I’ve had a fair number of religion-related posts up recently, and if it’s
becoming tedious for you I apologize in advance for posting another one.
The Foothills is supposed to mostly be a book blog, and herein lies my
problem: many of the books I’ve been reading recently involve religion in
ways I can’t ignore. So please, bear with me; it’s not my intent to turn
The Foothills into an All-Religion-All-The-Time kind of blog.

Phil at Brandywine Books has written several posts (most recently
here)
on the subject of “What is Christian Fiction?” My answer is that there
are several things which can go by that name. The first is simply,
“Fiction written to be marketed specifically to Christians”. There’s a
lot of this stuff being written, I guess, and I have no idea what it is
or if it’s any good.

The second category is fiction which expresses the Christian worldview.
Let me explain that, because what I mean probably isn’t obvious.

Every work of fiction is, in one sense, a work of fantasy. That is,
every work of fiction takes place in a world of its own, a world where
things are different than they are in our world. In mainstream fiction,
the world may correspond quite closely with our own, but it still
contains people who don’t exist in our world, doing things that never
actually happened, saying things that were never actually said. It
must–for if it did not, the work might be history, or journalism, but it
certainly wouldn’t be fiction. This created world has geography and physics
(though in a fantasy novel they might be very strange physics); it also
has a metaphysical dimension.

Most science fiction, for example, assumes the naturalistic view of
things. The universe may be a very strange place, but the rules are
scientifically discoverable, and everything that happens is the result of
physical processes acting on matter and energy. In the naturalistic
view, the supernatural does not exist. There are no ghosts; there are no
dieties; or if there are, they are subject to the same physical laws as
the rest of us, though they might involve physical processes as yet
unknown to science.

Much fantasy fiction, perhaps counter-intuitively, also assumes the
naturalistic view of things. Since the publication of
J.R.R.
Tolkien‘s essay “On Fairy Stories”, most fantasists
have seen themselves as creating fantasy worlds that follow
well-understood and immutable laws. These laws are undoubtedly different
than those of the real world, but that’s the point of most fantasy–it
doesn’t take place in the real world. Such worlds often contain ghosts,
and dieties, and stranger creatures as well, because that’s how the author
wrotes the rules. For all that she’s a werewolf,
Terry
Pratchett‘s Corporal Angua is no more supernatural in
her world than a motorcycle cop is in ours.

To the Christian, of course, the naturalistic view is true so far as it
goes, but it is severely limited. God is not subject to natural law; God
is, in fact, the creator of the natural laws, and of the very matter and
energy whose processes they describe. Christian fiction, in this second
sense, is simply fiction whose philosophical underpinnings are those of
Christianity. That is, it is fiction that takes place in worlds in which
Christianity is true.

Note that this definition doesn’t assume any particular kind of plot, nor
does it require that Christianity be mentioned, either explicitly or
symbolically, in the work in question. Tolkien’s The Lord of the
Rings is a work of Christian fiction simply because Tolkien
explicitly set it in the prehistory of the real world–and for Tolkien,
the real world was a Christian world, a world created by the God of
Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Eru-Illuvatar of Tolkien’s mythology is not
just a diety, nor a symbol of the Almighty God; but the true, the living
God that he worshipped each Sunday. The same may be said for
C.S Lewis‘s
Aslan. Aslan does not symbolize Jesus Christ;
Aslan is Jesus Christ, as he chose to appear in the world of
Narnia.

Middle-Earth and Narnia are, of course, worlds not only of Christian
fiction but also of Christian fantasy, and both illustrate the
fundamental problem that faces the would-be author of Christian fantasy:
how can one introduce fantasy elements, things which contradict natural
law and the world as it is, after constraining oneself to remain true to
Truth Himself? He resolved it by setting his story in an ancient,
ante-deluvian world, at a time before the Almighty had begun to reveal
himself to his Christian, and by limiting the supernatural aspects of his
story.

Have you ever noticed that despite being the pre-eminent work of fantasy
of the 20th century, The Lord of the Rings contains very little
that’s actually fantastic? The geography is different than in our world,
but the physics are the same. There’s elven-magic, but Galadriel
cautions that it’s not what we’d usually think of as magic. There’s
nothing particularly supernatural about elves, or dwarves, or orcs, or
ents; though extinct, they are creatures just as men are. Indeed, the
only really magical beings we see are the wizards Gandalf and Saruman,
Sauron the dark lord, and the Nine Nazgul. The Silmarillion makes
it clear that Gandalf, Saruman and Sauron are all nothing more nor less
than angels; the Nazgul can then be thought of as extreme cases of
demonic possession. In any event, all power in Middle Earth derives
ultimately from Eru, the One, the Creator.

In short, the mythology of Middle Earth extends Christianity and goes
beyond it, but doesn’t contradict it. The same can be said for Lewis’s
work. It’s a difficult line to walk, and few have been successful at it.
There’s Tolkien and Lewis, of course, and Lewis’ master George MacDonald;
I’m hardpressed to think of any others.

Indeed, even less successful attempts are hard to find. Christopher
Stasheff wrote a series beginning with The Oathbound Wizard, which
takes place in a world (if I recall correctly) in which basic Christian
morality is enforced by natural law–the wizard truly is oathbound,
because having once sworn an oath it’s impossible for him not to keep it.
And yet, that seems to me to work against the Christian belief in
original sin and the need for redemption. Kathryn Kurtz sets her Deryni
series in a world with a church much like that of medieval England, but
though the forms of the Catholic church are retained there’s little of
Christianity here–except for numerous examples of original sin at work.
C. Dale Britain has written a book called A Bad Spell in Yurt (one
of a series, if I recall correctly) in which the dominant religion is
Christianity, positively portrayed; a nice touch, though an odd one–it
bothers me, here and in the Deryni books, to find a church that
celebrates the crucified and risen Christ by name in a world with no
apparent connection to the world in which he was crucified. Poetic
license, I suppose.

Now, why have I gone through all this? To define Christian fantasy, and
to make the point that writing it is extremely difficult–all in
preparation for some interesting books I got in the mail recently. But
that’s a post for another day.