 29th was the official publication date of the Lord of the Rings back in 1954. We invite you all to celebrate with us the 62nd birthday of this masterpiece of Fantasy Fiction. Congratulate the winners, take and post a photo of yourselves with LOTR paraphernalia, write a blog post about your favorite LOTR moment, scene, character, quote, or memory… get creative and have fun!

Behold, the list of blogs where you can get in on the fun.

• DJ Edwardson Hosting the Best Friend Silmaril
• Jenelle Schmidt Hosting the Most Heart Wrenching Death Scene Silmaril
• Deborah O’Carroll Hosting the Strangest Character Silmaril
• Abbey Hosting the Most Nefarious Villain Silmaril
• JL Mbewe Hosting the Best Redemption Story Silmaril
• Tracey Hosting the Riddling and Poetry Silmaril
• Jack Lewis Baillot Hosting the Best Fantasy Mount Silmaril
• Madeline J. Rose Hosting the Most Epic Hero Silmaril
• Zachary Totah Hosting the Wisest Counsellor Silmaril
• Rawls E. Fantasy Hosting the Best Fantasy Weapon Silmaril

Ready…set…GO!

From my first involvement in writing and publishing, I’ve been confronted with the question, overtly or by suggestion, what is Christian about this novel? Ten years ago Christian fiction was know for conversion scenes. As in, a character who was not a Christian came to faith in Christ. The end.

Even some of the early speculative titles didn’t stray far from that template, though the stories included fantastical elements.

But as with other fiction, readers began to demand something more. Often the complaints centered on the preachiness of the novels, and I have to agree that some stepped out of bounds—the author took over the story to tell the readers the truth about salvation.

The key to good fiction has always been to show, not to tell. And stories are about characters, so they are the ones readers want to hear from. They don’t want authors to interrupt the story for an explanation moment, no matter what the topic.

In the early years of Speculative Faith, I wrote about this subject. In part, here’s what I was thinking:

[I read] an article [Stephen] Donaldson wrote entitled “Epic Fantasy in the Modern World” . . .

To begin with, it seems pertinent to look at his definition of fantasy:

Put simply, fantasy is a form of fiction in which the internal crises or conflicts or processes of the characters are dramatized as if they were external individuals or events. Crudely stated, this means that in fantasy the characters meet themselves – or parts of themselves, their own needs/problems/exigencies – as actors on the stage of the story, and so the internal struggle to deal with those needs/problems/exigencies is played out as an external struggle in the action of the story.

A somewhat oversimplified way to make the same point is by comparing fantasy to realistic, mainstream fiction. In realistic fiction, the characters are expressions of their world, whereas in fantasy the world is an expressions of the characters.

Would we Christian SFF writers agree with this definition? Or are we, instead, using fantasy to dramatize the spiritual world at large, rather than the spiritual world of a particular character?

I wonder if it isn’t stories that dramatize the spiritual world at large that don’t take on a redundant feel.

In other words, I was thinking about the possibility that Christian speculative writers were not doing justice to our individual experiences. Instead, we were writing to a template, to what we thought a person had to believe in order to be a Christian. So if someone was to convert, we had to satisfy all the important requirements. There really weren’t stories about thieves on the cross converting moments before they died. Or corrupt government agents promising to make amends with those they cheated and to proceed honestly from this point on. Or prostitutes showing their repentance by lavishing expensive perfume on the One who had forgiven them. Or paralyzed men jumping up and carrying their pallets as they leaped and praised God. Or men freed from demons, sitting clothed, in their right minds, and begging Jesus to join his followers.

None of those conversions looked the same.

But the conversions in Christian fiction seemed all too similar, to repetitive.

The answer many Christian writers have come to is that we simply need to stop writing about conversion. I’ve suggested that not every story needs to be about how life with Christ began. But I do think conversion stories are important.

For my own series, my hope is that Christians would feel comfortable giving the books to people who don’t know and follow Jesus, in order to initiate a discussion about Him.

But the issue I was mulling over ten years ago, is still something to consider, I think. If we include a conversion in our stories, are they true to our character, or are we writing an “Everyman” conversion?

In fact, will a conversion be readily identified as a conversion? Or will readers have to stop and think about what has happened to the character and what is likely to happen in the future. It’s that kind of story that is the most compelling, I think.

Once again, Christians have shown themselves out of touch with the real world.

