Bleeding Protons for the Glory of God

The lead character for The Ghost Box, Reagan Moon, experiences a bizarre phenomenon throughout the story which he struggles to comprehend, much less control — he bleeds protons from his fingertips. It’s not real magic, nor is it straight science. In fact, the source is rather vague. Is this a gifting from a higher source? Or is this purely a quantum reality released by 100 million volts of raw electricity to the sternum? Either way, the only real question left to the protag is… how to use this power.

That intent alone may determine its nature.

A while back I received this letter from a pastor:

I had just read your article “Why Christians Can’t Agree About Christian Fiction” and I thought that it was a great insight into the debate. I am a brand spanking new pastor, and I am already engaged in a divisive discussion with one of my congregants about fiction, particularly the use of “supernaturalism” in fiction. For example, this person believes that when Aslan uses “magic” or does things “supernaturally” like breathing on Mr. Tumnus, and does NOT give glory and honor and credit to Jesus Christ IN THE STORY, that it is occultism, since his power is derived from elsewhere than from the one true God. I think this is a bit, shall I say, crazy. I was just wondering if you have encountered such thought elsewhere, or am I the only one so uniquely blessed!!! And what would you say about the claim that any “powers” that occur in a fictional novel, especially Christian novels, are subtly promoting occultism. Thanks for your work.

This pastor may find solace in the fact that not only is he NOT alone in this debate, but that the position assumed by this congregant is, sadly, all too common among Christian readers.

As much as I’d like to offer a definitive answer to this question — How can we know when “‘powers’ that occur in a fictional novel… are subtly promoting occultism”? — I don’t think there is one. In fact, the more we demand a definitive answer, the more we narrow our fiction, dumb down our readers, and drift into a superstitious, and rather unchristian, worldview.

Nevertheless, this pastor’s question, and the challenge posed by his congregant, are so common among readers of religious fiction as to be ubiquitous. So how does an author defend writing characters who bleed protons, wield spells, or teleport? Is it possible that such fictional depictions open doors to the Dark Side?

First, let me ask a question:

Does attributing a supernatural incident to God or the devil actually change its power source?

Or to use the example above, if Aslan had stopped and given glory to God, would that have turned his magic from “bad” to “good”? If so, what made the supernaturalism bad in the first place?

To follow this line of reasoning, the real “occultism” resides not in the supernatural event (Aslan breathing upon Mr. Tumnus and bringing the faun back to life), but in the author’s defining of it. Thus, to the puritan reader, the greatest potential “evil” for a Christian writer is to depict ambiguous magic, i.e., supernatural power not directly attributed to God.

Which makes fiction a sort of “magic” all its own.

However, this creates huge problems for authors, the least of which is feeling bound to clarify the source of every character’s supernatural action. Spells, miracles, alchemy, enchantment, and blue electric hands are only tolerable in our fiction as long as we’re clear where the power’s coming from. However, this type of approach not only potentially strips our stories of mystery and nuance, we treat our readers like auditors who’ll be combing our novels for pesky theological gnats.

The point here is to highlight how our approach to fiction can often be as problematic as the stories themselves. The congregant above who worried over Aslan’s apparent lack of Divine attribution is emblematic of a breed of religious reader who approaches fiction with a rather rigid doctrinal lens. Am I suggesting that we should put down our “theological” guard when we read and be less discerning? Absolutely not. But we need to see fiction as doing something different than simply illustrating and reinforcing Bible doctrine.

About his then-recent viewing of Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale, C.S. Lewis wrote:

“…[the play] is merely the scaffolding whereby Shakespeare (probably unconsciously) is able to give us an image of the whole idea of resurrection, [and] I was simply overwhelmed. You will say that I am here doing to Shakespeare just what I did to Macdonald… Perhaps I am. I must confess that more and more the value of plays and novels becomes for me dependent on the moments when, by whatever artifice, they succeed in expressing the great myths.”

