Literature and the Christian Imagination
How the Great Books Shape the Christian Mind
High school is a varied experience across time and space. My own secondary school was in Lawrence, New Jersey in the late 90s. One gift it gave me was an appreciation for literature. Two teachers, the first an avian-like sextagenarian who demanded excellence, and the second, a generous and kind American who loved American writers, opened my eyes to the joys of Shakespeare and Hemingway, Chaucer and Fitzgerald. But I spurned the gift. College brought weak professors who didn’t seem to love literature. They didn’t evaluate books on their own terms, but projected meaning from the outside. And even more banal, they struggled to go beyond critiques like ‘show don’t tell.’ In comparison to my high school teachers, they were found wanting. I started to drift away from fiction. Post-college, a career brought excuses of having no time. Theology, history, and nonfiction became my steady reading diet (with, admittedly, some fantasy novels thrown in). Providentially, my career and literature have intersected unexpectedly as my organization hired multiple people who love literature and extoll its merits. One bullied me into reading Middlemarch, another exhorted me to read the poetry of T. S. Eliot. Reading groups have sprung up, opinions are shared, and everyone is charitable. I have new eyes for literature, but I’m not as I was. I see things in light of my worldview as a pastor and a Christian, and as a father and a husband. This has changed my appreciation of it. In this second act of reading, I’ve found that reading literature helps me think well about real spiritual problems, gives me a deeper understanding of humanity, and gives me delight in the truths I find there. There’s no Biblical principle that demands Christians read literature, but I think if they can, they’ll be better for it.
Great literature deals with the great questions of life. Ernest Hemingway compares human existence with that of ants on a log in A Farewell to Arms. The protagonist can throw that log into the fire or shrug his shoulders and move on. The quest for meaning in a world governed by such indifference becomes the challenge for Frederic Henry. Maggie spends the entirety of her life pursuing unconditional love from her brother and grace for her own moral contradictions in George Eliot’s The Mill on the Floss. Graham Greene captures the depravity of sin and the begrudging redemption of a sinner in The End of the Affair. Great literature is a window into humanity’s interior life. It reveals tragedies to be lamented and graces to be celebrated. Literature both gives examples of how the gospel changes lives (Greene) and surfaces the needs the gospel addresses (Eliot). Looking through these windows helps form Christians by getting them to see the complicated hearts of humans and then reflect on Christian truths that apply. As we grow in understanding of the Scriptures and of the Lord, we also grow in our ability to bring those truths to bear on practical circumstances. Literature gives us a practice field for such applications. This is how literature can help form us.
Circling back to Hemingway, his claim that we have to make our own moral codes to persist in a world governed by indifferent forces stands as a challenge to the Christian worldview. In response, we can remind ourselves that every human being has infinite worth because they are made in the image of God and therefore what we do is incredibly important. That our own moral codes fail and we’ll violate any moral code we develop ourselves. That we need a moral standing not our own, but that of Christ’s. That we aren’t like ants on a log with an indifferent human standing above us. We’re like ants on a log with a loving God who is deeply concerned with our well-being. So much so that he takes a far further step down than human to ant—he condescends from heaven to humanity. And then metaphorically walks into the fire on our behalf. Hemingway makes metaphysical, moral, and practical claims. The practice of responding with the Christian correctives forms the way we think and interpret.
Another gift literature gives us is keen insight into the interior thought lives of people. Writers are not omniscient, but they are sharp observers. Jane Austen is a master example of this.
“To hear them talking so much of Captain Wentworth, repeating his name so often, puzzling over past years … that it probably would, turn out to be the very same Captain Wentworth whom they recollected meeting, … a very fine young man … was a new sort of trial to Anne’s nerves. She found, however, that it was one to which she must inure herself.” —Jane Austen, Persuasion, p. 41, Kindle Edition
Anne is steeling herself to be kind, brave, and steady in light of the return of a man she broke an engagement to, an action she regrets. She does this because people she loves care for Captain Wentworth. It is one of the first examples of Anne’s endurance and the examples that follow demonstrate that she will not waver from that course. This short insight into Anne’s mind reveals change. Once she could be persuaded to turn away from true love and steadfastness by breaking her engagement, now we’re starting to see that she has been morally formed and can endure. Such writing gives us a window into the complicated interior lives of people. For the Christian, it can help form our ability to sympathize with people who are hurting, struggling, or even acting poorly towards us. It helps us love well. Christ himself, despite having perfect knowledge of all things, thought identifying with humanity was important enough to be born in a manger in Bethlehem. Literature gives us practice in identifying and sympathizing with others.
Great literature is a pinnacle of human achievement. Henry Oliver said this about literature:
“These works might be representative of a set of core beliefs or ideas, but they are also extraordinary aesthetic achievements. They record aspects of a society, but they also give them an intensity of expression that has lasting power in the world.”
The best writers wrap complex realities in beautiful prose and story and present that to the world. This is stunning and beautiful. When I first encountered literature in high school, this is what attracted me. Scratching the surface of writers presenting so much in pages of prose was an experience I could not forget. But it was an enjoyment of the craft and not much more.
One of the key differences in my enjoyment now versus then is the interaction of my faith with the literary work. So when literature touches on spiritual realities and gives us windows into those realities, it helps discipline us in the practice of seeing God beneath, behind, and above everything. The things that are excellent in literature are created by humans made in God’s image. They may not know him, but they still bear his image. It’s no surprise that they create beautiful things; this, too, reflects their Creator.
“The true beauty and loveliness of all intelligent beings does primarily and most essentially consist in their moral excellency or holiness.” —Jonathan Edwards, The Religious Affections
Great literature, even if highlighting broken humanity, still points to God in the rightly formed mind.
The life of the mind should matter to Christians. The book we should be most familiar with is God’s Word, without a doubt. No other work should surpass it in our diet. (2 Tim. 3:16) And great theology books, Christian biographies all have their place. But there is no shortage of Christians telling you to read those kinds of books. I see far fewer make the case for classic, great literature. I regret leaving literature largely behind for nearly two decades. It is hard for some to see the value of fiction, but I’m here to tell you it can make the mind and the heart soar. And such heights can form the Christian mind to think well, relate to others better, and appreciate the deep beauty given by, and found in God.
*Thanks to ChatGPT for grammar and spelling edits, and for helping search Religious Affections