Fantasy novels and the Christian faith

When my children were growing up, I gave them two bits of advice relative to the world of magic and mystery. I give the same advice to my college students today. First, though occult practices like Ouija boards, seances, and fortunetelling are mostly faked and fake, they should not be taken lightly. Satan is a spiritual being who possesses powers, and he can deceive and manipulate people who open themselves to the demonic realm by such vehicles. Even as a mature Christian, I give such things a wide berth. To alter a line from Fiddler on the Roof, playing with witchcraft a boy can get burned.

Second, the world is full of magic; we just have to have eyes to see it and ears to hear it. There is no greater magic than the Incarnation, the belief that in Jesus, God became man while remaining God. Since God created both us and the cosmos, links must exist between the two: between the vast universe God fashioned (the macrocosm) and each of us who was made in His image (the microcosm). The heavens, which show forth the glory of God (Psalm 19), proclaimed Jesus’ birth in the form of the Star of Bethlehem, even as they wept over His crucifixion in a noonday eclipse of the sun. We live in an enchanted and sympathetic universe, but our eyes, blurred by the naturalistic worldview around us, neither see nor receive it.

Do I contradict myself in giving these two bits of advice? Can I consistently warn against the demonic while teaching, speaking, and writing about The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings and advocating for fantasy books and films in general? I think I can, and I was happy to find support in this carefully argued book by Marian A. Jacobs.

In On Magic and Miracles: A Theological Guide to Discerning Fiction Magic (B&H Books, 320 pp.), Jacobs, a seminary student and author of fantasy, science fiction, and Christian story ethics, does more than take a deep dive into modern works of fantasy. She devotes half of her book to surveying what the Bible actually says about angels and demons, magic and miracles, the spiritual realm and the occult. Though readers eager to hear what she has to say about Harry Potter might be tempted to skip the first half of her book, I would encourage them, as Jacobs does herself in her introduction, to be patient and work alongside her as she builds a foundation for assessing the dangers, real or imagined, of the ever-expanding fantasy genre.

“Despite what we may have learned in the past,” Jacobs says, “the Bible teaches that angels and demons are active and have the ability to effect real change on the physical world. The demon-empowered occult existed in ancient Egypt just as it does right now. Perhaps it would be easier for our discussion of fictional magic if we could just say, ‘Magic isn’t real; therefore, fantasy magic isn’t dangerous.’ Yet that wouldn’t be intellectually honest, nor would it guide us into a genuine knowledge of how to discern fantasy magic.”

Jacobs, who defends most, though not all, fantasy literature, does not make it easy on herself. She continually acknowledges the reality of the demonic realm, arguing persuasively that Christians, like non-Christians, have too quickly accepted the modern dismissal of any two-way traffic between the visible and invisible. “Modern Christians tend to read the Bible in an anti-supernaturalist way, interpreting demonic supernaturalism as an illusion rather than demonic activity. Yet this isn’t how ancient people would have understood it.” Jacobs’s ancient people include the writers of the Bible, who took for granted both that God aided them via angels and that the pagan practices of their neighbors were demonic rather than baseless superstition.

Which is not to say Satan exists on the same level as God. Jacobs does a fine job distinguishing between the polytheism of the Greek and Roman pantheon, and the Biblical divine council, which includes created spiritual beings that do not exist outside of time and space and that do not share in God’s omnipotence, omniscience, or omnipresence. While “God can perfectly interact with all creation and have intimate relationships with all people at all times ... angels and demons who aren’t omnipresent can only interact with one thing or person at a time.”

Jacobs further warns her readers not to fall into one of two polarized Christian camps: extreme cessationists, who don’t allow for any divine or demonic intervention in the modern world; and extreme Pentecostals, who look for a demon under every stone. Both extremes not only risk obscuring essential parts of the Bible but of falling into spiritual pride. “Some sensationalists may feel pride in their open use of prophecy, speaking in tongues, and hearing messages from the Holy Spirit on a daily basis. Whereas anti-supernaturalists can feel a sense of pride in their emphasis on correct doctrine as though they have the corner market on good theology and can’t learn from others who are different.” This polarization is often complicated by radical, overcorrective swings from a legalistic view of magic that cancels it in all its forms to a licentious view that is happy to indulge any desire for all forms of magic.

After surveying the supernatural worldview of the Bible and interviewing Christians who came out of the occult and so could attest to its real powers and its real dangers, Jacobs establishes a vocabulary and a methodology for assessing fantasy. She proposes five questions that can help readers discern whether a work is appropriate for Christian consumption or should be avoided because it promotes the demonic, suggests we can control the divine, and/or manipulates us into identifying with evil: “1) What is the source of the magic? 2) What is the goal of the magic user? 3) What is the heart posture of the magic user? 4) What is the setting of the magic? 5) What magical methodology is used?”