Recently in the real world, people from a competing religion started internet movements such as #GiveElsaAGirlfriend and #GiveCaptainAmericaABoyfriend. They argue that famous characters, such as Elsa from Frozen and Captain America from the Marvel films, ought to receive in-story same-sex relationships, because they ought to receive them.

We are letting other religious people outshine us in this vital area of popular culture appropriation. Once more, we see the American church has failed us. We must do better.

So I propose six famous characters Christians can appropriate for moral causes.

Let’s begin with:

#HelpMarlinFindJesus

In 2003, Pixar Animation Studios introduced audiences to Marlin, a clownfish father who is overprotective of his son, Nemo. But when Nemo is kidnapped, Marlin must struggle to put aside his fears and find his son. Tomorrow’s sequel Finding Dory promises similar themes.

But what about a third film? Wouldn’t it be better if, rather than finding Nemo or finding Dory, Marlin the fish put aside his fears of sharks, jellyfish, and whales, and found the Lord?

It just makes sense for the story. The director, Andrew Stanton, is a professing Christian, and thus he should tell stories that specifically represent his “people.” Scripture is full of stories about seeking to save people who are lost. And besides, Marlin the clownfish is a fish, and this is an ancient symbol for Christianity.

#KatnissShouldFightFortheKingdom

Katniss Everdeen in The Hunger Games novels and films is a conflicted heroine. She is forced to lead a revolution she doesn’t much care about at first, all while trying to protect her family. These are two very challenging themes of good and evil, and focus on a family, and both these themes are very Christian. So Katniss may as well go the full way and put her faith in a true Kingdom that will last long after Panem has crumbled into memory.

Of course, this will necessitate a few changes that should be part of novel revisions and a remake of the film adaptations. As much as we admire Katniss, she is often too independent and does not trust enough in her community. This is true of her mother, whom Katniss should seek to “honor … that [her] days may be long in the land that the LORD your God is giving you.” This is also true about the men in her life, Gale and Peeta. They should fulfill their biblical roles as Katniss’s leaders, while Katniss works to submit to their headship.

In the movies, Katniss is also seen wearing tight-fitting clothing. This could cause men to stumble. If Katniss is to fight for the true kingdom, she must consider garments that are more appropriate to her task, such as loose-fitting blouses and skirts.

#OverwatchShouldFeatureTheBodyofChrist

I’ve heard of a new video game called “Overwatch.” I’ve read a few reviews of this game. Some focus on the differing roles of game characters, each of whom has different gifts and abilities to use in battle against enemy hordes. Immediately I thought of the apostle Paul’s description of the different members of the body of Christ in 1 Corinthians 12.

So I think this new game, “Overwatch,” should make these themes even clearer.

If some characters act as the “eye” of the body, and others act as “the hand,” then they ought to have little icons of these body parts on their uniforms or hovering over their heads. Perhaps they could also show little verse references stamped on their sleeves.

Speaking of clothing, however, that one character (or perhaps two), in the tight pants, should be re-clad because even nonbelievers have been saying these characters could make men stumble. But other characters who wear armor could be shown more clearly to be wearing the “full armor of God,” such as the helmet of salvation or the shield of faith.

#ReyShouldWieldTheSwordoftheSpirit

Another famous character could wield the “sword of the Spirit” found in Ephesians 6:17. I’m speaking of Rey from Star Wars: The Force Awakens and the upcoming new Star Wars films. In the first story, Rey gains a lightsaber, a very famous weapon that reminds us of the apostle Paul’s description of a sword that is “the word of God.”

But Rey should recall that this “sword” is not real. It serves as a metaphor for spiritual realities such as Scripture reading and prayer, which are a believer’s true weapons. Only then can she withstand the flaming sword of her enemy, Kylo Ren.

Some fans have criticized Rey’s expert use of The Force¹ after only a few days. After all, Luke Skywalker trained for a few more days on Dagobah in The Empire Strikes Back.

But if Star Wars embraces its Christian heritage, this can easily explain the story problem. Rey’s use of The Force is raw and untested. As a new Jedi knight, she must seek training, and this training ought to come from the men in her life, the spiritual authorities God has placed over her. In Force Awakens, Rey meets Finn as well as Han Solo, who becomes a father figure to her. By the story’s end she meets Luke Skywalker himself, and the story promises he will train her in the ways of The Force. This can encourage godly womanhood.

