The Search for Faith and Goodness
By Dave King | April 19, 2022 |
As I was working on this article, news came of Russia’s deliberate bombing of a train station full of refugees, mostly women and children, trying to escape the shelling in eastern Ukraine. That vile act added some urgency to the topic I was writing about – the problem that evil is often easier to write than goodness.
Evil people make the deliberate decision to be bad and often take delight in doing harm. Goodness is less self-conscious, almost by definition. A lot of good people never think of themselves as good – they don’t let their left hand know what their right hand is doing. In fact, good people are often good because they have doubts or fears and do the right thing in spite of them. Evil is simple. Good is complex. Complex is harder to write.
What makes it even harder is that, to write goodness effectively, you have to be a good person yourself – to face your own doubts or fears and yet have the internal drive to do the generous, self-sacrificing, loving thing. A lot of more ordinary writers, faced with writing good people, fall back on a less challenging alternative. Writing about faith.
While working on a recent client’s memoir, I noticed something odd. When he was writing about his psychological struggles or talking about a tough childhood, he was moving and personal. When he switched to talking about his beliefs and practices, suddenly he was all shallow platitudes. To be fair, his faith may have been as real as the rest of his life, but that’s not how it came across.
Ideally, faith and goodness should be related. Sadly, that’s not always the case. And religious practice offers writers a ready-made language to signal goodness without exploring it.
For most people, beliefs are shaped and supported by an often tight-knit faith community. Like any other relatively closed group, these communities tend to develop their own shorthand for talking about complex, familiar concepts. For those who simply want to create a sense of goodness on the cheap, it’s far too easy to turn to these virtue signals.
The problem is, for someone outside the in crowd, the shorthand usually comes across as shallow and meaningless. It can actually cheapen the whole idea of faith for outsiders. And it does nothing to convey actual goodness.
So whether you’re writing about your own beliefs or a character’s, pull back a bit and ask yourself how much of the language you’re using is only heard among other believers. If the answer is “most of it,” focus instead on your actual experiences, what they feel like and how they affect you. If you stay aware of your own experience as you write, then you can probably pull your writing away from empty professions of faith and move toward the authentic faith that engenders goodness.
It wouldn’t hurt to ask a skeptic to read the passages about faith and give you some feedback. Remember, you’re not just writing for people who agree with you. You’re not even writing to convince people who disagree with you. You’re conveying your experiences, either in a memoir or through your characters. Even if skeptics remain unconvinced, if you’re writing in clear, authentic terms, they will at least empathize. And readers who do agree will appreciate a fresh take on your shared faith.
I’ve written before about how writing can make you a better person – by forcing you to understand other people, to become more aware of the world around you. Writing well about goodness is another way to grow. It compels you to face your own beliefs and ethics without hiding behind cant or lazy assumptions. It makes you more aware of what it means to be a moral force in the world.
It’s not easy, and it shouldn’t be. But a world in which women and children are bombed just for seeking safety is one that could use all the moral forces it can get.
Have you ever written about goodness yourself? Who have you read who writes well about it? My personal favorites are Graham Greene and various Inklings.
Dave King has been editing for nearly 40 years now. He is co-author of Self-Editing for Fiction Writers, a former contributing editor to Writer’s Digest, and has contributed more than 100 articles over the last 12 years to Writer Unboxed. He lives on 25 acres in rural Massachusetts with his business partner and wife, Ruth Julian, who also edits his work. His other day job, at least on Sundays, is as the organist at a Lutheran church in Greenfield, Mass.
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Lovely thoughts today, Dave. I completely agree that we can use all the positive moral forces we can get in the world. Humanity seems to be having some serious growing pains right now and writing stories that amplify the good in the world is at least something we can do that might help.
