His Dark Materials

I have to confess that I am slowly but increasingly becoming unsure of how to respond to the (persistent, pervasive, and burgeoning) paranoia borne of ignorant unbelief among professing Christian believers. The fact is that the Christian faith from the first days of its inception (for convenience’s sake I refer to Acts 2) has been intensely and passionately attacked (and, of course, we immediately think of Saul of Tarsus; and rightly so. But our faith compels us to follow that story through to the end, and answering the question [perhaps even with an air of gloating], “Who’s in charge now, Saul? Who’s the King now, Saul? Huh? Huh? C’mon, man; you’re so tough, you’re so big! Got anymore fight left in you? Huh? Cat got’cher tongue?” But, alas, we seem to only have confidence for such gloating at boxing matches, post-season football games and playground brawls; such real-world confidence seems out of place in the world of faith and religious practice).

In his review, Mohler writes:

So, what’s the problem?

This is not just any fantasy trilogy or film project. Philip Pullman has an agenda — an agenda about as subtle as an army tank. His agenda is nothing less than to expose what he believes is the tyranny of the Christian faith and the Christian church. His hatred of the biblical storyline is clear. He is an atheist whose most important literary project is intended to offer a moral narrative that will reverse the biblical account of the fall and provide a liberating mythology for a new secular age.

The great enemy of humanity in the three books … is the Christian church, identified as the evil Magisterium. The Magisterium, representing church authority, is afraid of human freedom and seeks to repress human sexuality.

The Magisterium uses the biblical narrative of the Fall and the doctrine of original sin to repress humanity. It is both violent and vile and it will stop at nothing to protect its own interests and to preserve its power.

Pullman’s attack on biblical Christianity is direct and undeniable.

So… Satan’s own attack on “biblical Christianity” continues to be direct and undeniable; from the days of the garden, Satan (who is no mere literary character if we are to believe the Biblical account) has had “an agenda about as subtle as an army tank [...] nothing less than the exposure of the tyranny of the Christian faith and the Christian church” (Echoes of the garden: “Did God REALLY say that? Whoa! Pretty heavy-handed and oppressive, don’t you think, Eve? I mean, c’mon; what sort of god would keep such goodies from you except a tyrant intent on oppressing and controlling you?! Take my advice and I will grant you all the delicious, savory wisdom that he is keeping from you.” — and the first lottery ticket was sold and the persistent promise has proven irresistible ever since.)

Of course, if “biblical Christianity” is something that must compete to maintain its market dominance then we have something to worry about. But “biblical Christianity” is nothing of the sort; the gospel is not a product to be peddled to the end of securing and protecting a monopoly or even a controlling interest in some cosmic religious marketplace. Evangelism is not a sales pitch by a sleazy used-car salesman who will do anything to close the deal and increase his sales. No. The proclamation of the gospel is the yelling out of the greatest headline in the history of the cosmic war (World War I, World War II, Korea, Vietnam, Gulf I, Gulf II — all child’s sandbox play by comparison): “Victory! The enemy has been vanquished; King Jesus reigns supreme in glory!” complete with the implications being writ in smaller type below: “Rejoice! Rest! For the promised future of Shalom is here” (cf Jeremiah 29). As the writer to the Hebrews (who were incessantly and increasingly and intensively attacked because of their faith) writes, take courage and confidence “for you have not come to what may be touched, a blazing fire and darkness and gloom and a tempest and the sound of a trumpet … but you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem … and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant … therefore let us be grateful [and confident in our gratitude] for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken.” There is nothing new here; and the Word of comfort and confidence remains the same for those in the 21st Century who profess faith in Jesus of Nazareth, the anointed one of God, as for those who professed that faith in the 1st Century: “while we do not yet see everything put in subjection to mankind, we see [Christ] who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor.”

Of course, the entirety of the preceding two paragraphs grants that Pullman’s attack is directed against “biblical Christianity,” [an unfortunate slip on Mohler's part] for just like Brown and The DaVinci Code, the “Christianity” that is attacked is one that Jesus himself attacks; it is no more “biblical” than 1st Century Pharisaical Judaism was Mosaic. It reminds me of a PCA pastor who has also written (albeit, far more tenderly and sympathetically than Pullman) against the syncretistic mess that passes for “biblical Christianity” in 21st North America. Pullman’s portrayal is a twisted and ugly caricature; in fact, it is a Christianity from which Christ [and the gospel he embodies] is entirely absent. As Jeffrey Overstreet points out, the attack is not even as bold and direct as Dan Brown’s was in that it does not take on the person and work of Jesus himself, or even the “Church’s made up legends about Jesus.” Yet the fact remains that history is full of examples of people who fell to the ground in defeat when they have tried to take on the Christ of Christianity itself: Paul, of course; Augustine; Lee Stroebel; C.S. Lewis; an increasing number of scientists …

At the same time: while being disappointed in Mohler’s somewhat alarmist tone, I would agree with him (and Overstreet below) that just because the Victory is certain and the perseverance of the saints is secured in the certain, irrevocable reign of King Jesus, God’s anointed, does not mean that we can simply continue playing cards and sipping toddies on our front porch as the battle rages. No, we have been conscripted into battle — we and our children (Paul’s main and climatic pastoral point in Ephesians). We fight even as we train them to fight. We seek to develop discernment and wisdom in desperate dependence upon the Spirit; we teach our children to desperately depend upon the Spirit to develop discernment and wisdom and skill in wielding the Sword of God’s revealed Wisdom. But we do it not as those anxiously trying to fend off almost certain defeat; we battle rather as those who know that we are engaged in the last days of the battle, the (very real, very dangerous, and very painful) clean-up effort. The Enemy will not simply cede his territory but will try to take as many enemy combatants down with him as possible. Nevertheless, his apparent statistical and geographic gains notwithstanding, the Victory is secured — and it is that real, historic confidence that issues in humility and strength that we do battle.