#LetDuanePutHisFaithInTheRock

Duane Johnson calls himself The Rock.

But wouldn’t it be better if, in every one of his movies, he promoted the Rock of Ages?

I say this because Johnson seems a swell person. In all of his movies I’ve seen, such as Race to Witch Mountain and San Andreas, he displays charisma, a contagious grin, and godly masculinity in the form of helping others as well as muscles. These things have no value in movies apart from a specific proclamation of a particular agenda. So why not Christianity’s?

#ThoseGuysFromSupernaturalShouldFightForTheGospel

I don’t regularly watch “Supernatural.” In fact, I haven’t seen a single episode. But I’ve seen enough commercials for it while watching other shows. And I know there are two brothers, and one of them is named Dean Winchester, and one or the other says, “We’re on a roll.”

Perhaps there is much to enjoy about this show, such as stories involving large men who hunt vampires, werewolves, killer clowns, and zombies. But I don’t know what these things are or what benefit they offer me. So the best approach is to use it as a tool for my agenda.

So therefore I suggest that Dean Winchester (if that is his name) and his brother should instead be shown fighting for the Gospel. And I suggest their enemies be shown as demons (according to a biblical and not secular worldview), prosperity “preachers,” and atheists. This is simply the best thing to do with this show, regardless of what its actual fans think.

These are just a few suggestions for famous characters Christians should hijack. I strongly encourage you to repeat the simple hashtags suggested above, and join this moral cause.

How about you? What other famous characters do you suggest for Christian hijacking?

Violence is everywhere in our entertainment. Books, movies, TV, music, video games… I would suspect that more time is devoted to acts of violence in entertainment than any other element (sex, technology, romance, world-building, etc.). Like most guys, I consume a lot of violent entertainment. I love action movies and the TV shows I watch usually incorporate violence (though the recent Showtime series Billions blew me away and there were only a few punches thrown in that show). I don’t play video games, but the revamped Doom looks unbelievable.

The books that I write also have high death tolls. My Age of Apollyon Trilogy has fanatical religious massacres and terrorist bombings. The gene-spliced monstrosities in Cyn get splattered all over the place. Hardly anyone survives my oil rig disaster Beast, and my forthcoming book Nikolai the Penitent is a plague-ridden slaughterhouse.  Most of my short stories are similarly bloody. In fact, the only book of mine that doesn’t stack bodies is Indelible, a mainstream contemporary fiction story where surprisingly no one dies.

I don’t take sadistic pleasure in watching people get mutilated and blown apart, and I have no stomach for horror violence and “torture porn.” Bullet to the head – fine. Pulling out someone’s entrails on a crank – no thanks. My favorite ghost movie, The Others, has no on-screen violence at all. But if it’s an action, fantasy, or sci-fi movie (or TV show or book), I usually expect a high body count.

In the realm of fantasy, this is especially prevalent, since war is a common element in these sorts of stories. This reflects real life during ancient times. I’ve been watching a new show on the History Channel called Barbarians Rising, and I am blown away at the sheer numbers that fall in single battles – 40,000 at this battle, 50,000 at that battle. I can’t even comprehend what that must look like, even though I have seen it on screen many times (Braveheart, Kingdom of Heaven, and many more).

I’ve never been in the midst of a slaughter, and I would imagine that you haven’t either. Even modern warfare doesn’t see the kinds of numbers that used to be common in ancient times. We don’t see legions of soldiers clash in the battlefield; we have urban warfare, cruise missiles, drone strikes, and snipers. Wars and genocide happens around the world every day, but we rarely hear of casualties numbering more than one hundred.

The massacre at the nightclub in Orlando, FL this past weekend resulted in the deaths of fifty people, including the gunman. Fifty dead would be a trifle if it were a battle in an epic fantasy story, but the dead (and the living) in fiction are not real. They don’t have (real) families or friends; they are creations of the writer’s mind. When they die, their deaths resonate only in the story. More often than not, their deaths are not a surprise; in fact, we the audience expect people to die. Would we watch a medieval movie with two armies facing each other that ultimately disperse because their leaders came to terms? No, we want to see the charging wave of swords and shields, to hear the crash and clang of metal and the snap of bones, to see blood arc through the air as men roar like beasts. Our eyes grow wide and an idiotic grin spreads across our face as we think, Awesome…

Real-life slaughter is anything but entertaining. Unless violence and death happen to the main characters in a story, we rarely see and feel the human cost of those deaths, of the families left behind, of the children now orphaned, of the villages and kingdoms without their leaders, of the friends and lovers whose hearts ache for those they can never embrace again. But that is what we see in the news, and that is what endures long after the sirens fade.