You might think it contrary, but I find a lot of goodness in mysteries and thrillers. A couple of years ago Porter Anderson wrote a post about how cozy mysteries are the worst because murder shouldn’t be cozy. I totally understood what he was saying, and had a good think about his point, but in the end decided that cozy mysteries (the ones I read–and write, for that matter) have a lot to say about goodness in the world. The setting is everyday and everyday people are helping to right a wrong, protect a loved one, etc… One of the most touching stories about self-sacrifice I’ve read is a James Rollins thriller. Perhaps the themes that lie beneath the main plot help a story to be a force for good in the world. :)
I forget which classic mystery writer said it (Dorothy Sayers, possibly), but a large part of the draw for mysteries is a clear moral underpinning. The murderer upsets the natural order of things, and the detective puts them right again. This became even more true as mysteries moved beyond simple puzzles to more in-depth character explanations.
As to cozies, I haven’t read Anderson’s post, but I think that, while cozies limit or remove the violence (as opposed to hard-boiled mysteries), they still have the moral underpinnings. The social order of St. Mary Mead or Cabot Cove is as upset by murder as anywhere else. Possibly more so.
Worth everyone’s reading, Dave. In a time when factual information is often treated with cynical amusement and contempt, it becomes even more difficult to know and act on the good or its opposite. As for fictional characters, those that preach or otherwise muse on goodness are automatically suspect. At least for me. When I see that, it signals to me that the character is either out to manipulate others, or is in the process of talking herself/himself into belief. The old saw about showing, not telling never rings more true than in the matter of goodness. Show it to me, and I’ll judge for myself whether the character is acting in the spirit of goodness, or otherwise.
Thank you, Barry. And I agree that preaching is not just suspect. It’s ineffective and ultimately boring. Characters who are simply vehicles for ideas are not interesting to read about.
I love this post so much, Dave. There is so much to ponder, but for now I will offer these few remarks only:
First, that (to me) the notion of “goodness,” in writing as in life itself, always has to be specific. Too often, beliefs and values (what you call “faith”) are generic, or seem that way—but they only come alive and seem real when embedded in the particular. Eerily, a character in my soon-to-be-released novel says exactly that when she tells the male lead, in response to his suffering and guilt: “I don’t think a person can be good in general. You can only be good specifically. In a specific moment.” Thus, our characters must struggle in concrete ways. If they simply voice their beliefs, as you note, it doesn’t feel true.
And second, yes, that writing about people who struggle to be good helps us grow, as human beings. One of the secret gifts of writing!
Thank you for putting that into words :-)
Somehow, the parable of the Good Samaritan comes to mind. The other two characters in the story — the priest and the Levite — were steeped in the trappings of the public religion of Jesus day. But it was the guy who actually stopped to help this one, specific man in trouble who actually got it.
Incidentally, I tend to pull examples from the Christian tradition because that’s what I’m most familiar with. I know these concepts exist in other faiths a well, and I’d be interested to hear about them.
I tried to write dark stories in college and a while afterward, but I found it about impossible. I like to read dark stories (think: Cornell Woolrich) but writing them is about impossible. My characters can have difficult times, but they seem to be nice people. They do nice things and live without drama and true ill feelings for other characters. I keep thinking I have a problem, but after reading this article, I guess I don’t. BTW, I do like to have characters enjoy church. I like to make them Presbyterians or non-denominational because they sound the least dramatic. Sometimes I think I write in another decade, a time that was kinder and gentler and without the hate that fills the world today. I’m not hiding in a cave — just wish I could!
I’m not sure that the age of gentle books is over. We do still have Garrison Keillor, Alexander McCall Smith, and others writing books about good people trying their hardest.
You’re right not to discount gentle books as lightweight. As I’ve said before, books in which nothing much happens are often notoriously difficult to write.
This is VERY good advice, Dave. As I live and move and write and edit in the Christian publishing world, this is something you run into a lot.
I think one of the best treatments of faith and goodness that is utterly honest and personal is Gilead by Marilynne Robinson. Complex characters doing their best to navigate a complex world peopled with fallen and broken human beings.
And on an even more accessible level, Garrison Keillor’s News from Lake Wobegon does the same thing.
