State of the Blog

As I mentioned recently, I’ve been doing an overhaul of my blog. There are still improvements to be made, I’m sure, but at least I’ve gone through and repaired or updated several links that weren’t working in the sidebar and in some of my more popular articles over the past few years.

Speaking of popular articles, I came across some stats that WordPress keeps (but which I’ve never actually looked at before). There’s some interesting stuff there! For instance, in the past 90 days, I’ve had visitors to the blog from 105 different countries, but not a single viewer from the world’s most populous country (I suppose the Chinese can’t find the page on Google).

I’ve also seen a dramatic surge in website traffic recently. Granted, I’m still a small fish in a big blogosphere sea, but almost a quarter of my total page views (since I began this blog in 2008) have come in the last four months. Each of those months has been the busiest month ever, which is a trend I hope to continue in June! It’s for that reason I’ve been working on refining some of the spit & polish stuff around here.

Okay, I realize no one else cares about this stuff, so I’ll close this post with something which may interest you. Here are the top 10 most visited posts in this blog’s history, along with the reasons I think they were so popular. See what you’ve missed!

1. Book Review: The Hunger Games Trilogy — Book reviews already account for the bulk of my page views (they are one of the main reasons I started the blog in the first place), but this one more than doubled the next highest book review! Partially this was because this has been a “hot” series lately, but also this post was shared and re-posted by a lot of people. (By the way: I always appreciate others posting links to my blog! If you see something you like, pass it on!)
2. Answering Criticisms of My Review of the Hunger Games — That’s right. Suzanne Collins’ books accounted for both of the top spots! My third post about The Hunger Games just missed out on the top 10.
3. Sample Lesson Plan: Doxology — This is a lesson plan I wrote for the “Systematic Hymnology” curriculum I’ve been developing for use in our church’s children’s choirs. I’ve refined my methods quite a bit since this early post, and these lesson plan posts are quite popular! Many others are posted on the Worship Ministry Blog. In fact, six of the hymnology posts on the other blog have hit totals that dwarf anything I’ve posted here on Honey & Locusts (including the HG review). I’ve stopped posting them, but haven’t stopped writing them. Someday (hopefully soon) I anticipate launching a new blog dedicated solely to hymnology. It’s probably my favorite topic to write on! Stay tuned for that…
4. Book Review: Radical — David Platt’s a popular guy, so when I had the opportunity to review his first book before it was published, it caught the attention of lots of people! For whatever reason, my review of his second book generated very little traffic on the blog, but has been voted the “Most Helpful” review (out of more than 200!) for the book on Amazon. Go figure.
5. Was Jesus a Liberal Democrat? — Ah, the power of a catchy/controversial title! This post refers to a segment on The Colbert Report over the use of the term “X-Mas”, which led me to write this post about the co-opting and mischaracterizing of Jesus for political reasons by those on both sides of the aisle. And, for the record, the answer is “no”.
6. Joel Osteen, Rob Bell, and the Theologica Crucis — The hits on this one are probably misleading, as I suspect most people stumbled on it through Google searches of two of the most famous “pastors” in America, and probably didn’t actually read the whole article. Still, I thought it was a good one, in which I wrote about how the teachings of both men are different takes on the same heresy, which Martin Luther called the “theology of glory”.
7. Does the Bible Obligate Christians to Support Israel? — This one is sort of cheating, as the bulk of this post is simply material written by others. But, as it’s a question on the minds of many, I’m happy to continue to direct readers to those who write better than I do.
8. Pro-Life vs. Pro-Choice — I’ve written several times about abortion, but this one (in which I take a close look at the terms “pro-life” and “pro-choice”) has gotten the most interest… for now, at least. At the rate this recent post has been picking up views, I expect it will eventually become my most “popular” abortion post.
9. God Is In the Details — This one was all Facebook traffic. When our family was involved in a wreck that totaled our car on the Interstate, Laurie and I posted this to update friends and family. Plus, it was a pretty cool story!
10. To Thee All the Follies of Sin I Resign — This was a post I wrote the week our former pastor, Jimmy Arms, resigned from Stevens Street. I got a lot of traffic when I first posted it, as many SSBC members were interested. Since then, it has consistently picked up views as the result of search engine requests for “Stevens Street Baptist Church”, “pastor search”, and “Jimmy Arms”. I suppose many of those are people who were researching Bro. Jimmy as a guest speaker, or checking out our church before submitting a resume. It was good to go back and read this one last night as well, just after our church officially called our new pastor!