I do not advocate scrubbing our entertainment clean. I don’t care what sick psychopaths do; I’m still going to watch and read and write about violence. Yet in the constant surge of fictional bloodshed, it’s easy to forget that this happens to real people as well, and it’s anything but awesome.

Stories are powerful tools for presenting the truth.

As our mindset has become increasingly postmodern, a problem has arisen that undermines this valuable aspect of storytelling. Truth is no longer a defined standard, a rock-solid starting point for interpreting reality.

Instead, society demands a relativistic frame of mind. Truth has become subjective, based on personal feelings, preferences, and opinions. This is dangerous when it comes to telling stories in any medium.

The cultural river has picked up and swept stories far downstream, farther from any acceptance of Truth (capital T intended) and toward a land where my truth is as valid as your truth. My way of viewing the world is no more right or wrong than yours.

What practical impact does this have on stories?

Audiences approach a movie or book with relativism rooted firmly in their thinking, meaning no matter the intended theme presented throughout the course of the narrative, the interpretation is ultimately up to the individual.

Let’s take Aslan’s death in place of Edmund as an example. The Christian sees the beautiful message woven into that act of self-sacrifice, which points to Christ’s sacrifice for us. To an unbeliever, however, who lacks the guiding star of Truth, the event is merely done because Aslan is good, and that’s what good people (or lions) do for their friends.

Which is true but removes the deeper meaning.

The two popular approaches are mainstream and Christian. After looking at each of these, let’s explore how we as Christian creatives can best present Truth.

The Mainstream Approach

It amuses me when I see secular stories probing into themes such as sacrifice, loyalty, love, and redemption. They can’t help it. All stories are branches shooting off the trunk of the Great Story spoken of at the end of The Last Battle.

Granted, their conclusions are skewed, but as writers well know, nothing is completely unique and original.

Secular movies and books have no qualms about asking hard questions and exploring weighty themes. However, due to the postmodern grayness of today’s thinking, these themes are unmoored from the anchor of Truth and run the risk of losing their potency.

In Mockingjay, we’re left with an empty feeling bordering on despair (kudos to the movie for an ending that contained a glimmer of hope).

Inception boldly delves into the murky waters of the meaning of reality. The answer it reaches? According to Christopher Nolan:

“The way the end of that film worked, Leonardo DiCaprio’s character Cobb—he was off with his kids, he was in his own subjective reality. He didn’t really care anymore, and that makes a statement: perhaps, all levels of reality are valid.” (emphasis mine)

Despite themes that lean toward Christian principles, secular stories fall short, built as they are on the shaky grounds of societal acceptance. Like a reflection, they hint at the reality without truly presenting it.

The Christian Approach

On the Christian side, we have stories that do equal damage. The message becomes the central pillar around which everything revolves—often to the detriment of the actual plot and character arcs.

To paraphrase Eomer in Two Towers, “I don’t doubt the good intentions of Christian authors and filmmakers, only the execution of their stories.” This isn’t intended to be an article bashing Christian storytelling or complaining about the lack of diverse, worthwhile entertainment in the Christian industry. We’ve ridden that carousel in circles for years.

However, the bunny and flowers tactic has problems. Forget the obsession with a rosy-colored unreality, the insistence on being clean (whatever that means), or any other elements that make your pet peeve gauge swing into the red.

Christian fiction is too forceful. In seeking to present the Truth, such stories are too eager to use the two-by-four approach—running up and down the street smacking people with God, miracles, conversion experiences, moral demands. The list goes on.

At the end of the day, how we present Truth is just as important as actually doing it justice in the first place.

The Ideal Approach

As Christian creatives, which approach is best for us?

I suggest a combination of both. Story trumps message, but like a solid foundation, a compelling message is what upholds the story.

The message should arise from and flow out of the author’s worldview, a river that waters the garden plot of the story instead of a deluge that drowns everything because if we don’t put God and a “Christian” theme in every chapter, we’re somehow failing.

Think Tolkien and Lewis, for whom I have great respect because of their ability to present Truth in a potent and skillful way. Their stories resonated with Truth without throwing it in your face. The foundation was there, hidden, yet vital to the story. This is the type of excellence we should strive for.

