Robin Hardy Online
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In Defense of Authors Who Go Too Far
Regarding my book Nicole of Prie Mer, a reader who objected to the marital sex scenes said, "This book is 'soft porn.' You have gone too far." I reply: "That was not my intention, but, you might be right." I'm not changing it. And this is why:
Almost twenty-five years ago, when I was in my early twenties, I worked in the editorial department of a Christian publishing house. We published some excellent books, which I was proud and pleased to have made a small contribution to. Even now I am grateful for what I learned there, not only about book-making, but what makes a book good.
One day our publication committee decided to publish the company's first-ever work of fiction. This thrilled me until I read the proposed manuscript, in which the Christian protagonist decides the only way out of the problem at hand is murder-suicide: he kills himself and his young grandson.
I was appalled. Horrified. I went to the executive vice-president to protest the publication of this manuscript. It was depressing, unbiblical, unhelpful. The vice-president listened to my objections, then said, "Robin, what is not helpful to you may be helpful to someone else." And he declined to pull the manuscript. So I returned to my office to discuss the matter with a coworker, then led her in a prayer that God would prevent this novel's publication.
Nonetheless, it was published. And God began to teach me something: He's just not into censorship. The Almighty allows all kinds of commentary about Himself, from the sublime to the blasphemous. It appears that He doesn't censor much of anything. What He does is: rebut. A few years later my first novel (Chataine's Guardian) was published, in which the heroine is strongly tempted by a lie to give in to despair and take her own life—but is divinely prevented. And when this novel came out, I recognized it as the answer to the prayer I had prayed in the editorial office of that publishing house.
But there's more. A few years ago, out of curiosity, I ran a search on Amazon on that offensive novel that my employer had published. To my astonishment, I discovered that it had not only been reprinted, but had several high ratings from reader/reviewers. The gist of their positive comments was that the book had made them think about life and what was important. Hard as it was to believe, there was apparently something in this "unhelpful" book that God had used to speak to someone.
The more books I read, the more I began to see that if God can correct the prophet by means of an ass (Num. 22:21-35), then He can smuggle little pieces of truth into all kinds of material. I read the biography of a New Ager (can't remember the title!) in which he traces how God led him from one random book to another, showing him one eternal principle here, another fact about Himself there, until at the end of a string of secular, philosophical, and historical readings, the man had come to the conclusion that Jesus was the Son of God. The impetus for this divine leading seemed to be the fact that the man was honestly, sincerely seeking truth with an open mind.
Here's another example: Several years ago I got hold of a copy of Samuel Rutherford's Letters, originally written in the 17th century. (See more about him here and here--he's all through Great Quotations.) I cannot express to you how God used these letters to supernaturally strengthen and encourage me at a very low time in my life. Letter after letter seemed to be speaking directly to me, and addressed burdens that I had shared with no one but God. Sammy Rutherford is one of those people I am most anxious to meet in heaven some day.
Maybe you can imagine my astonishment at reading this critique of my beloved Letters:
"The clever, but supercilious, author of A Literary History of Scotland is only amused by the faults of taste and tact and discretion which the Letters reveal. Rutherford, we are assured, 'must needs ride every metaphor, vinous or otherwise, to death.' . . . 'It would be difficult,' the censor declares, 'to extract a passage of any length which is not disfigured by something ludicrous or vulgar, to the point of gross irreverence.' 'The odd thing is,' he adds, 'that this jargon is sprinkled every now and then with the technical phrases of the Law of Scotland, and the effect of the mixture is indescribable.'"*
"Ludicrous"? "Vulgar"? "Gross irreverence"? Sure, we—the beneficiaries of these Letters--might be dimly aware of some excesses of expression, but we embrace them as charming, unguarded, and sincere. Yes, Rutherford gets heated, but he is speaking out of the depths of his heart to a friend in trouble. And we strongly feel that someone who is that close to the Elder Brother is entitled to address Him in whatever terms of affection he likes.
My point being: yes, Rutherford's Letters are an imperfect work, as he was an imperfect man while he walked on the earth. Besides, he never intended his personal correspondence to be read by anyone other than the recipients, and certainly not to be published. But none of that prevented God's using his writings in ways, and over time, unimagined by Rutherford himself.