My thanks, as always, to those of you who visit the blog regularly. I haven’t made any effort to “monetize” the blog, and don’t really pay that much attention to the statistics most of the time. I don’t do this for money or fame, but I do appreciate the interaction with readers. I hope to continue to provide content that will keep you coming back!

Comedy and Tragedy in The Hunger Games

Building on what I wrote Sunday, I want to take a closer look at “endings” in general, and the ending of The Hunger Games specifically. I want to qualify my statement that “The Hunger Games is a tragedy disguised as a comedy“, and will then compare the endings of Suzanne Collins’ trilogy to the ending of another trilogy: J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings.

Some Historical Background

“Poets not only lie, but lie in an ugly fashion.” ~ Plato

One of the most valuable parts of the heritage of Western Civilization is “The Great Conversation”; the dialogue from generation to generation about the greatest ideas that have influenced the culture and narrative of the Western world for thousands of years. When we debate the value of cultural artifacts today, we benefit from the fact that these discussions have been going on for a long time. There really is nothing new under the sun (Ecclesiastes 1:9).

So when we talk about the “worth” of a fictional story, we are engaging in a conversation held among such great philosophers as Plato and Aristotle. Plato, for instance, in his Republic, contends that poetry is incapable of conveying truth, because it relies on imitation (mimesis) of reality rather than something tangible. He thought that poets, artists, and actors were dangerous (and thus banned from his ideal Republic), because they were able to persuade audiences through rhetoric and appeals to emotion rather than by presenting something “real”. We can assume he’d think the same about novels, though that particular form of artistic expression originated a thousand years after Plato died.

Plato’s most famous student, however, could hardly disagree more strongly! In Poetics, Aristotle agrees that art is imitation, but argues that this is a benefit, rather than a danger, to society. And whereas Plato thought that tragedies were especially bad — because audiences become empathetic toward characters and thus might want to imitate the poor decisions made by the tragic hero — Aristotle argued that good tragedies were among the best ways to instruct an audience and provide moral insight. In order for a tragedy to be “good”, though, it had to meet certain criteria.

In a “good” tragedy, we are supposed to empathize with the hero. The protagonist should be a likable character who is basically good. That way, when he/she falls, it produces a sense of pity and fear that helps to purify the audience (catharsis). We see the consequences of the hero’s flaw or poor decision (hamartia, which is also the word for “sin” in Biblical Greek) and learn to avoid it.

In case you hadn’t figured it out yet, I side with Aristotle in this particular debate!

Comedy & Tragedy: The Basics

“For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo.” ~ Escalus, Prince of Verona

Today, the word “comedy” has come to be associated with things that are funny, but that wasn’t the original meaning. At its most basic, a comedy is a story where a likable character ends up better than he started. It has a predictable set of plot conventions and expectations, including, of course, a happy ending. A tragedy is the opposite: the central character (who we also like and empathize with) has a fall from grace due to a character flaw or a poor decision.

Typically, a comedy involves a common, ordinary central character with whom we can relate, who faces and overcomes a set of challenges and winds up improved in some way. Take, for instance, the Pevensie children from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. They are ordinary kids, who are bored after being displaced from the city to the country during WWII. (Who can’t relate to being bored at the home of a distant relative?) After exploring the house, they find the wardrobe portal to another world, become Kings & Queens, and defeat the White Queen, restoring peace to Narnia. Upon their return to the “real” world, they are once again “ordinary”, but they have been changed for the better by their experiences in Narnia. It’s a great example of comedy.

A tragedy, on the other hand, typically involves a central character occupying a lofty position – the better from which to fall! See some of Shakespeare’s great tragic heroes: Hamlet (Prince of Denmark), MacBeth (King of Scotland), and Romeo & Juliet (children of prominent upper class families). Audiences quickly and easily empathize with these characters, so we feel their demise more acutely. The closing lines of each of those plays reminds audiences of the circumstances that led to the fall, thus satisfying Aristotle’s criteria for a “good” tragedy.

Is Hunger Games Comedy or Tragedy?

“It is better to suffer wrong than to do it, and happier to be sometimes cheated than not to trust.” ~ Samuel Johnson

So is The Hunger Games a comedy or a tragedy… or something else? Let’s take a look.

