Sci-Fi vs. The Old Testament: Compelling Female Characters

So I've been working on my crackpot Star Wars theories a bit in my spare time, and it took me to another viewing of Episode III, or as I've taken to calling it, "The Least Bad of the Prequels."

But watching it again, I found myself heaving the heavy sigh that only a Star Wars fan who's been let down too many times can heave. And the reason why, in two words: Padme Amidala.

I don't know why I didn't see it before. Maybe I didn't want to. Maybe there were just too many other things wrong with the prequels to notice it until now. Likely, it was privilege and the option not to see it. But it's there. And it's glaring. 

Here we have one of a precious few major female characters even in Star Wars. And she basically goes through three stages: 

1) The duly elected queen of a planet, whose intelligence and compassion for her people lead her across the galaxy and back again, to head an attack force and retake her own government headquarters. 

2) A frustrated bureaucrat, still doing some good, still taking some action against weird CGI monsters when backed into a corner, but mostly tasked with the Herculean effort of falling in love with Hayden Christensen, armed only with the dialogue of George Lucas. 

3) A barefoot pregnant lady who is in tears over her man for almost the entire film, and does not even leave her home until the end, when she's nearly force-choked to death by her abusive husband, but actually does not die from that--the droid says there's "nothing medically wrong with her"--but rather, we are left to conclude, dies because she just can't go on without her strong, principled Jedi-hunk by her side. Blech.  

What's so frustrating is that she starts out so strong, if maybe a little two-dimensional, and ends up so weak-willed and codependent. Now, if I were to rush to the defense of the franchise yet again (which I'm not inclined to do here), I'd say that it's the dark side of the force that is super-sexist: slowly sapping away Padme's power of independent thought just as it seduces Anakin. But the far simpler and more likely conclusion is that the Star Wars prequels prove a larger point: even today, strong (and more importantly compelling) female characters are few and far between in Sci-Fi,

There are notable exceptions of course--Sigourney Weaver's Ellen Ripley in the Alien movies, and Charlize Theron's commanding Imperator Furiosa in the newest Mad Max--but they tend to prove the rule. Even Princess Leia, who seemingly pioneered the "strong" female Sci-Fi character, on screen today seems to embody an ancient stereotype: that women who do wield power and authority are rude, abrasive and bossy. 

I can hardly believe I'm saying this, but I think the futuristic world of Sci-Fi could actually learn a thing or two from women who've been dead for 2,500 years and more: women of the Old Testament. 

I think about Sarah, the wife of Abraham, whose husband is busy serving and sucking up to their angelic guests, while she makes  an orgasm joke and basically laughs in an angel's face. I kind of wonder what her reaction would be to an alien ambassador, don't you?

I think about Esther, who uses her wits, and the power and influence she has--admittedly, in a twisted, patriarchal society--to save her people and crush her enemies. Or Deborah, the Judge and head-of-state of Israel, so revered by her generals that they refuse to go to battle without her. I tend to think the Rebel Alliance could use a few more women like these two in the fight against the Empire.

You know, even Eve, whom the Judeo-Christian tradition has unfairly blamed for somehow "causing" humankind's fall, is a pretty compelling character too, when you think about it. Adam is right there beside her the whole time, saying nothing, while Eve does some in-depth Torah-study with the serpent, and eventually makes the choice to eat the fruit, convincing Adam to do the same. You still may not necessarily consider her a perfect moral role model, but at she's least an interesting character: even more so, I'd say, than Adam. 

And I think that's what it boils down to: in the Old Testament, for all its flaws and inherent sexism (and there's tons of both), there's still a wealth of female characters who are not just "strong", but multifaceted, flawed, and real in a way that many characters from science fiction are not. (Great article about that concept here).  In short, though I love watching my daughter don a Princess Leia costume, I'd be even more thrilled for her to know about and be formed by the stories of Sarah, Deborah, Esther, and her namesake: Mary Magdalene.   

"Avatar: The Last Airbender", Battles and Balance

 

Okay, so part of me wants to "keep my powder dry" because we've got a similar discussion coming up on September 10th at our place. But here it is: 

I am completely, totally, over-the-moon impressed with "Avatar: The Last Airbender" as a series, especially when it comes to the lessons it's teaching my kids. Rather than a story of "Good Triumphs Over Evil," it's a story about reconciliation, balance, and the difficult path to peace.