Does all this have anything to do with why Paul says, "Judge nothing before the appointed time"? (1 Cor. 4:5, NIV. In this article, I'm referring to purportedly Christian writings. Secular entertainment encompasses much that is so vile, I won't get close enough to it to judge it.) In response to another reader's complaint about Nicole, I outlined as best I could my reasons for writing it the way I did (see Reader Feedback. See also Mara Patrick Davies' article "The Problem of Purity." ) I confess that I clearly overstepped boundaries for current Christian fiction. But is that sin on my part, or are the current boundaries too restrictive? What is biblical?
Have you ever noticed how much of the Bible is unfit reading for children? You have rape, incest, adultery, murder, multiple murders, beheadings of children, etcetera, etcetera. Parts of Ezekiel are so obscene, modern translations will translate them only in euphemisms. Did somebody go too far here? Even the love poetry (nonessential material, one would think) is overly sensual. Why would such things be written down and preserved as sacred? Is there something we're supposed to learn in all this?
I get so tickled by the Apostle Paul. He is the definition of "going too far," to the point that Peter says, "His letters contain some things that are hard to understand, which ignorant and unstable people distort" (2 Pet. 3:16, NIV). Oh, some things in his letters are easy enough to understand, as when he blurts (regarding the circumcision party): "I wish they would go the whole way and emasculate themselves!" (Gal. 5:12, NIV).
Then there is our Lord Jesus, whose every word was superintended by the Spirit of God. And He says things like, "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you." Say what? He repeats: "He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day." Still don't get it? He goes on: "For my flesh is food indeed, and my blood is drink indeed. He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him." Had enough? Well, He's not done: "As the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so he who eats me will live because of me. This is the bread which came down from heaven, not such as the fathers ate and died; he who eats this bread will live for ever" (John 6:53-58).
This repeated assertion is so offensive, so over the line, that John reports many of Jesus' disciples stop following Him (v. 66). To add insult to injury, He makes these statements in the synagogue, yet (v. 59). Why would He drive people away with such outrageous comments? Were His disciples getting too comfortable in the belief that they had Him all figured out? Was He trying to take them to a deeper level of understanding and commitment? What does this teach us about trying to make God conform to our consciences?
I am not equating myself with any preacher, prophet, apostle, or Messiah, nor is my work Holy Writ. But my betters have set a compelling precedent. Peter says that Christ left us an example, that we should follow in his steps (1 Pet. 2:21). What He's showing me in the passage above is that sometimes the message is so important, we have to risk giving offense. (This is more readily understood than admitted: some readers have been quick to give offense in communicating to me that I have offended them. I have not printed nor kept the letters telling me that my books are of Satan and I'm going to hell.) No one who is writing today is going to produce the perfect work, but there may be something in an imperfect work that is still capable of carrying blessing and encouragement.
Having said all that, I will add an important caveat: self-censorship is essential to an author, and it must be ruthless. There is some material that is indefensible in a Christian book. It is not a matter of not going too far; it is a matter of not going there at all.
Over my working life, I have been employed by two Christian companies that plagiarized routinely (neither is the above-mentioned publisher). At the first company, I saw it and said nothing, which I later regretted. I came to see how this dishonesty weakened the company and tainted all our efforts. At the second company, when I discovered a pervasive policy of plagiarism, I spoke up. I became a gadfly regarding this issue, which resulted in some half-hearted changes to the way the material was put together. I was also terminated. I had no regrets: stealing is stealing, regardless of the times or the culture, and I do not see that God has any use for stolen material.
And having said all that, I will add that all authors need somebody who will pull them back when they go too far--who will save them from themselves. I have one trusted editor to whom I submit everything I write. If she says, "This passage makes me uncomfortable/is excessive/doesn't make sense/is silly," I will change it, regardless if I agree or even understand her objections. Regarding the notorious scenes in Nicole, we had many discussions in which I agonized over toning them down. My editor was adamant: "They need to stay. They are important to the book." Once I took her advice, however, the decision became mine: I'm not changing it, and that's why.
*Alexander Smellie, Men of the Covenant: The Story of the Scottish Church in the Years of the Persecution (New York: Fleming H. Revell Company), 53.
Copyright 2005 Robin Hardy