A theme that’s coming up in the comments is that real, effective moral writing is both authentic and specific. Both can be a genuine struggle for a writer. This may be even more true within Christian publishing, where writers know that their books are aimed at people who already know the language.
I was not familiar with Gilead, but it looks intriguing.
Yes, and as someone whose books are currently published by a Christian press but whose writing is NOT what one might consider Christian Fiction (as far as genre) I constantly run up against reader expectations. Many readers of CF find my work refreshing and stretching, but many others are offended by aspects of it that they find too worldly or not Christian enough. “Characters are drinking and smoking”–(gasp!)–“and God is hardly mentioned.” I wonder what those readers think of the many, MANY stories found in the Bible that are so very full of vice (and, by extension, reality). I suspect there are many who get all their theology from Norman Vincent Peale and his modern-day analogues rather than the metanarrative of Scripture.
As a real-life visualization of this issue, I have more than once met a new person who, upon finding out that I am a pastor’s wife, apologizes for swearing in front of me. I always say, “That’s not actually what it’s about, you know.” People routinely confuse moralism with faith whether they are inside or outside of it.
“People routinely confuse moralism with faith whether they are inside or outside of it.”
This. I was a moral atheist for many decades before my conversion to Christianity 13 yrs ago.
Also refreshing to read that your books are published by a Christian press even though they’re not explicitly Christian fiction. I was too religious for the secular presses and not Christian enough for the religious presses. Sigh.
I considered opening the article with a favorite quote from e. e. cummings’ “Jehovah buried, Satan dead.”
“Badness not being felt as bad
itself thinks goodness what is meek.”
It’s just so hard to see past the platitudes.
Sorry to be so late to this. Still trying to get through all the boxes from the recent move. If you haven’t seen the video of Michigan State Senator Mallory McMorrow’s response to being called a “groomer” and worse by a self-described Christian from across the aisle, you might find it of interest. (You can find it on the senator’s twitter feed: @MalloryMcMorrow ) The part I found most compelling was where she described her mother being called to task by her parish priest for “not living up to the church’s expectations” and being “disappointing.” Why? She was divorced and did not attend Mass every Sunday. Where was she on Sundays? She was working at a local soup kitchen, with her daughter beside her. Senator McMorrow learned from her mother that “faith is about being part of a community, of recognizing our privilege and blessings and doing what we can to be of service to others.” Sometimes I think the best way to express faith is to do one’s best to portray a moment of kindness, honesty, or courage — without sloganeering or other extraneous verbiage. And I agree, the world could use a lot more kindness, honesty, and courage right now.
I just watched the video — Greg Sergeant’s column in the Washington Post put me on to it. You’re right, it’s an excellent example of what we’re talking about here.
I’m with you on the Inklings. Especially Tolkien. In the swirl of life-changing events, Sam Gamgee remains loyal kind Sam Gamgee, elf-sword or no. What I love in all genres are opportunities to watch a character wrestle with inner demons because very one of us has them. Watching someone fail to conquer them has taught me compassion. Observing the courage it takes to find one’s heart in spite of difficult circumstances gives me hope. Thank you for such a thoughtful and insightful post!
I love the connection between watching a character fail morally and compassion. You’re absolutely right, it is there. But the character has to be someone you empathize with, which brings us back to authenticity and specificity. No one empathizes with a mouthpiece for ideas. Your characters have to be real.
So provocative, because as I create my characters on the page, they are complex. I never think about religion or commandments. Nothing organized. I think about how they direct their lives, their goals: love their children or spouses; are hurt or angry about the course of their lives. Yet in one novel, there is so much anger at a spouse that I have to hold my character back from doing greater damage. But when I write, I never think in terms of good or bad, or organized faiths. I think of the NOW, what is driving my characters to make the decisions they make. People are complex. Faith can drive them, but I think it is better to label it something else: being human, loving someone. And it never requires an organization. Now when I write. Thanks, Dave.