For Further Reflection

The two Q&A excerpts below are taken (by permission) from Jeffrey Overstreet’s article. Overstreet reviews movies for Christianity Today. You can find the full post (recommended) at the CT Movies site.

Isn’t this just the Harry Potter controversy all over again?

No. This time, there really is a serious problem. But God forbid that we respond to Pullman the way we’ve responded to J.K. Rowling. We’ve just been through a decade in which fearful, judgmental people have burned Harry Potter books, called J.K. Rowling a witch, and warned us that children who read her books will become warlocks. (This reminds me of those folks who told me, when I was ten, that if I saw The Empire Strikes Back, I might be lured into Buddhism.) What we missed with Harry Potter was the power of fairy tales, which use magic metaphorically and symbolically to help us understand mysterious concepts and appreciate the marvelous, otherworldly reality of grace.

And we encouraged a generation of children to believe that you can’t be a Christian and also value fairy tales—a devastating deception. As Lewis and Tolkien have discussed and proposed, fairy tales reflect the truth of the gospel in a unique and timeless way. In fact, Lewis became a Christian through discussions with Tolkien about fairy tales.

Many Christians also overlooked the fact that, in damning the Potter series, we were persecuting a Christian woman who has admitted that the process of telling those stories was a journey of sorting out her own faith and persistent doubts. We missed that there were Bible verses woven through the stories and glimmering with truth.

But Pullman is a different storyteller. He says, “I’ve been surprised by how little criticism I’ve got. Harry Potter’s been taking all the flak. I’m a great fan of J.K. Rowling, but the people—mainly from America’s Bible Belt—who complain that Harry Potter promotes Satanism or witchcraft obviously haven’t got enough in their lives. Meanwhile, I’ve been flying under the radar, saying things that are far more subversive than anything poor old Harry has said. My books are about killing God.”

Okay, maybe we shouldn’t boycott and complain. But what should Christians do?

These recommendations come from my humble opinion, and you’re welcome to disagree.

Essentially, don’t behave in ways that the Magisterium in Pullman’s books would behave. You’ll just make his stories more persuasive, by confirming for the culture around us that Christians only really get excited when they’re condemning something.

Instead, respond with grace and love. And truth. Admit that, yes, Christians have committed grave sins in the name of Christ, and that those shameful misrepresentations of the gospel have made many people fearful of, and even repulsed by, the church. But Christians have been called to serve the oppressed, proclaim freedom for the captives, bring healing to the sick, to seek justice, to love mercy, to walk humbly, and to bring good news of “great joy.” And by God’s grace, many are living out that calling. They paint quite a different picture than what Pullman has painted.

Finally, educate yourselves and equip your kids with questions—lenses, so to speak—that will expose the problems in these stories. (Worried about padding Pullman’s pockets by investigating the books? Fair enough. But there’s always the library.)

What questions might you and your kids ask as you read Pullman’s books? Some suggestions:

• If we cast off all “authority” and set up “free will” as the ultimate source of guidance, where will that get us?
• Has the world shown us that the human heart is a trustworthy “compass”?
• Does free will lead us always to the right choice?
• If the heroes accept the “truth” of the alethiometer (the compass itself), aren’t they letting themselves be guided by just another source of truth—another “Authority”? But didn’t the story tell us “Authority” is bad and we should only follow our own hearts?
• If there are “many truths,” then aren’t these heroes being as self-righteous and wicked as the oppressors by demanding that their version of the truth is better than others?
• What is so inspiring about the battle between the bears? Hasn’t this story led us to a place where it’s just “survival of the fittest” all over again? Should we really hope that the world falls into the hands of the strongest fighter, rather than into the hands of love?

Finally, pray for Philip Pullman. Pray about the influence of his work. And pray for humility and wisdom in your own response. Pullman is just a man who, somewhere along the way, got a very bad impression of the church. It’s also worth noting that Pullman’s father died in a plane crash when Pullman was only seven years old. I don’t know if that had anything to do with his view of God, but many men who have struggled with the idea of a loving, caring, benevolent God are those whose fathers abandoned them or died while they were young. Boys without fathers often grow up with deep resentment, and having no focus for that pain, they target God.

[Of course at this point you may have stopped reading; but if you happen to still be awake at this point: regarding Overstreet's point here, you may be interested in the book "Faith of the Fatherless: The Psychology of Atheism," by Paul Vitz, the back cover of which starts out, "Despite its pretensions to cool-headed rationality, modern atheism originated in the irrational, often neurotic, psychological needs of a few powerfully influential thinkers." Vitz considers the lives of such influential thinkers as Nietzsche, Russell, Sartre, Camus (who, I think, actually professed a living faith shortly before his death), Freud, and O'Hair.]

I want to be careful here: I am not explaining Pullman to you, because I don’t know him. But that detail made me stop and think about how little I know about his experiences and motivations. Shouldn’t I be praying for him instead of condemning him? Shouldn’t I be looking for ways to show love and respect to the man, even as I look for ways to expose the flaws in his work? Pullman’s not likely to reconsider his notions about God if those who believe in God organize a full-scale assault against him and his work.

© Jeffrey Overstreet 2007, subject to licensing agreement with Christianity Today International. All rights reserved.