Occasionally, I think. Even more occasionally, what I think makes sense.
Today I was thinking about stories. Or “story” as a subject. I’ve written about it here before.
I have a theological view of stories. I noticed first, long ago, that the basic structure of plot (hero faces challenge – hero must overcome repeated, escalating failures to achieve goal) works because it mirrors the basic structure of our lives. This is the art of living. Stories tell us how to live. (A bad story is a kind of crime, because it teaches wrong lessons that could get people hurt.)
Later, I thought larger. The universe, it seems to me, is a story. Christians don’t believe that life is an eternal cycle, as many of the pagans did. We believe that history is a narrative. It has a beginning and an end. Tolkien declared that the Resurrection was the “eucatastrophe” (the happy, unexpected turn of events) of the story. The final happy ending awaits.
I had the thought, this morning, that all stories with happy endings are, in some sense, Christian. Even if they’re profane and filthy. They still have a holy structure. Sacred bones, you might say.
But then I thought, what about tragedy? Is tragedy un-Christian?
No. Tragedy is (according to Aristotle) meaningful. The hero’s ending may be awful, but it means something. The tragic hero may deserve his fate (like Macbeth) or may be the innocent victim of Destiny (like Oedipus). But his death is significant. It arouses pity and horror. It enriches the spirit. There’s meaning in tragedy.
What is not Christian is the story of futility. The absurdist tale. I’ve run across a few in my time, and I hate them. One that comes to mind is “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs,” which I watched on Netflix. I can see the story’s value as a corrective to the conventions and tropes of the Western genre, which get turned on their heads one after another. But the final conclusion is emptiness. Another was “No Country for Old Men,” also by the Coen Brothers. I’ve heard it described as a Christian story – and maybe it is at some intellectual level too deep for me – but I saw it as a story bereft of hope.
I’m trying to work these thoughts into the book. Means a few last-minute adjustments.
That reminds me that I may have never read all of Candide. I should do that.
Tragedy is meaningful, but tales that fall into the nihilist rat hole take the easy path to emptiness instead of enlightenment.
Your mention of futility stories reminds me of how the British Spy Novel genre went downhill after the cold war ended. I used to enjoy the cloak and dagger, spycraft and intrigue leading to the good guy hero won in the end. But towards the end of their careers, authors like Len Deighton and John Le Carre got very cynical. It was not longer good guy vs bad guy, but rather highlighting the purposelessness of being a good guy because no matter which side you represent, the system is corrupt. That has led to the current crop of action thrillers featuring anti-heroes like Mitch Rapp who are murderous, malevolent thugs, but it’s ok because they do it on behalf of our side.
I’d noticed the decline, but the causal link to the new, amoral heroes was a new idea to me. Makes sense though.