Elizabeth, those are my thoughts too. Show goodness and faith in characters. Rarely do I use the word good in a story. I might have said inferred it’s the right thing to do. In my soon-to-publish book, a Jewish man goes to a church memorial service with his Christian girlfriend. I target his unconditional support, he wants to be there by her side, not that he’s such a good man. 📚🎶Christine
Yes, I’m with Christine. This is exactly the sort of thing I’m talking about. Good is often not self-conscious.
I’m reminded of something C. S. Lewis once said. If you ask a Christian today (this would have been the forties) what the greatest virtue was, they’d say “self sacrifice.” If you ask any of the classic saints, they’d say “charity.” It’s the difference between focusing on yourself and focusing on the people you want to help.
I think it was Mother Teresa who said that there’s no love without sacrifice. I think of love as caritas.
This post meant so much to me, Dave. Thank you. As someone who grew-up in an abusive household, I was convinced I wanted to write the evil, to wallow in it, but it wouldn’t take. Always, too, my mind would return to Tolkien, which I read when I was fifteen. His brand of fantasy lifted me. I don’t write epic fantasy, but I do write in a fantasy world and each story is about those who find a way to survive the evils that plague us. I most enjoy uplifting stories these days, but when they become preachy my mind locks and I leave the story. Don’t tell me about above, but what’s in the heart.
Yes, exactly.
Tolkien never wrote a word about doctrine, or theology, or proper practice. Instead, he created a world in which good and evil are active forces, and flawed characters who tried their best. One of his most authentic moral hinge points is when Frodo fails to free himself of the ring and it falls on Gollum to destroy it.
I can see how his writing could lift you out of an abusive situation.
I have one character who has almost too much integrity for her own good, another whose self-centeredness would step over most people’s line into actively doing something quite wrong, and one who needs to – and is forced to – grow up. It has been a lot of fun to write, keeping them all human and believable and motivated.
The consequences are starting to fly.
Well, that’s the other thing about disciplining yourself to write about goodness rather than faith. The possibilities for drama are much stronger when your characters are authentic.
Dave, another insightful post. It made me think, as writers and ordinary people how we project goodness & faith. I had no trouble separating goodness and faith in my book. It was obviously evil how the STASI killed East Berlin people escaping to the West in 1961 through the Berlin Wall. And the history horror of Hitler’s massacre of Jews. A lot like today’s Putin massacre of Ukraine people. In real life, I side on goodness and faith that people can change. However, people’s behaviors turn ugly under stress or mental illness, which is a platform for evil making. The mental health system needs to keep up, The faith communities I know are not closed systems. Both systems reach out. It’s getting people to recognize they need help, before it’s too late. 📚🎶 Christine
But who are you to assert that writing about faith is “less challenging”, and what “ordinary writers” do? And what is a shallow platitude in this instance, I would love to know? My novel, which has spiritual and Christian themes throughout (some critical of catholic practices, in fact) , has been anything but easy. I’ve spent many hours sweating over portrayals of my characters in the attempt to present them as complex and conflicted. Have I implied they are inherently “good” because of their faith? I would hope not, as there are truckloads of pedo priests to disprove that notion. But faith , the messy and complicated thing that it is, is central to my MC, as it is to a lot of people. It isn’t limited to just those living in some collective bubble those outside of it don’t understand.
As I said, it is often the case that faith engenders goodness, and if your sweating over your characters, then you’re probably taking the easy way out.
But I have seen clients take that easy way out — falling back on the language of faith without connecting it to their characters’ actual lives in concrete ways. Even sincere people can do it, if they have learned to think of their faith in the shorthand used by their faith community.
Dave, happy Easter! What a beautiful post for this season. I agree that God and the devil are in the details. It’s strange but I have had a harder time writing about evil than I do about good people. I find myself interested in what makes good people do the wrong thing and I explore that in my stories. I’ve never really met truly bad people. All my antagonists are basically flawed people, like my protagonists. It’s actually more frightening to acknowledge myself as capable of doing terrible things.