Does that mean we can’t use obvious portrayals of God in our stories? No.

Does it mean we should carefully consider what Christian elements we include, how they fit within the framework of the story, and what they contribute? Yes.

Because what’s more powerful than a riveting tale whose tapestry is woven with the golden threads of Truth?

What do you think is the best way to present Truth through the vehicle of storytelling?

From time to time, the subject comes up about theology in fiction. It’s a good discussion because it calls Christians to rethink what exactly we’re doing in our fiction—either writing or reading it. Here’s an earlier article (with some minor changes) published more than four years ago at Spec Faith that explores the place theology has in fiction.

– – – – –

Definition

A rather accepted definition of art, including fiction, is an endeavor which utilizes creativity and imagination resulting in beauty and truth. Not beauty alone. Not truth alone. Art shows both. In a guest post here at Spec Faith the author quoted a pastor who affirmed this idea. “Art exists to reveal beauty and truth.” And yet he also stated, “The purpose of art, and even religious art, isn’t to proselytize, or to affirm a body of doctrine.”

So art, even “religious art”—which would include Christian fiction—ought not affirm “a body of doctrine,” or truth about spiritual things. How can this dichotomy between the requirement of truth in art and the rejection of spiritual truth in art exist?

Perhaps we are defining terms differently, starting with “theology.” The Oxford English Dictionary’s first definition of theology is “the study of the nature of God and religious belief.” The second definition, however, includes the idea of ordering beliefs systematically. Perhaps, then, those who say “theology” and speculative fiction don’t mix are actually saying speculative fiction isn’t a good place for expounding an ordered system of beliefs.

Then, too, the issue might center on the “body of doctrine” this pastor is taking a stand against—stories that attempt to reveal all truth about God rather than revealing a truth about God.

The Place Of Truth In Story

First, stories have long espoused or refuted a systematic, ordered way of thinking. Thomas Hardy espoused his views of fatalism in story after story. George Orwell showed his opposition to autocracy in his stories, particularly to Communism, in Animal Farm. Frank Norris and other “muckrakers” made their views about the abuses of corporations known through their stories. Harriet Beecher Stowe penned a novel against slavery—clearly taking a systematic view of the way the world ought to be.

Not so long ago, and in the speculative genre, Avatar echoed a theme about corporate America and greed which the movie ET espoused years earlier.

Is the problem, then, an ordered, systematic set of beliefs? I hardly think so. A system of beliefs has never been considered out of bounds in fiction.

The Scope Of Fiction

More to the point might be the idea that fiction should not attempt to show an entire body of doctrine because the scope of such is too big for a single story. As I see it, this statement is similar to saying, no book should try to tackle all there is to know about the human psyche. Of course not. However, that does not mean an author should refrain from dealing with any part of the human psyche.

Rather than shying away from the depiction of “theology”—by which I mean knowledge about God—in speculative fiction, I think Christian writers should embrace the challenge. In saying this, however, I do not believe all stories must show all the truth contained in the Bible, nor do I believe that our stories must affirm all Biblical moral values (as if Christians even agree on what those are).

I do believe, however, that it is possible to speculate about this world and about the spiritual world and yet remain faithful to truth about God. In fact, I believe this is fundamental to a work of art. Non-Christians can reveal truth up to a point, but because they do not know Christ, they cannot accurately reveal spiritual truth. Christians can.

Will the spiritual truth in a story ever be “complete”? Of course not. Our guest asked in his post

is it possible for any single work of fiction to accurately depict God’s nature, attributes, and laws? He is merciful, holy, infinite, just, compassionate, omniscient, omnipresent, loving, gracious, etc., etc. So where do we start in our portrayal of God? And if we resign our story to just highlighting one attribute of God or one theological side, we potentially present an imbalanced view (like those who always emphasize God’s love and not His judgment, or vice versa). Furthermore, Christians have the luxury of the Bible and centuries of councils and theologians to help us think through this issue. But when Christians impose this body of info upon their novels, they must remember that other readers don’t possess such detailed revelation… not to mention the story’s characters.

In essence he says, the body of truth about God is beyond the scope of one novel. Absolutely true. However, the idea that we might be misunderstood if we portray only one aspect of truth or that others without our understanding of Scripture and church history might not grasp what we are “imposing” on them, doesn’t seem like a sound argument for steering away from using stories as a vehicle for theology.