In the beginning, the story is certainly set up like a comedy. Katniss is an ordinary girl from the backward coal mining district. Readers begin to empathize with her and identify with her struggles from the very first pages. When her little sister is selected to participate in the games and Katniss volunteers to serve as tribute in her place, all the pieces are in place for a comic story.

As the trilogy progresses, Collins makes use of the same type of plot conventions and expectations that we are used to encountering in comedies. We are privy to Katniss’ inner struggle and ethical dilemmas, and find ourselves hoping for – and emotionally invested in – her success. By the end of the series, Katniss has overcome the odds, risen to a position of influence, and helped to overthrow a corrupt government. Again, in many ways, this feels like a comedy.

But on closer inspection, has Katniss really risen above the hopelessness of the world in which she grew up?

As I read the books, I was struck almost from the outset by Katniss’ inability to trust or love others (with the exception of her sister). For the sake of argument, let’s call this her hamartia; her tragic flaw. We see this in the forest outside District 12 in the opening of the first book as she considers her relationship with Gale (one primarily of pragmatic convenience, though she does consider him a friend), and refers to Prim as “the only person I’m certain I love” (Hunger Games, p. 10). This inability to trust becomes the driving plot element throughout the entire trilogy.

When she first enters the Game, we see that this flaw leads her to trust no one, and to be willing to kill anyone. Despite her “conflicting emotions” (HG, p. 157) about Peeta — which are still primarily about what is best for her — her defense mechanism of distrust quickly appears as we read her thoughts toward her would-be ally: “I will eagerly watch the night skies for signs of his death, if I don’t kill him first myself” (HG, p. 162). While it could be argued that to some level she does overcome this and trust (and even love) Peeta, I think the end of the trilogy leaves questions about whether she is ever able to love and trust him fully. Meanwhile, she’s also lost trust in her best friend Gale.

We see the manifestation of this tragic flaw most acutely in two instances near the climax of the third book. In the first, Katniss breaks into the home of a civilian in the Capitol, and encounters its unarmed resident. “Without hesitation, I shoot her through the heart,” our heroin says (Mockingjay, p. 314). Later, after the Capitol is successfully overthrown, Katniss casts the deciding vote that will subject the children of the former oppressors to compete in their own Hunger Games (MJ, p. 370); the districts get their revenge. Katniss, despite her many real virtues, has been turned into a ruthless and effective killing machine by her tragic flaw.

She’s a survivor: no doubt about that. In a world totally devoid of religion (such as Panem), survival is the only thing that really matters. That’s naturalism in a nutshell. But when we impose the ethical standards of the Author of Creation, we see that Katniss has failed morally. Despite this, her survival is trumpeted as a virtue in itself, which was the point I was trying to get at in my original review.

A Lesson in Contrast

“Evil labours with vast power and perpetual success — in vain: preparing always only the soil for unexpected good to sprout in.” ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

Let’s end by comparing the ending of The Hunger Games with the ending of a truly great comedic trilogy: The Lord of the Rings.

Frodo, like Katniss, rises from a humble beginning to become the figurehead of a war against an evil oppressor. He also has many moral failings along his journey, and nearly succumbs to the power of the Ring in the heart of Mount Doom. In fact, were it not for Gollum (alive only because earlier in his journey Frodo had shown mercy), Frodo may well have fallen just as Isildur fell.

As a few readers have pointed out in comments on my earlier posts, there are many similarities in the endings. Frodo, like Katniss, returns to his home after completing his mission, only to find it ravaged by evil despite his efforts. His journey has left him damaged, and he is unable to truly enjoy life in the Shire anymore.

So what makes one story a comedy while the other is a tragedy? The answer lies in the sense of hope (or lack thereof) found in the final pages.

The root of Frodo’s discontent is the realization that the Shire is not his real home. Though he is able to rejoice with his friends and neighbors in their happiness, he can no longer be at peace in what C.S. Lewis might have called the “Shadowlands” of Middle Earth. In the end, he is able to set sail from the Grey Havens to enter the eternal rest of Valinor; a picture of the eternal rest that awaits faithful Christians at the end of a life marred by sin in a world that is not our true home.