Now I have to tell you: I am a child of the 80's. And as such, many of the dominant narratives--the cartoons I grew up watching--were pretty black and white, good-vs.-evil stories. G.I. Joe. Transformers. He-Man. Thundercats. Voltron. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. All of these stories shaped who I was and how I viewed the world. And it made things pretty simple. I mean, if you're  a three year old, filled with all the spastic, explosive energy that seems somewhat inherent to that demographic, that is going to sometimes manifest itself in a few excess kicks and punches. Don't ask me why, but now as the parent of a 3-year-old boy, I can attest that's just how it goes. And in your fantastical, action-packed world of make believe, who better to bear the brunt of your aggression than a two-dimensional ultra-villain, with zero redeeming qualities, bent on world domination, who literally has a human skull for a face?

 Which is what blew me away about "Avatar: The Last Airbender." Here you have an action-packed martial arts epic, taking place in a world plagued by a hundred years of war. It's got everything: Magic. flying animals. Teen romance. And to top it off, balancing off the kind, good-humored and supremely powerful air-bending protagonist, Avatar Aang, we've got someone who appears to have the makings of a classic cartoon villain: the ambitious, driven, and totally bad-to-the-bone fire bender, Prince Zuko.

 This guy's mission in life is to end Aang's. World domination. Fire Nation, ruling the globe, Zuko in the Emperor's chair, yadda yadda yadda. Typical villain stuff.

But if you've watched the series, you know that Zuko's story doesn't end there. Through some pretty intense soul-searching, many failures, and a chance to really dig deep into his own motives for wanting to please his father, Zuko repents. He joins the "good guys." He begins to realize that Aang's goal--to bring balance to all four elements in this magical world, Earth, Fire, Air and Water--is the only goal worth pursuing. And so, without sacrificing a bit of action, intensity, and awesome martial arts battles, you suddenly have an epic that's no longer about total victory over another, but about reconciliation and balance. 

I love that there are action series like this available for my kids, and they're much more common than when I was small. I love that through the magic of this fictional world, they can learn to empathize with others rather than writing them off as evil bullies. And I also love that it provides an interesting worldview, which seems to be based in Taoism: putting opposite elements in balance, rather than seeking an all-out victory of one force over another.

I'm worried that the Christian faith in which I'm raising my kids, is fundamentally misunderstood by our culture as a "good versus evil" story. Satan is the "bad guy" God is the "good guy" (and I use the non-gender neutral terms here, again, because I'm laying out the popular view of our faith). Even in our baptismal liturgy, which goes back almost to the time of the apostles themselves, we ask a child's parents to "renounce the devil, and all the forces that defy God". The whole thing feels like this black and white, us-vs.-them story, with Christians on God's side, the "good" side, and with Satan and all the forces that defy God on the "bad" side: the "dark" side...

But when we baptize our kids, we also promise to place in their hands the Holy Scriptures. And when they open those scriptures throughout their lives, and read what's actually in there, they're going to realize something pretty quick: The most consistent "bad guy" is not some cosmic "Devil" or "Satan". In fact, Satan is rarely even mentioned in the Old Testament, and when he is, he's often depicted as God's prosecuting attorney; the one responsible for testing the faith of humankind (and it could be read that he's even acting on God's behalf by "tempting" Jesus in the wilderness, but that's another story). No, the most consistent, predictable villainous "bad guy" of scripture is...humanity. We're our own worst enemy.

Jesus had a number of pet peeves. But I'd say the biggest was when people tried to play the role of God by sorting this world out into "good guys" and "bad guys", putting themselves on the "good" side. If we're reading the Bible casting ourselves in any other role than of "villain", then I guarantee you we'll be missing the point, and our reading of the Bible is going to do both us and the world more harm than good. As a bit of a "villain" himself, St. Paul had this point pretty much spot on.

If you haven't yet, I encourage you to watch a few episodes of "Avatar", and think about what the next generation of kids might grow up to be, if they could escape the idea of "good guys" and "bad guys." 

  

  

"Red Shirts" or "Brown Coats"? Sci Fi and the Prophets

In honor of Gene Roddenberry's birthday, a few quick comments about Science Fiction, anxiety, hope, and the prophets. Okay, maybe we'll see how "quick" this is.

It strikes me today how utterly and completely different, and yet how complimentary, are the universes of two of my favorite sci-fi TV series: Star Trek (and its many spin-off's) and Firefly/Serenity. In one vision, the future is bright, clean and civilized. Humanity exists alongside many other alien races in mutual cooperation and, all things considered, relative peace. In the mid-1960's, less than a decade out from the Cuban Missile Crisis, at a time when humankind's surviving even one more generation was in doubt, Roddenberry gave us a vision of an earth united: Black and white, human and Vulcan, American and Russian, serving together on the same "wessel." An interplanetary Federation, searching the galaxy for new life, not to conquer but merely to learn. Shoot, even the Klingons would eventually come aboard! Sure, there were crises (that's what makes things interesting!) and in every episode, one or two loyal "red-shirts" gave their lives for the cause, but on the whole, Roddenberry's vision was of progress. Here's a quote from him in 1991, the year he died:

"It speaks to some basic human needs...that there is a tomorrow — it's not all going to be over in a big flash and a bomb, that the human race is improving, that we have things to be proud of as humans. No, ancient astronauts did not build the pyramids — human beings built them because they're clever and they work hard. And Star Trek is about those things."