It does seem like an argument for doing so poorly.

The Need For Excellence

If an author incorporates all the tenets of evolution in a story, undoubtedly the message will overwhelm the plot and characters. In other words, over reaching is the problem. A theme that is poorly executed—whether by an atheist or a Christian—suffers, not because of the author’s beliefs or his decision to incorporate them in his story. It suffers because it hasn’t been done well. (Of course, the atheist has the added burden of weaving into his story a theme that isn’t true, but that’s another subject).

In one of my comments to guest post I used the example of holding up a John 3:16 sign, versus expounding on the meaning of that verse. A story that tacks on a verse in an off-handed way as if fulfilling a touched-that-base requirement, is a weak story, not because it has introduced theology but because it has done so with no depth and with no purpose that serves the story.

Conclusion

In short, fiction, and speculative fiction, is the perfect vehicle for theology because spiritual truth is the ultimate truth. If art is to really be all about beauty and truth, then it OUGHT to include spiritual truth at some level.

The problems particular people such as the pastor quoted in the guest post are pointing to, have little to do with the existence of theology in fiction and everything to do with how to incorporate it into stories. Instead of warning people away from theology in speculative fiction, I think we’d be better served to teach writers how to include themes in effective ways.

We’ve explored answers to the question Why Do We Need Christian Fantasy? Now let’s look at reasons why we don’t need Christian fantasy—that is, any fantastical story (fantasy, science fiction, supernatural/horror) by Christians, for Christians.¹

Why we don’t need Christian fantasy

1. So we have a Clean/Wholesome Alternative.

Someone shared the SpecFaith article Why Isn’t There More Christian Fantasy? with a positive comment. That person linked to a site that promises to provide “clean” fiction.

Here is a common belief among Christians: that our faith in Jesus should lead us only to make “clean,” “wholesome,” or “family friendly” stories. But the Bible does not advocate such standards—certainly not for Christian grown-ups! Instead Scripture advocates honesty about reality. In fact, we must feel “unclean” before Jesus cleans us. Uncleanness does not come from stories and songs, but from the state of our own hearts.²

Thus, we should not promote Christian fantasy (or Christian anything) only because it is “clean” or “wholesome”—as if any human cultural work could be free of sinful intent or content.

Furthermore, I skimmed the site—and I have not read the books, and for all I know they might be brilliant. But I could not help noticing a bevy of foxy women glaring out at me from the book covers. Their clothing was rebelliously modest. But their eyes were saying, “Hey, big boy, come check out my hot story.” Mind you, I don’t necessarily object. But I also cannot see how these images meet some universal definition of “clean” or “wholesome”!

2. So we can Send A Message.

Christians often advocate for Christian stories and songs with the phrase “send a message.”

Add the word “to” and you find out what this means. Send a message to … Hollywood. Send a message to … the “liberal” media.³ Send a message to … that other real or imaginary villain … that we want more of this kind of story!⁴

The Bible is all about a message. But Christians should not attempt to pry the “message” out of the Bible, cram it into a movie or novel, and then expect the movie or novel to go places the Bible cannot. God insists his breathed-out word is a two-edged sword. It’s sharper than any human story. It pierces atoms.⁵ It always works.

Stories are more like “play” swords. We certainly need these, for God himself commanded people to make culture,⁶ and this includes stories. But they’re not the Bible.

So let’s not try to make stories do a job that God assigned to Scripture alone, any more than we would make Bible teaching (like sermons or nonfiction) do a job that we should do in human storytelling. Each “thing” can reference the other, but they have separate functions in human life! Let Bible teaching be Bible teaching, and let stories be stories.

3. So we have stories for the children.

A Christian author/blogger recommended Andrew Peterson’s fantasy novel On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. “A good one for the kids,” he said.

Indeed yes. But this fantastical novel is also great for the grown-ups!

Some Christians assume fantasy is primarily for children. That’s a myth we must put away. It’s a myth that assumes Christian grown-ups are only concerned with “adult,” “practical” things such as careers and family, or spiritual tasks such as prayer and Bible reading. But these things are valuable for people of all ages because they point to Someone beyond themselves—to our fantastical God. Fantastical stories have value for the same reason.

4. So we can evangelize/reach out/witness.

Supporters of “clean” or shallow Christian fiction often argue we need these stories to evangelize the lost. But critics of Christian fiction often say the same thing. They only believe The Lost need better stories that include swearing, violence, and all the rest.