— C.S. Lewis from a letter dated September 5, 1931 (emphasis mine)

Notice that Lewis describes the actual play as simply “scaffolding” for a bigger idea. In fact, it is this big idea (here, the great myths), expressed “by whatever artifice,” that characterize the great tales. Alas, when we become preoccupied with a story’s “scaffolding” and niggle over literary “artifices,” we will inevitably miss the bigger story. But that’s exactly what the congregant above, and the opponents of fictional “magic,” do.

When it comes to our fiction, the easiest (and worst) thing we can do is to embrace a checklist mentality. Rather than cultivating discernment and rendering creative license, we become “scaffold inspectors,” making sure every plank and cross-beam meets standard.

• No wands. Check!
• No spells. Check!
• No ghosts. Check!
• No vampires. Check!
• No crystal balls. Check!  
• No broomsticks. Check!
• No proton bleeding hands. Check!

And plenty of explanation. As if this ensures we will never mistakenly promote occultism.

However, in their attempt to maintain theological integrity, many have embraced superstition, a “touch not, taste not” mentality (Col. 2:21) that purports a magic all its own. In other words, we believe there is magic in biblical (?) formulas. As if God was bound by incantations, recipes, rituals, and our personal holiness program.

How is this any different from sorcery?

Yes, Scripture is clear that there can be false prophets and false miracles. The world of occultism, we are warned, is not a plaything. Nevertheless, the Bible is not always clear in defining the source of real magic or the trappings for conjuring it.

Take the case of Moses’ encounter with the Pharaoh’s magicians (Ex. 7). Both sides produced, more or less, the same “magic,” turning staffs into snakes. Question: Is it wrong to turn staffs into snakes? Answer: It can’t be because Moses did it! So the problem wasn’t necessarily with the “magic” (i.e., staff charming), but with the intent, motivations, and allegiances of those who wielded it.

The similar distinction is made in the apostles’ encounter with Simon the Sorcerer (Acts 8:9-25). Simon “had practiced sorcery in the city and amazed all the people of Samaria” (vs. 9) with his magic, so much so that he was called “the Great Power of God” (vs. 10). But after Simon “believed and was baptized” (vs. 13), he coveted the power of the Holy Spirit and asked to pay for it (vs. 19). Notice carefully Peter’s response:

Peter answered: “May your money perish with you, because you thought you could buy the gift of God with money! You have no part or share in this ministry, because your heart is not right before God. Repent of this wickedness and pray to the Lord in the hope that he may forgive you for having such a thought in your heart. For I see that you are full of bitterness and captive to sin.” (Acts 8:20-23 NIV)

Interestingly enough, throughout this record Simon’s power is never attributed to Satan. However, he is upbraided “because [his] heart is not right before God.” So what was Simon’s sin? Apparently sorcery wasn’t the big one; his magic was less at issue than his sinful heart.

(A sidenote: The popular Chinese author Watchman Nee, in The Latent Power of the Soul, speculated that certain psychic powers were original to humans, but were lost or tainted during the Fall. Some saw Nee as veering into foolish speculation, even potential occultism, which such suggestions. Nevertheless, it poses an interesting perspective on the possible nature of powers typically viewed as occult.)

A case could be made, I think, that supernatural powers (and their fictional depictions) aren’t bad in themselves (see staff charming). It is the hearts and motives of the handlers that is evil.

Not all staff charmers are wicked (see: Moses). Which means staff charming is up for debate.

The concerned congregant above and his kin, the “anti-magic” crowd, go astray when they focus on forms of magic (levitation, incantations, objects, staff charming, breathing upon petrified fauns, etc.), more than the purveyors of the “magic.” It is far easier to make an external checklist — You know your character’s supernatural powers are NOT occult when you _________ (fill in the blank with preferred magic you avoid or attribution you render) — than to allow potential ambiguity.

Either way, the story is only the scaffolding. Magic could be just a shadow of the myth.

So how can we know when ‘powers’ that occur in a fictional novel are subtly promoting occultism? Just look at who’s using them and why. Meaning that it’s totally possible to bleed protons for the glory of God. Fictionally speaking, of course.