Theology, Religion, and Dystopia

The edited collection Theology, Religion, and Dystopia is a part of a wave of publications in recent decades related to exploring the intersection between popular culture, religion, and theology. This volume has been released in the relatively new Theology, Religion, and Popular Culture series from Fortress Academic that includes both monographs and edited volumes. At least sixty-four volumes have appeared in the series since 2020 and include titles such as Theology and Wes Craven, edited by David K. Goodin; Theology and Star Trek, edited by Shaun C. Brown and Amanda MacInnis Hackney; and Bob Dylan and the Spheres of Existence by Christopher C. Barnett. Like these and other volumes in the series, Theology, Religion, and Dystopia examines the ways in which a particular theme or topic (in this case dystopias) are portrayed in popular culture (in literature, TV, and film) and give expression to particular theological themes and religious practices.Editors Scott Donahue-Martens and Brandon Simonson intentionally frame the volume without “prescribing a single definition of dystopia” (viii). Instead, each contributor was asked to engage in a critical discussion of dystopia as they define the term within their essay. In “Dystopia as Demythologized Apocalyptic,” Donahue-Martens and Simonson begin the volume by seeking to offer readers “a basic understanding of the critical study of dystopia” through introducing specific points of discussion in dystopian studies (ix). Their main point is to show how the genre of dystopia transgresses generic definitions despite possessing shared features that mark them as dystopian (5). The editors first reference classical and recent dystopian works (The Good Place, 1984, Ready Player Two, Upload, The Matrix, Parable of the Sower, Lord of the Flies, Fahrenheit 451) and engage a broad swath of contemporary scholarship on dystopia (by Fokkema, Claeys, Sargent, and Moylan). Next, they turn toward their main theoretical intervention: their contention that dystopia can be appreciated as a type of “demythologized version of the apocalyptic genre” (1). This conception rests on the idea that dystopia emerged as a genre only in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and that the use of the term to describe pre-modern works with similar features is anachronistic (2). They propose differentiating apocalyptic from dystopian literature, as the former characteristically envisions the intervention of a divine figure who rectifies an injustice of a cosmic proportion, and the latter does not (12). Building on the mid-twentieth-century work of the German New Testament scholar Rudolph Bultmann, they argue that dystopian literature demythologizes apocalyptic by “bringing out the existential reference of texts and stories by displacing the cultural confines in the sense of the texts and stories” (14). In the remainder of the essay, they draw comparisons between the Second Book of Maccabees, the Book of the Watchers (a section of the First Book of Enoch), and the Fourth Book of Ezra with the dystopian works discussed earlier in the chapter. While Donahue-Martens and Simonson’s claim is provocative and generative, they do not address the widespread critiques of Bultmann’s existentialist thought, particularly his bifurcation of science and myth. In short, though I find this proposal suggestive, I still wonder if dystopia can truly be construed as demythologized (apocalyptic or something else).The volume is divided into two sections. In the first section (chapters 2–6), the essays engage the study of dystopia from the perspective of theology. In the second section (chapters 7–11), the essays ground the study of dystopia in the academic fields of biblical studies and religious studies.In the second essay in the volume, “The Dystopic Relations of Interstellar: A Response from Christian Ecotheology,” Thomas G. Hermans-Webster analyzes the eco-dystopia of the movie Interstellar from the horizon of Christian Eucharistic theology. Hermans-Webster argues that through its apocalyptic dystopia, Interstellar challenges Christian theology “to articulate and cultivate salvation in terms of ecological well-being here and now” (30). Herman-Webster describes the dystopic features of Interstellar, such as the movie’s ecocatastrophe frame, its dustbowl landscape, its “anxiety towards mechanization” (32), and its concern about regimes that work to control information. Next, Herman-Webster evaluates the themes of Interstellar from a theological perspective, at the same time sharpening his definition of dystopia in distinction from anti-utopia as a genre that “critiques contemporary society in such ways that imply the need for change before catastrophe