Though Jacobs is not opposed to positing a simple either/or answer to the first question—either it is divine or demonic—she helpfully nuances the answer. Just because a book written for a mass-market audience does not clearly identify God as the source of the magic, that does not mean the source must be demonic. Many fantasy novels endow their heroes with “innate supernatural abilities,” a plot device that Jacobs identifies as “one of the most common fictional magic tropes in all of fantasy literature.” Harry, Ron, and Hermione; Anakin, Luke, and Leia; and Wolverine, Rogue, and Professor X are all born with their abilities rather than channeling them from God or an angel or a demon. In such cases, concerned Christian readers should turn their attention to the “goal” and the “heart posture” of the magic user.

When it comes to goals, Jacobs encourages us to ask whether the user seeks to glorify God or himself through his magical abilities. In books where this cannot be determined because God is not mentioned by name, we can still ask whether the user acts out of a self-sacrificial love for others (as Harry Potter does) or a narcissistic love for himself and his own power (as Voldemort does). “By definition,” Jacobs explains, “love is selfless, not selfish. When a secular work of fiction depicts loving self-sacrifice through common grace, that goal can still be considered a reflection of divine supernaturalism even if it fails to recognize our ultimate telos of glorifying God. Likewise, demonic supernaturalism is reflected in sacrificing or exploiting others for the benefit of the individual.” If a fantasy novel contains both types of characters, as most do, does it teach us to sympathize with the latter or expose it as false and destructive?

As for the heart posture, does the user act in a spirit of humility or of pride? “There’s nothing particularly special about” Harry Potter, Jacobs reminds us, “other than being accidentally famous. ... He’s not funny like Ron or bookish like Hermione. In fact, the only thing special about him is his bravery in being willing to fight on behalf of others without any desire to seek his own glory.” Such ordinary heroes, including the naturally gifted Superman, tend to use their power from a position of humility rather than to dominate and control.

This distinction crosses over into Jacobs’ fourth question about the setting of the fantasy novel. Does it take place in a world that champions a survival-of-the-fittest ethos or does it lift up the weak and powerless? If the latter, the novel, whether it intends to or not, will reflect a world that honors the upside-down morality of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. That does not mean the hero will always be a paragon of virtue—in the economy of the gospel, “God chose us not because we’re righteous but because he is and we are dependent on him”—but it does mean he will not thrive on the exploitation of the outcast and the vulnerable.

Though Jacobs writes that her fifth question is less vital than the others, she does say that readers should pay attention to methodology, to how magic is used. “Most of the time, methods that demand magic from the source are indicative of demonic supernaturalism while methods dependent on the sort indicate divine supernaturalism. God cannot be controlled or coerced, so methods that reflect our dependence on him are best when used by the protagonist.” Unlike voodoo magic, where rituals said in the right way with the right words and actions can force the spirit realm to obey the will of the magician, prayer magic can only request assistance from God or the spiritual realm.

Readers who have performed the kind of careful analysis that Jacobs’ five worldview questions demand will be in a better position to ask a more direct and detailed set of questions about the fantasy novel or film they want to consume or are contemplating allowing their children to consume. “Are evil actions and character traits presented as good or bad in the story? Are compassion, humility, mercy, and forgiveness presented in an attractive way? Is the villain ‘cooler’ than the good guy? Are we being emotionally manipulated into desiring evil so the protagonists can succeed in their goals?”

On Magic and Miracles is a rich book that succeeds in helping readers face the supernatural elements of the Bible directly and with discernment and so face with equal directness and discernment the fantasy novels and films that have become so ubiquitous in our society. But it succeeds, as well, in another area of great importance to the Church. Jacobs doesn’t merely want to convince fearful or skeptical parents that their kids can, with proper guidance, read Harry Potter and other works of fantasy. She wants to convince the wider Body of Christ that beauty, wonder, and imagination are vital to the maintenance and growth of the Church, especially if she wants to honor the Great Commission (Matthew 28:18–20) and the Cultural Mandate (Genesis 1:28).

Fantasy helps to shake us out of our anti-supernaturalist slumber. Apart from that shaking, we “become skeptical of the stories we hear from overseas missionaries who report converts having dreams of Jesus or being demon-possessed. We pray small prayers, lack courage in evangelism, and forget that our suffering is part of a much larger, future plan. In short, without imagination, creativity, and Christian fantasy the Christian mind is unable to develop a robust faith and, instead, applies only the softest expectations to an all-powerful God.”

These are words that the Western church desperately needs to hear if we are to free ourselves from the chains of materialism, embrace the invisible realm that undergirds so much of Scripture, and, as Paul exhorts us, put on the full armor of God (Ephesians 6:10–13).