Flash forward almost forty years. In comes a new era for Civil Rights (although many struggles remain). Down comes the Berlin Wall, and with it, the Iron Curtain. It turns out this funny little race of humans may be in it for the long haul: and despite all our progress, we're not at all sure how we feel about that. A short-lived, yet critically acclaimed show comes on Fox network from Joss Whedon, the "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" guy. It depicts a humankind that spans the stars, but finds the galaxy--and our own nature--to be a much darker, lonelier place than we had imagined. Many hundreds of years out, it is not any alien invasion against which humans struggle (in fact, any talk of aliens is conspicuously absent). No, as it has been for thousands of years, humanity's greatest enemy remains humanity itself. In this hardscrabble "wild west in the sky", not a single one of these earthlings' social ills has gone extinct--not greed, not addiction, not crime, not even civil war--and in fact, one or two (such as cannibalism?!?!) have come raging back. The hero of this cult classic is no buttoned-down starship captain, but Malcolm Reynolds: a former "browncoat" resistance fighter, who saw the vast majority of his close friends killed in a losing battle. His very life is devoted to flouting the oppressive "law and order" of "the Alliance", which bears a strange resemblance to the Federation in many respects...and yet are unquestionably the "bad guys."

What's odd about this, I think, is that I'm not alone among Sci-Fi nerds in being a rabid fan of both shows. Different as they are, conflicting as they are in their view of the future, I love them both. And I think that's because we need both versions. Science Fiction has a valuable role in our society, both as cautionary tale and as a "finish line" ideal; both as a "change your ways or else this..." or as a "If we try, we can achieve that!"

And since I'm also a "Bible Nerd", I see where this bears more than a passing resemblance to the role of Old Testament prophets. In the modern era, we've gotten our heads hopelessly twisted around the notion of prophets as "all-seeing oracles," declaring history written in advance, telling us about an immutable future on which God has already decided. So whether it's good news or bad news for folks currently living, this is how it shall be, end of story.

But that wasn't the point of prophecy at all. I mean, for those of us who have actually bothered to read the prophets, the writings are chock full of statements like, "If you turn from your wicked ways," or "If you continue on your current path..." etc. If, if, if, over and over. The whole point of prophecy was not to smugly deliver humankind an unchangeable fate, but to speak to particular people, in particular historical settings, with the particular message they need in order to be faithful to God in the present moment. In The Rapture Exposed, my very favorite book about Revelation (and Biblical prophecy in general), Barbara Rossing compares prophecy to the "ghost of Christmas future" in Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol." Sure, the ghost is there to scare the hack out of Scrooge, but not just for kicks: to help him change his course!

 

Sure, if you want or need doom and gloom (even some cannibalism), it's there in the prophets. Not as a sure declaration, but as a warning. But also, there are some of the brightest visions of the future you can imagine. Because we need that too. We need to know God can get us there. 

 Humanity needs both a bright, clean "Star Trek" and a dark and dirty "Firefly." We need both carrot and stick, something to strive for, and something to avoid. in a very real way, science fiction is the prophecy of today. Not fatalism, but a shot in the arm to get our lives on track. And even in the darkest moments, the assurance that there will be hope: with God's help, there will always be a tomorrow.

Star Wars and "The Canon": Reflecting on God's Word and "Fan Fiction"

So, I picked up a copy of "The Star Wars" and read it. If you're not familiar, this is the DarkHorse Comics graphic novel based on George Lucas' rough draft script for "Star Wars." My first impression:

"Rough" was an understatement.

In essence, it's just not the same story. Everything feels like a weird fever dream of the finished product we're all familiar with. Characters have similar names but different identities. The "Death Star" becomes "The Star Fortress" and apparently is not capable of destroying planets. The Jedi become the "Jedi Bendu," which are a rival martial arts clan with the Sith. The Force becomes the "Force of Others," and apparently is more an abstract belief system than a living force that can be learned and used in attack, self-defense, wisdom or anything else, for that matter. The Empire is headquartered on Alderaan, for goodness' sakes! I mean, come on! Han Solo is a giant green alien. And there is a Luke Skywalker...but he's this Kenny Rogers lookin' guy on the right. *sigh*...