of some kind befalls our world” (35). He then argues that Interstellar’s two proposals for salvation—through farming or through space exploration—are ultimately inadequate because of the film’s dependency on notions of “modern exceptionalism” and “colonialist” practices that resulted in the dystopic world the movie portrays in the first place. The essay concludes by pointing to the practice of the Eucharist as an antidote to the exceptionalist, consumerist society that is resulting in ecological disaster in our current world.In the third essay, “Color-blind Dystopia: The Giver, Theology, Race, and Ricoeur,” Scott Donahue-Martens engages Lois Lowry’s award-winning children’s book The Giver, which treads the line between utopia and dystopia in its portrayal of a society that values “Sameness” in a conformist fashion. Donahue-Martens argues that parallels exist between this society’s emphasis on Sameness and its forgetting of difference with the aspiration toward a color-blind society in North America. Donahue-Martens draws from Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of habitus to chart the contours of this enacted social vision. He contends that The Giver invites readers to reflect on the importance of memory and its role in shaping a community where difference is recognized and valued. He views this act of intentional concern for memory and difference as essential for deconstructing “the ‘gospel’ of white American exceptionalism and the myths of color-blind ideologies” (57).In the fourth essay, “Qu(e)erying Posthuman Theologies in Ghost in the Shell,” Amanda L. Pumphrey and Nicholaus B. Pumphrey employ postmodern, queer, and feminist approaches to evaluate the “posthuman theologies,” and the emphasis on a future without physical bodies, that are portrayed in Masamune Shirow’s cyberpunk, anime work Ghost in the Shell (GITS) and its subsequent spin-offs. For the Pumphreys, the setting of Ghost in the Shell in the “context of global war, nuclear fallout, and pandemic situates GITS in a postapocalyptic, dystopian genre” (62). Within this frame, they describe Ghost in the Shell’s portrayal of gender and humanity through its exploration of the nature of human existence and its blurring and disruption of body-soul and male-female binaries.The next two chapters of the book shift the focus onto the popular television series The Walking Dead. In the fifth essay, “Social Life from Scratch: Morality, Religion, and Society in The Walking Dead,” Justin F. Martin examines the figure Gabriel from the series through the lens of Johannes van der Ven’s interactionist approach to morality. This approach involves “interrogat[ing] the complexities inherent in many morally laden social interactions” rather than simply viewing morality in absolutist and idealized terms (75). It examines morality through the concepts of harm, justice, and rights or liberties as the primary concepts “that help govern our interactions with others” (76). This essay is less focused on examining the specific dystopian features of The Walking Dead as it is on using dystopia to think critically about how moral decision making might take place in a dystopian setting. In the sixth essay, “How NOT to Be a Zombie: The Walking Dead and Love for the World,” David Penn makes use of the dystopian reality of The Walking Dead to examine what he views as a pervasive problem in Christianity: “both Christian theology and dystopian fiction” display “the tendency” of “mak[ing] zombies of us by closing off wonder and engagement with this world” (91). Penn suggests that while The Walking Dead does not address this pattern, recognizing it by reflecting on the film enables viewers to consider alternate strategies for reviving wonder and engagement and thus resisting the zombification of humanity.In the next section of the volume, the essays shift to the study of modern dystopias from the standpoints of biblical studies and religious studies. In the first essay in this section, “Dystopia in the Apocalypse: Religion and Community in Asimov’s Foundation Universe,” coeditor Brandon Simonson examines dystopian themes in both ancient apocalyptic literature and Isaac Asimov’s Foundation universe. Building on the figures and themes shared among these texts (supernatural beings, mediated revelation, eschatological salvation, dystopian crisis), Simonson argues that Asimov’s Foundation universe is an example of modern-day apocalyptic literature. In general, I think that Simonson makes a compelling claim about the genre of the corpus of Asimov’s works that are set in the Foundation universe. His essay is a corollary to his coauthored piece earlier in the volume, in which he (together with coeditor Donahue-Martens) described dystopia as