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We are nearing the end of Holy Week. We know it ends with Christ’s resurrection, but in the interim, those who observe the season mourn for that moment in which evil holds sway and celebrate its apparent victory.
The typical plotline for a Christian movie has often been something like this:
- A family or group is in crisis, usually due to the Lummox, who is a male family member: perhaps a father, or a son, or it may be a stand-alone Lummox.
- The behavior of the Lummox continues to cause problems for himself and those around him.
- Lummox may seek out the counsel of a trusted person. Lummox rejects said counsel.
- The crisis comes to a head because of the Lummox.
- Lummox somehow acquires a Bible and reads it. Lummox cries.
- Lummox goes to church. Everyone smiles at Lummox beatifically because now, the problem is solved, and from here on out, life will be cupcakes and balloons. And everyone probably gets a kitten.
Life does not work that way. I have seen strong Christian men brought low by sins of the flesh. I have watched families who attended church on Sunday, weekly Bible studies, and youth group rocked to the core by infidelity and suicide. I know of good, traditional families that were atomized by methamphetamine. The Kingdom of Darkness is everywhere, and at some time in our spiritual walk, or even our everyday lives, we have no choice but to confront it. We must confront it in our lives, and even in our art. To fail to recognize the darkness and walk through it is to risk falling prey to it.
It is not uncommon when we reject or feel abandoned by God or wronged by the world to seek our salvation in ourselves. We become the arbiter of all things and can drag ourselves and everyone around us to destruction.
In “Moby Dick,” Ahab can never find peace or even seek it after the white whale bites off his leg. His rage consumes him:
Hark ye yet again—the little lower layer. All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event—in the living act, the undoubted deed—there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask!
That inscrutable thing is chiefly what I hate; and be the white whale agent, or be the white whale principal, I will wreak that hate upon him. Talk not to me of blasphemy, man; I’d strike the sun if it insulted me.
Ahab leads his entire crew (save Ishmael) to a watery grave.
Ahab sought to usurp God. Adam and Eve thought that they had found a workaround. Cain rebelled against God because he believed he had essentially gotten a raw deal. Finally, Nietzsche declared Him dead. In God’s place, we set ourselves up, not as idols, but as gods who lived and ruled according to our own whims and rules that we make up as we go along. Of course, anointing ourselves as gods, particularly in the wake of tragedy or injustice, has the potential to, as the old phrase goes, “escalate quickly.” It is imperative to understand not just the danger of evil, but also the causes of it. That requires a close and often uncomfortable examination of it.
Art, be it a film, play, picture, sculpture, or book, is at its best when it shows us life as it is, not always as we would like it to be. It should reflect the culture, even those parts we would prefer to ignore. Moreover, it should point a path forward for us, especially in a day and age in which lighting a single candle may not be enough.
That is the task that Andrew Klavan undertakes in his latest book, “The Kingdom of Cain: Finding God in the Literature of Darkness” (Zondervan, 272 Pages, $29.99). In his book, Klavan examines three murders. The first is a murder committed by Pierre Francois Lacenaire, which would go on to inspire Dostoevsky’s “Crime and Punishment,” along with other movies, plays, and works. Then, there is an uncomfortable look at the infamous Ed Gein, whose story served as the basis for “Psycho,” “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” and the “Halloween” series. Finally, Klavan turns his attention to the world’s first murderer, Cain.
You can read my original review here if you are so inclined. My conversation with Klavan is below.
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