As I was kind of getting my hackles up reading this thing, I realized that what I was having such a hard time with was setting aside my preconceived notions of what Star Wars is. When I set that aside, it felt like a decent storyline (maybe not worthy of six films and counting, but decent). What the writers of this book have done was messed with my "canon": the mutually agreed upon universe in which the characters of Star Wars live, move and have their being. It's like when you're little, you're pretending with a group of friends and you want to play cowboys, and all of a sudden one of them decides you're on a spaceship. That's not what we agreed on! Yes, I'm looking at you, Daniel Craig...

 

Especially after the recent tragic demise of the Star Wars Expanded Universe, (and of course the birth of the much-maligned "alternate timeline" of the new Star Trek films), I think fans in a lot of fandoms have been reflecting on the idea of "canon": who decides what's legit, and how. And as a person of faith, it gets me thinking of the very origin of the word "canon," and how it relates to our beliefs.

The word "canon" (coming from the late Greek "kanon" or "measuring stick") refers to any rule or dogma agreed upon by an ecumenical Church Council...the most well-known of which is what ancient spiritual writings are and are not considered "Scripture." The Old and New Testaments we have today were decided upon by gatherings of global Christian leaders in the late fourth century. Now, since that time, there have been differences of opinion and church splits, which have led us to a Protestant Bible, a Catholic Bible, an Ethiopian Orthodox Bible, and several others, all with different orders of books and different books included/excluded. Further complicating matters, there are several Jewish canons for the Hebrew scriptures, also each a little different from the Christian versions.

In addition to all these slightly different canons of scripture (not to even speak of translations), we also have the issue of what to do with all of what I call the "fan fiction." Stuff that is not in the canon of scripture, but was clearly written by God's people over the years, with the intent of strengthening our faith. Stories and traditions about Jesus and the saints, writings both by and attributed to saints, and the ever-popular "non-canonical gospels." A lot of this stuff goes way back. And to further complicate things, from a literary and historic perspective, some of it seems to have a more solid claim on "canonicity" than some other New Testament writings that "got in." 

The Gospel of Thomas is one example. Not only does this thing include sayings that share a common source with the canonical Gospels (not to mention probably pre-dating John's Gospel), but also there's a certain--I don't know--"Jesus-ness" to it that feels very authentic to our faith. It's worth a read.  

With other "fan fiction", you can tell why it didn't make the cut. A favorite of mine in that department is the Infancy Gospel of Thomas, which includes a lot of interesting stories about Jesus as a kid that seem just a little out of character. (Note especially chapter IV, in which a kid bumps into Jesus and he essentially force-chokes him to death. Harsh stuff.) This doesn't make the cut on a historical basis (second or third century at the earliest), and it doesn't really help us better understand, believe in or follow the Jesus we know from the other Gospels. Might make a cool spin-off series, though... :-)

As defensive as Protestants can get about the "canon" (especially those who have marked out the literalist territory that the stuff that's "in" it is utterly inerrant and contains zero factual errors, and the stuff that's "out" is basically of the Devil), I have to admit...I dig a lot of the "fan fiction." The saints have some great stories. The Philokalia and other works of the Desert Fathers/Mothers seem to ring with the same simple wisdom as Jesus' sayings. Saint Augustine has quite the tale to tell, and also many great theological works (all of which Luther read and cherished, by the way). It's all worth a read, if it strengthens your faith and helps you fall in love with Jesus even more.

With anything that people love, there will always be the fights about what's "real," what's "authentic" and what's part of the "canon." Whether it's Star Wars, Star Trek, or anything else, it's a collaborative enterprise, and the true test of a "canon" is not what somebody in authority (even the creator of said franchise) says, but what sparks people's imaginations and stands the test of time. So props to you, my friend and almost-namesake, Timothy Zahn. I think for the fans, you'll always have a special place in the "canon."

And if  this is true for novels and films, much more so for the Word by which we live. In the end, whether or not you call any of the Bible "fiction" (I think there's a lot more "fact" in there than we give it credit for!) we have to remember that the "canon" of scriptures was not compiled by the writers themselves. they had been long dead, every one of them. It was the fans. The devotees. The ones who had read this stuff, lived their lives trusting in it, and fallen in love with the One who inspired it all. As I told a friend of mine recently, we don't worship Jesus because he's the star of "the Bible." We read the Bible--and the "fan fiction"--because we're already in love with Jesus.   

"Guardians of the Galaxy" and Discipleship ( Contains Spoilers, of Course!)