Here’s the first problem: In either case, we make up an imaginary group called “the lost.” Then we argue for better stories for them, who aren’t actually in the room at the time.

“The lost”—that is, non-Christian readers—may reject Christian fiction for many reasons. They may not like its lack of swear words, violence, or whatever. Or they may despise any story that names Jesus at all. Non-Christians may dislike Christian-made things just because they exist. If we deny that people may feel this way, we are actually being “sentimental” about people’s real nature! Either way, Christians should not assume that “non-Christians don’t like this story/industry/product” is by itself a good reason to change anything.

Here’s the second problem: We presume “evangelism” is the chief justification for stories.

But it’s not. Evangelism is not a Christian’s “chief end,” or highest purpose. Evangelism is Jesus’s command and it’s extremely important! But it matters because He wants us to proclaim His gospel that will repair humans from the inside out. That way we can return to our actual chief end: to glorify God, intentionally reflecting Him in everything that we do.

As I’m fond of saying, that is the reason we should have Christian-made fantastical stories (or any kind of stories). Stories don’t clean up our hearts; only Jesus does that. Stories don’t Send a Message; only the Bible does that. Stories are not just for the children. Stories are not useful only for evangelism. For all these purposes, stories can certainly help! But their “chief end,” or highest purpose, is to help us obey God’s “cultural mandate” so we can reflect His image and worship Him forever.

O villains, villains, what are we to do with you?

Villains play a key role in most stories. Unless the force opposing the hero is something from nature—such as a storm or terror-inducing dinosaur—you can bet your hobbit pipe that somewhere in the shadows, a villain lurks.

It’s strange how the heroes are the center of the story, yet if done right, the villain often runs the show. He or she becomes the magnet for attention precisely because they’re the obstacle in the hero’s path.

I’m sure they love the attention, being villains and all.

But besides filling the role of opposition, what’s their purpose?

Our first instinct is to say that they provide contrast to the hero, a clear-cut picture of the divide between light and dark, right and wrong.

The word “villain” brings unsavory connotations to mind, at least for me.

• As villains, they do bad, sometimes awful things
• As the hero’s nemesis, they stand for everything that’s wrong
• For the most part, their deeds are illegal, dishonest, and criminal

The list of villains we love to hate is long and diverse, but some are particularly reprehensible for the things they’ve done.

• The Joker
• The White Witch
• Sauron
• President Snow
• Darth Vader
• Khan

I could go all day, but the point is, fiction contains some nasty folk. What are we to do with them?

1. Love Them

I can’t think of many times this has happened. Sure, villains like Loki hold endless interest because they don’t act as we expect. They’re not thoroughly evil, void of conscience or remorse.

But when the key moment comes, they reveal their true colors.

2. Hate Them

This is the far easier route to take. From our youngest days, we’re taught that bad people do bad things, and they deserve punishment. I’ll admit hate is a strong word to use, but I mean it more in the sense of a desire to see them pay for their crimes.

Have you ever read of or seen a villain who filled you with loathing so deep it went to your marrow? Who did unthinkable things any court would condemn? Whom you hoped got what they had coming and then some?

I have.

They clearly deserve the fire and brimstone of justice.

But is there no room for mercy and forgiveness, even for the most loathsome, debase soul?

A while back, this came up in a conversation with some friends of mine, and we wondered, should villains be redeemed?

The Redeemed Villain

If we’re honest with ourselves, we’re not as far from being villains as we’d like to think. Sin corrupts everyone, and but for the grace of God, who’s to say we wouldn’t be the next Joker or Voldemort?

With that perspective, things change.

No one is beyond saving, as proven by the fact that no one deserves it. Even villains. I’m not saying every villain should be end up with a change of heart. That’s not true to real life. But neither is assuming there’s no hope.

I get the reasoning. Our ingrained sense of justice wants to see the hero triumph and destroy the villain. It makes sense, and villains need to pay for what they’ve done.

But a redemption story packs a powerful punch impossible to ignore. Seeing a hardened soul gradually softened to the point of remorse and repentance affects us on a deep level.

To answer the question, being a villain doesn’t disqualify them from being redeemed.

Do you think villains should be redeemed? Why or why not? 

*This post appeared in original form in June 2015 at zacharytotah.com.