I remember watching a documentary about St. Therese of Lisieux and her “goodness” was rather off-putting. Here was a middle-class girl putting on pious airs, I thought. Then I read her Story of a Soul and fell in love with her. Her simplicity. Tenderness. Her desire to be pleasing to God. Her absolute confidence in Him. And it was all in the details. For ex. when she felt abandoned by God, she felt as if she was just a plaything, a ball, punctured and put aside in a corner. These things the documentary failed to show and left me unmoved.
Writing evil people can in some ways be easier. As I say, their decisions are often simpler and more self-conscious. The hard part about writing evil people is making them sympathetic. You really have to get into their point of view, to feel why they do what they do. It’s a different kind of hard than writing goodness.
I loved your post, Dave. For any person who is writing about faith, as I do, it’s a vital reminder to separate faith and goodness. Actions always speak louder than words. I’ve always admired Carl Sagan’s novel Contact, and the excellent film adaptation, that offers a wide range of religious and nonreligious people acting from their own best sense of right (or not). The atheist who can’t lie about her beliefs, even though it means giving up on her dream, the sensual reverend who is equal parts honest and loyal, the Christian terrorist with the bomb, the famous academic who willingly lies and cheats to further his aims, and the rogue billionaire with an agenda all his own. All cases of specific ways that faith, or lack of it, informed each character’s words and actions.
That is another good point. Goodness is more universal than a specific religious tradition. The opposite side of reducing goodness to platitudes is reducing evil to petty malice. I have only seen it on rare occasions, and I suspect it’s even rarer among WU readers, but I have seen manuscripts where all nonbelievers were universally mean in the way that six-year-old schoolyard bullies are mean.
Even if you are rooted in a given faith tradition, you’ve got to give people who disagree with you credit for their own morality.
Loved this post! I am a fan of the Inklings (Lewis, Tolkien, Sayers). Writing about goodness is tricky. Some complained about Fanny Price, the good character in Mansfield Park, who seemed less vivid than her rival. I still enjoyed the book. It takes great effort to write a character who has morals but is still somewhat flawed.
Fanny was one of Austen’s less engaging heroines, though I suspect that some of that is how she comes across to a modern audience. Within her own social context, she may have been less insipid. I remember seeing the Masterpiece Theater adaptation of the book, which showed just how scandalous the amateur play actually was.
Still, the Bennets are universal. I do love Mr. Bennett. “I am heartily ashamed of myself, Lizzy. But don’t despair, it’ll pass; and no doubt more quickly than it should.”
Fredrik Backman does this exceptionally well, IMHO. Most of his main characters are fundamentally good, if wounded and curmudgeonly people. In their redemptive process, they draw in and help build a community of kindness. Have you read Anxious People yet? It does this even better than A Man Called Ove.
In the TV world, Schitt’s Creek has been lauded as an example of how to inspire people to goodness. David, one of its most beloved characters, is in a gay relationship for most of the series. But his orientation is accepted by his family and the town in a matter-of-fact manner. I don’t think there’s a single line of script where he’s forced to deal with homophobia. That gave the character a different scope of conflict than we viewers might have expected, and we got a taste of the world we might have if we listen to our better angels.
I have not read Anxious People yet. One reason I ask for recommendations is to discover books like this.
I never got into Schitt’s Creek, though I have heard good things about it. We’re deeply into Outlander at the moment (speaking of good writing about good people), so maybe we’ll give it a try after we’re done.
The author I turn to for the best writing about goodness is Brian Doyle, particularly his essays. Each one embodies what you’re talking about, Dave: specificity and deep moral soul-searching. Even the essays that reference his Catholicism plunge into specific human dilemmas and avoid all the cant and shortcuts. He’s not writing about his faith, but about the human condition, and he does it so effectively that reading one of his essays aloud (I use some in my classes) for the 50th time, I’m so moved that I can’t keep my voice steady.