Katniss, on the other hand, is eventually able to get on with life, and return to a sense of normalcy. In fact, she even seems to be able to love at last. But the fact that “the promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses; that it can be good again” (MJ, p. 388) is symbolized by a dandelion does not leave one with the sense that this is a hope that springs eternal.

We also see a marked difference in the way the future is portrayed by other characters. When Sam sees Gandalf for the first time after he and Frodo have destroyed the ring, watch his reaction:

At last he gasped: “Gandalf! I thought you were dead! But then I thought I was dead myself. Is everything sad going to come untrue? What’s happened to the world?”

“A great Shadow has departed,” said Gandalf, and then he laughed, and the sound was like music, or like water in a parched land…

[And Sam] laughed aloud with sheer delight, and he stood up and cried, “O great glory and splendor! And all my wishes have come true!”

Contrast this vision of joy (in the midst of hardship) and hope for the future with the words of Plutarch, the former Gamemaster now promoted to Secretary of Communitations, as he looks to the future of Panem under the new regime (MJ, p. 379):

“Now we’re in that sweet period where everyone agrees that our recent horrors should never be repeated,” he says. “But collective thinking is usually short-lived. We’re fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction. Although who knows? Maybe this will be it, Katniss.”

“What?” I ask.

“The time it sticks. Maybe we are witnessing the evolution of the human race. Think about that.” And then he asks me if I’d like to perform on a new singing program he’s launching in a few weeks.

Whereas Tolkien gives us a picture of a world still suffering the effects of sin, but with the promise of restoration, Collins shows us a world in which sin continues unchecked. The free peoples of Middle Earth continue in their fight against evil with the possibility of real victory and a foretaste of the ultimate triumph of good. The only hope for humanity in Panem is that perhaps it will evolve into something different and better.

Closing Remarks

To come back to where we started today, let us consider one more reason why Aristotle was right to teach that we can learn much from both comedy and tragedy. The standard by which we “discern… what is good, acceptable, and perfect” (Romans 12:2) is the glory of God. Only that which glorifies God is truly good.

In the real world, God always gets his glory. It is manifested in the lives of all who are created in his image, though in different ways. In the case of redeemed sinners, God gets glory in the mercy and grace of salvation. In the case of those who reject the Gospel, God gets glory in the righteous judgment of sin.

In a good story, there is always a clear contrast between good and evil. In a comedy, good triumphs. In a tragedy, sin has consequences. Both are pictures of ways that God is glorified.

Any time evil wins, it’s a bad story. And while other readers of The Hunger Games may walk away with more optimism than I have about the love and hope at the end of the story (the necessary final ingredients of a comedy), the fact remains that many of the “virtues” lauded throughout the book are not really virtues at all. Sin is not dealt with, and the lesson is not learned.

And that is tragic.

Answering Criticisms of My Review of The Hunger Games

After yesterday’s posting of my review of The Hunger Games, I’ve gotten a lot of thoughtful responses from readers. Because these responses are similar, but scattered around the Internet on Twitter, Facebook, WordPress, and my e-mail, I thought I’d try to respond to many of them here.

First of all, a great many people have expressed gratitude for the reviews. I hope that it was helpful, which is the intent behind everything I write here! I’m thankful for positive feedback.

I also greatly appreciate pushback from those who disagree with what I’ve said here. I’m certainly not here to force my own views on anyone else. I believe the conversation is worth having, and will make us all better people. With that in mind, here are a couple broad categories of disagreement that I’ve seen, and my responses to that criticism:

Katniss Was Forced to Kill

Another way of wording this sentiment would be to say that she killed only in self-defense, or to protect the lives of others. It’s a powerful argument, to be sure, and seems plausible. But is it true?

Let me start out by saying that I am in no way opposed to true self-defense. If someone attacked me or my family, I would do everything in my power — including using lethal force, if necessary — to stop them. Of course, it would be different if I were being attacked for my faith. If it’s a recant-or-die scenario, then I pray for the courage to join the great cloud of witnesses who have endured terrible suffering “so that they might rise again to a better life” (Hebrews 11:35). But protecting ourselves and our families from criminals certainly does not conflict with Christian morality.

However, in a scenario such as we see in The Hunger Games, the ethical lines can get blurred. Douglas Wilson (whose review focuses largely on this issue) explains how this happens:

“When you have the privilege of setting up all the circumstances artificially, in order to give your protagonist no real choice about whether to sin or not, it is a pretty safe bet that a whole lot of people in a relativistic country, including the Christians in it unfortunately, won’t notice.”

