Why Christians Ought to Read Novels
Four Reasons
I could give you any number of shocking statistics about the decline of reading in American life. Even the most cursory Google search will reveal a stack of articles dealing with this problem. A Gallup poll (2021) found that U.S. adults averaged 12.6 books per year.1 The survey question, however, included books “read, either all or part of the way through” as well as audiobooks. Of these sparse dozen, how many books were actually read in their entirety with human eyes looking at the page?
Moreover, how many of these books were worth the weight of the paper that they were printed on? I have serious doubts that our numbers are so low because we are collectively tackling literary tomes; if the 12 books included War and Peace, Infinite Jest, or Don Quixote, the American reader not only gets a pass but also a pat on the back. I have a hunch, however, that a majority of the (possibly) half-read are self-help, chewy flash history, or steamy romances, bordering on the pornographic. I have doubts as to whether there is much meat on this sinewy 12-count.
I know many Christians, however, that defy this trend. They actively read scripture, books on spiritual formation, and any number of practical books, some of which promise increased (gulp) “workflows.” All this is well and good. We ought to be a reading people.
However, I’d like to argue that the average contemporary Christian reading diet is missing a key food group: literature. The Judeo-Christian tradition is home to some of the greatest literary artists in the Western canon: Dante, Milton, Cervantes, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, to name but a few.2 Yet, are modern Christians carrying this historical inheritance by reading and keeping the literary torch aflame?
While reading C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien is wonderful — I heartily encourage it— Christians ought to stretch beyond these into the wider world of literary fiction, a world which was deeply important to Lewis and Tolkien, who both were literature professors. A novel need not be didactic, orthodox, or explicitly Christian to provide an occasion for deep spiritual and intellectual growth.
In this spirit, here are four reasons (by no means the only ones) why Christians ought to read literary novels.
I. Novels bring greater clarity to the shared human experience, which is full of messy desires and emotions.
Great novelists are students of human desire, giving voice to the nameless or obscure feelings that we encounter in relationships, society, and life. They put such experiences, in all their messiness, onto the page. For instance, in Moby Dick, Captain Ahab makes a famous, grandiose speech, declaring war against the White Whale and even God: “Talk not to me of blasphemy, man; I’d strike the sun if it insulted me.” He bellows, “My vengeance will fetch a great premium here,” banging his chest in one of the great acts of megalomania in American literature.
Ahab’s desire for vengeance is not contained to the Pequod; we too, when we read his mighty boast, feel that same allure of power: to be in control, to avenge our insults, to become arbitrators of the world. And yet the crewman Stubb replies, in one of my favorite lines in the novel, “methinks it [Ahab’s chest] rings most vast, but hollow!”
Or, consider another example. When the narrator in Norman Maclean’s novel A River Runs Through It struggles to help his brother, we feel this ache of inability. His father reflects, “We can seldom help anybody. Either we don’t know what part [of ourselves] to give or maybe we don’t like to give any part of ourselves. Then, more often than not, the part that is needed is not wanted.” In our own lives, we face a similar bewilderment: the desire to help but the sometimes frustrating inability to do so.
In countless cases, literature helps to unveil the desires of our hearts and the complexities of our situations. It gives voice to nameless longings, and when such longings find expression, we are then called upon to reject or accept their message. Proverbs 4:23 instructs us to “Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life.” Novels, like still water, reflect our hearts back to us. By doing so, they keep us vigilant.
II. Novels exercise our charity muscles.
Great novels often make despicable characters seem sympathetic. We know they are villains. We see the corruption. And yet, we still understand them, recognizing the ways in which they have abandoned virtue. Novelists often ask us to sympathize with the enemy, to extend the charity of understanding in our judgements.
In doing so, we flex the muscles of our charity. We practice the forbearance and kindness to which we will be called upon in daily life. If we can empathize with a suffering villain, we can practice the movements of love that address our neighbors and enemies.
III. Novels cultivate wisdom.
The poetry of Proverbs repeatedly exhorts us to “get wisdom; get insight” (4:5). Wisdom is not mere technical knowledge. You are not wise because you know the quadratic formula. Nor is wisdom an accumulation of information.
Rather, wisdom is a sensitivity to how we, as humans, meaningfully and successfully relate to God, each other, and the world. Wisdom is a way of moving in the world. We can test out different ways ourselves, a costly endeavor that is bound by time and opportunity and consequence. Or, we can supplement our experience with the knowledge of others. We can see the way in which others move through the world, and our experience of their experience can deepen our wisdom.
IV. Novels are not about me.
Luther described our sinful condition as incurvatus in se, turned in on ourselves. In our age of media mirrors, we are constantly fed a diet of “ME.” Algorithms are designed feed the self, delivering things we like; people we like; and ideas we like. It’s all too easy — whether we spend much time online or not — to live in a kingdom of mirrors, consistently reflecting our gaze and attention.
Novels are not about us. While they expose our hearts in reflection, they also carry us outside of ourselves, directing us to a familiar yet different world. It’s no wonder that we often say things like, “I got pulled into that book and lost track of time.” Novels — I like to think — gently unfurl the self, a turning to others, even if those others are fictional.
Where to start? Consider this list of classics, compiled by Alex Gergely and myself: “‘The Classics’ Starter Pack”.
Not to mention the wider range of Christian artists: virtually all Renaissance, Medieval, and Early Modern architects, philosophers, painters, and sculptors. Furthermore, the social imagination of Christendom formed the metaphysical backdrop for centuries of artistic production in Europe.