"You did not choose me, but I chose you." 

John 15:16a  

Well, here goes...the inaugural post for the blog to go with our discussion group, "Geeky Gospel," where Faith and Fandoms are constantly in conversation. Please, let me know if you ever want to "guest-blog" here, because it's unlikely I'll be able to keep this thing active on my own. Email or message me on facebook with ideas or articles.

So...Guardians of the Galaxy. Talk about a "dark horse" (Sorry Marvel, just had to go for it!) blockbuster out of nowhere. Marvel has taken some pretty obscure characters and turned them into the action heroes of the summer. I honestly loved the movie: the characters were pretty sympathetic and kept my attention, the action sequences and effects were original, and on top of all that, it was hilarious! Definitely fun. But my friend Nate Schleicher prompted this post by basically asking, "what are the faith connections?"

Good question.

To be honest, I think the basic skeleton of the story--"A bunch of losers band together for the common good and become unlikely heroes"--has been done numerous times, although it's done very well here. But we often forget that one of the first times it was done was in the Gospels. 

From the very start, we have Jesus (whose father, Like Peter Quill's, is also "not of this earth"), who was certainly not part of elite society, but literally born in a barn, wandering the countryside and teaching about God's kingdom. And in his quest to gather disciples, he seems to intentionally steer clear of the gifted, the well-connected, the qualified, and the trustworthy. Who does he call to follow him? Yep. The losers.

In fact, it strikes me that some of these "losers" whom Jesus calls, bear a more than passing resemblance to some of our favorite "Guardians." When Jesus calls Matthew the tax collector, he's calling just about the least trustworthy guy you could imagine. This was somebody willing to sell out his own people to the Romans to make a buck. But when he's called to something worthwhile that can give him a chance to hold his head high again, he jumps at it. Not unlike our bounty-hunter friend Rocket, perhaps?

Also, there's this obscure disciple we hear almost nothing about, called "Simon the Cananaean," or "Simon the Zealot." To give you some background, Zealots were a form of radical Jewish nationalists, intent on removing the Romans from Judea, by military means if necessary. They were known as the "carriers of the long knives," and were regarded by Pilate and the Romans as terrorists. But this guy intentionally leaves that fanatical movement behind, in search of a different way...remind you of anybody?

 

 

 Now several of Jesus' disciples were fishermen, which means they had gone through the religious education all young boys went through, but had decided (or rather, had likely been told) that they did not have the gifts to take their education further by studying under a rabbi. Instead, they had learned a trade. There was no shame in this: it was just their culture's equivalent of not being "college material." Few men were. But because they did not have access to much formal training, they sometimes had misunderstandings like, um, this one, not because they were stupid, mind you, but because they were kind of new to this "metaphor" thing. Ok, you know where I'm going with this...

But featured more prominently than any other disciple, you have Simon Peter, the impulsive one, the passionate one, the one who wants so badly to reach the higher level of understanding that Jesus is laying out there, but who, in a pinch, was perfectly willing to plunge in with just...maybe 12% of a plan. Of all the disciples, Peter's character has the most dimension. He's the only one to step out of the boat to walk on water with Jesus, and therefore he's the only one to publicly stumble. He's the first to confess that Jesus is God's Son, but also the first to get scolded for misunderstanding what that means. He's the first to offer to die by Jesus' side, and the first to deny him when things heat up. He's so far from perfect, yet the one in whom we often see ourselves. And Marvel didn't even have to change the first name.

  

Now, if you're keeping count, you'll notice I left out one of the "Guardians." And the reason is because I think this one can stand in for the church itself (or at least the church at its best, the way Jesus envisioned). He's got a simple creed by which he lives his life. He's the one who is consistently thinking of others, and the whole group, before himself. In fact, toward the end, we realize that he views his own identity as permanently linked with that of his friends, quite literally becoming "one body" with them, and thereby dying for them. This self-sacrifice motif has almost become an action movie cliche. Somebody's got to take one for the team, right? But interestingly, in "Guardians", in losing his life--in putting it all out there in love, for the sake of his friends--this character gains new life. You know him...you love him...he...is...

In calling "the losers" as disciples, Jesus makes it clear: whatever we do together is not from our skill or faith or strength, but from God. This, too, underlines his basic message from the Beatitudes: 

"Blessed are those who have nothing to lose. They know how to take risks. They know how to lay it all out there. They know what grace really feels like. Blessed are the 'losers:' They know how to lean on God." (my paraphrase, of course.) 

 So, some "Geeky Gospel" reflections for the latest Marvel hit. Might make for some interesting discussion at church, at home, or at the comic book store. What are some other faith connections you see?