Relativism is so subtle! But are ethics conditional on our situation? The philosophies of the world say so, but what about the Bible? Are we given the freedom to sin if it will save our lives? Hypothetically, if you were put in a room with another person who has no quarrel or ill-will toward you, and told you must kill that person or die, would you do it? If you did, would you call it “self-defense”?

Sure, Collins has set up a scenario where kids are told they must kill one another (for no reason other than the entertainment of others), and so it appears that they must kill in self-defense, but it’s no different ethically from the scenario I just mentioned. Did Katniss make the choice that most people would make in the unlikely event they find themselves forced with the decisions she faced? Yes. Does that make it right? No. She could have refused to murder (and yes, that’s what this was — killing without cause), even at the cost of her own life.

Consider for a moment an argument common today that makes use of similar reasoning: Should abortion be allowed in the case of a rape?

This question is posed to pro-life politicians so often it’s almost cliché. It’s a classic “gotcha” question, because it plays on the sensitivities of a relativistic culture. It is usually asked in such a way that makes it seem like it would be horrible to force someone who is already the victim of a horrible crime to carry an unwanted baby that was forced upon her against her will. It’s an effective trap, because even though abortions by rape victims account for only about 1% of all abortions, those who frame the question know that once someone admits any situation in which abortion is “ethical”, there is no morally consistent way to oppose abortion at all.

In the case of a pregnancy caused by rape, there are really two victims. Killing one of them does not undo the first crime; it just adds another. Most conservative Christians agree with this position… so what changes when there are 24 victims in an Arena?

This Was No Different Than Killing In War

Several people have asked, based on what I said in my review, whether I feel that our soldiers are in conflict with Christian morality if their service requires them to kill in the line of duty. The same could probably be asked about law enforcement officers.

The answer is no. But these situations are totally unrelated.

Soldiers serving in the armed forces have properly delegated authority to “bear the sword” (Romans 13:4). I am a proponent (with some reservations) of “Just War Theory”, and believe that military service is an acceptable and honorable vocation for a Christian. I have some personal qualms with the way our military is used, but won’t get into that here. For now it should be enough to say that what the tributes were asked to do in The Hunger Games has even less to do with soldiers facing enemy combatants than it does with self-defense.

The Ending Was Just Right

Of all the objections raised, the one that had the most merit (and many very thoughtful responses) had to do with my contention that the ending was bad because it lacked any sort of redemptive theme. While I hold to that conviction, I think I might be able to do a better job of explaining what I meant… in fact, I have started outlining an additional post just to talk in more detail about endings in general. I’ll try to give you the Cliff’s Notes version here, and hopefully flesh this out better soon.

In the broadest sense of speaking, there are two types of stories: Comedy and Tragedy. Basically, a comedy depicts the rise in fortune of a sympathetic central character; a tragedy depicts the downfall of a basically good character through a tragic flaw or decision, told in a way that is meant to arouse pity and fear among the audience. Both are capable of being “good” stories, because either can be used to convey truth (“the moral of the story”).

In a comedy (i.e. – Lord of the Rings, or the Bible), we learn by identifying traits worthy of emulation in the protagonists. In a tragedy (i.e. – Hamlet, or La Boheme), we learn by observing the consequences of the protagonist’s error or tragic flaw. If there is an objective standard for morality (and I contend that there is), then it can be presented in dramatic form either positively (comedy) or negatively (tragedy). It’s sort of like seeing it as a thesis-antithesis.

Obviously, this is all (very) over-simplified, but where I see the problem is that The Hunger Games is a tragedy disguised as a comedy. Katniss is a great tragic hero, because she does want to sacrifice herself for others at first, but ultimately she ends up no better than the villains. Unfortunately, readers tend to come away from the books viewing her as a comic hero: someone who improves herself through virtuous actions. So we are left without a “moral of the story”… or worse, a wrong one.

Several people have left comments to the effect (though maybe not in so many words) that this really was a comedy, and that Katniss and Panem are better off at the end than they were in the beginning. It’s a fair argument. Like I said, I’ll try to flesh this out later, because it’s really fascinating to me! *UPDATE* Done

Better For Kids to Read This Than Nothing

I’ve also seen several people saying they are glad their kids are reading this, because they usually don’t want to read anything at all. Surely we can see the problem with this criteria? It assumes that reading anything is better than reading nothing, which I suppose is based on the idea that the act of reading itself is good, regardless of content. But nobody really believes this!