demythologized apocalyptic. In essence, these two essays highlight not only that dystopian literature is part of the afterlife of apocalyptic literature but also that dystopian literature and its themes are grounded in a literary tradition much older than the modern period.In chapter 8, “Katniss, Christos: Sacrifice and Salvation in Scripture and Young Adult Dystopian Novels,” Shayna Sheinfeld examines the first-century CE works The Testament of Moses and the Book of Hebrews alongside the more recent young adult–dystopian trilogies The Hunger Games and Divergent. Sheinfeld shows how the trope of willing self-sacrifice as a way to individual and communal salvation is prominent in all four works. While Sheinfeld’s observation is certainly correct, I cannot help but wonder whether this trope is actually drawn from heroic literature and cultural production more broadly (think Iron Man at the end of Avengers: Endgame) and not necessarily a distinctive feature of dystopian literature.In the third and final essay in this section, “Dystopian Festivals, Utopian Fictions: Sovereignty, Sacrifice, and Sanctity in Biblical Jubilee and The Purge,” C. J. McCrary shows how in both the utopian biblical Jubilee law from the Book of Leviticus, Chapter 25, and in the lawless dystopian The Purge franchise, the ritual enactment of a festival celebration “represent[s] a naked display of the sovereign’s power of the law; and both finally sanctify, or rather reveal the sacredness of the sovereignty” (145). Foregrounding the explicitly dystopian elements of the biblical Jubilee may serve to strengthen further McCrary’s observations as well as deepen our understanding of the role that ritual celebrations play in reinforcing power structures in dystopian works.1In the last two chapters of the volume, the authors examine human catharsis in dystopian works. In “The Ability or Inability to Change by the Presence or Absence of Deus ex Machina,” Beáta Gombkötö analyzes how the deus ex machina device from classical tragedies operates in more contemporary dystopian literature. Gombkötö looks at the use of this device in two European dystopian tragedies: György Dragomán’s The White King and János Térey’s The Shortest Ice Age. In both novels, the deus ex machina serves to initiate change for the protagonists and transformation in their dystopian landscapes. By critiquing the flaws of their respective societies, these novels become for Gombkötö their own deus ex machina, as their critiques “[harbor] the possibility for change” in the societies of the readers of these works (160). Finally, John C. McDowell, in “The Spectacle of Hope beyond Capital’s Dehumanizing Violence: Reading George Lucas’s Dystopian THX 1138,” contends that Lucas’s movie, using insights from Herbert Marcuse, Raffaella Baccolini, and Tom Moylan, “functions as a ‘critical dystopia’ when it radically refuses to provide the possibility of a cathartic resolution” (164). The target of Lucas’s dystopian critique are problematic social and cultural practices in late 1960s and early 1970s America in the areas of class, race, and gender. As a critical dystopia THX 1138, in McDowell’s analysis, does not offer its viewers a heroic catharsis but rather seeks to inspire in them the desire for necessary reform.The editors conclude the volume with a brief epilogue in which they reflect on the essays in the volume and their contributions to understanding dystopia in popular culture. They note that thematic connections across the essays include an interest in apocalypse, sacrifice, catharsis, and “the actualization of change to prevent further erosion into dystopian possibilities” (184). Nearly all the essays employ an intertextual approach to dystopian material, including the various juxtapositions of ancient and modern materials. Generally, the essays abide by the editors’ remit to pose their own definitions of dystopia. Some individual essays could have benefited, however, from more engagement with critical discussions of dystopia in the field of utopian studies beyond cursory referencing of handbooks on the topic. Additionally, there is a huge variation among the authors about whether they are trying to theorize dystopia through the analysis of dystopian works or are using that analysis to get at a different theoretical issue, such as the nature of heroic self-sacrifice. However, the editors’ big tent approach to utopian studies and their consideration of the intersection of theology, religion, and dystopia has produced a wide-ranging volume that opens up as many questions about the nature of dystopia and dystopian literature as it answers. In this regard, it provides a welcome and important departure for further considerations of a number of critical questions.