Teachers often complain that boys don’t want to read. If the above premise were true, we could just hand out copies of Penthouse magazine and we’d be doing them a favor. Obviously, this is an extreme example, but it proves that, at some level, there is content most of us deem “bad”. So the question then becomes: where do we draw the line? If some reading is “bad”, what reading is “good”? All literature is not created equal.

Note that I’m not saying that The Hunger Games is necessarily “bad” literature. But I do think it is extremely important that we as parents and teachers are at minimum aware of what our kids are reading, and able to discern the quality of its content. Also, I am not willing to concede that kids won’t read “great” literature… and I certainly wouldn’t place Collins’ books in that category.

Fiction Is Just Meant to Be Enjoyed

Why bother taking this much time to analyze fiction? Isn’t it just meant to be enjoyed?

I thought this way once, but Nancy Pearcey made a great point in Saving Leonardo when she wrote that conservatives lost the culture war by focusing on politics while liberals were focusing on teaching literature in the Universities. Lewis, Tolkien, Chesterton, and many others all believed that their fiction writing had WAY more influence on their readers than their nonfiction. Judging by the fact that I’ve never sparked this much debate in my reviews of nonfiction, I think they’re on to something.

There’s nothing I love more than being able to sit and read a good book for the sheer enjoyment of it. But that begs the question: How do we discern what is a “good” book? I can’t do that without either reading it critically, or reading the critique of others whose discernment I trust.

I don’t sit down and read a book with the sole purpose of picking it apart. Critical thinking, critical reading, and book reviewing are skills that must be learned and developed like any other. With time and practice, this type of reading is now my default setting. It doesn’t lessen my enjoyment; it enhances it!

By the way, a great resource that has been helpful in this regard is The Discipline of Spiritual Discernment by Tim Challies (along with books by Nancy Pearcey, Francis Schaeffer, and others). Culture Making by Andy Crouch is particularly useful for refining one’s approach to popular culture.

Now: If you don’t trust my discernment, I’m really okay with that. And feel free to send whatever criticism you may have my way. I can take it, I promise! My goal with these reviews (and my blog in general) is to help others think. So far, I think I’ve accomplished at least that much.

Thanks for reading! I welcome your comments.

Book Review: The Hunger Games Trilogy

Last week I finally got around to reading The Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I am by nature skeptical of much new popular fiction, but had heard lots of mixed reviews and wanted to check them out for myself.

This series had a strange effect on me; while the books were definite page-turners (I read all three in a weekend), I read them with a nearly constant sense of agitation. In the end, I was sorely disappointed in them, and perhaps even a little angry. Let me try to explain…

The Good

Suzanne Collins is a gifted writer. It’s terribly difficult to write a story in first person perspective. To be successful (as Collins most assuredly is here), an author must convince readers that we are inside a character’s head. In The Hunger Games, readers know Katniss Everdeen’s every thought. She’s believable. We can identify with her struggles. And the way she is presented by the author, we really want to sympathize with her (which is part of the problem, but we’ll get to that later).

The story is pretty unique, which is quite an accomplishment in itself. Sure, there’s nothing original about a dystopian, post-apocalyptic future, but the children of failed rebels forced to fight in Roman gladiatorial-style “games” (anybody else notice that all the citizens of the Capitol have Latin names?) with all the glitz and drama of Reality Television? Definitely haven’t heard that one before!

From the first page, the action and suspense are gripping, which accounts for much of the books’ popular appeal. Collins writes with enough detail to make the fictional world come to life, but not enough to slow the story down. If you have the luxury of allotting more than a few minutes at a time to read, the pacing can easily get your adrenaline pumping, which provides the same sort of addictive carnal pleasure you might get from jogging or mountain climbing or playing Russian roulette.

The Bad

The danger in such pacing is that we can be tempted to uncritically accept false premises in a world created by an all-knowing, all-powerful author. To borrow liberally from Socrates, however: “The unexamined book is not worth reading.” So let’s examine a few things that are assumed to be true in Suzanne Collins’ Panem (be warned, there will be spoilers).

Survival is the Virtue That Trumps All Others

In The Hunger Games, readers are meant to empathize with Katniss. She is presented to us sympathetically, so that we have a vested interest in her survival. As a result, many readers – including a great many Christians – find themselves justifying acts that in any other circumstance (say, in the real world, where God’s Law is revealed in nature and written on human hearts) would be unconscionable.

Think about it: In what real-world scenario would we ever condone the cold-blooded murder of a child (or an adult for that matter)? Yet this is exactly what the protagonists of this tale do on multiple occasions. Does it really matter if Katniss, Peeta, and others were “forced” to murder, whether for their own survival or the survival of others?

Am I off the hook for my own sin if the government or anyone else tells me that I must either sin or die… or watch my family die? No, “we must obey God rather than men” (Acts 5:29). God forbid I’m ever faced with that choice, but if I am, I must follow my Savior in his suffering and death, knowing that I will also follow him in his resurrection. Christians have been martyred in exactly this way for 2000 years, and in many parts of the world, these kinds of choices are a daily reality for followers of Christ right now. That is what true virtue looks like.

In the beginning of the trilogy, Katniss essentially sacrifices herself to save her little sister from certain death. This is noble, and provides the setup for the classic theme of sacrifice and redemption that is an element in every great story. In the end, though, Katniss is driven not by true, sacrificial love, but merely by her own instincts to survive and protect her family.  She is no better than an animal, which fits in fine with a naturalistic worldview, but should give Christians pause. And it leads us to the next point…

There Is No Such Thing As Redemption

Almost all the way through the trilogy, I held out hope that Collins was going to finally get around to the redemption that seemed always to be just out of reach, but it never got there. It was sort of like ending a piece of music with an unresolved Dominant chord. I was left hanging.

One thing Collins does get right is that there is no one righteous. With the possible exception of Primrose, everyone is wicked. The protagonists (whom we are led to like) lie, cheat, and kill just as much as those we are led to hate. That’s pretty much how real life works, too, only in God’s world we have a Redeemer. We don’t have to stay wicked. In Collins’ world, evil is a universal, unavoidable, and unchangeable fact of life. How depressing.

There is no redemption for Katniss. She ends up as bitter, heartless, and incapable of love as any of her rivals. She even fails to protect the person she set out to save from the beginning.

There is no redemption for Panem. Though there is a regime change, there is no policy change. Though there is excitement among much of the populace accompanying the change in leadership, there is little promise of reversing the nation’s self-destruction and moral decay (sound familiar?).

The Source of My Frustration

My real problem with The Hunger Games is not the lack of Christian morality or a redemption narrative. I’m certainly not going to tell you that you shouldn’t read them. In fact, I would argue that these are books that should be read – by those who have the ability to read them with discernment.

No, the problem is how many teens and pre-teens I see reading these books in the halls of our church, and how few parents are reading with them. Friends, this is a dangerous and irresponsible dereliction of duty. If your kids have read or are reading them, grab a copy now and don’t stop reading until you’ve caught up… and talk to them about what they’ve read.

Many parents seem lulled into a false sense of security because there is “no bad language or sex” in them. That’s true, but ignores the fact that what it does include is vastly more important and potentially destructive. Ideas have consequences; even more so when those ideas are accepted uncritically through the use of assumptive language. Most kids aren’t equipped to pick up on those things.

That said, the series is not without some merit as a teaching tool (though with so many GREAT books in the literary canon, it’s a real shame to read something like this to the exclusion of books with much greater merit). If you do read these books with your kids, here are some themes you might use to broach a meaningful conversation with them:

• What would a world without a Redeemer look like? “If… we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied.” (1 Corinthians 15:19)
• Situational ethics: Is morality relative? What would you do in a situation like this? (for a great review of The Hunger Games from this perspective, see Douglas Wilson)
• Dystopia can be very effective when read as such, but Katniss and the rest of the protagonists must be seen as tragically flawed characters, not virtuous heroes. Kids don’t pick up on that difference without guidance. Unfortunately, neither do many adults…

I hope you’ve found this review fair and instructive. I’d love to hear from others who have read the books, particularly from parents and teachers who are reading them with your children and/or students. What thoughts did you have? What have you heard from younger readers in your conversations about the books?

*EDIT* — I’ve written a followup post to address several criticisms people have had of this review. I hope you’ll check it out and add to the discussion!