So, last week I went over three categories of worldbuilding problems (irremediable, unremedied, and inherent) and four types of wounds they can inflict on a story (to the setting, the plot, the characters, or the theology). Today we’re going to look at whether unavoidable holes (the irremediable and the inherent) are really a problem and what type of avoidable holes- the as-yet-unremedied ones- are worth the effort of patching up.

The first, pragmatic impulse I have is to just dismiss the whole question vis a vis unavoidable holes on the grounds that they’re unavoidable and therefore worrying about whether I should fix them is pointless. Two concerns, however, prevent that course: first, they are fixable, albeit only at the cost of writing no story or a different story respectively; second, while the pragmatic argument may be useful, it doesn’t get us anywhere in regards to the truth, and it’s better to know why we should write the way we should than to just say, ‘Too much work, I’m gonna head out.’ Therefore, we’re going to try and figure this out, splitting the problem into three categories: the irremediable, the inherent, and a subdivision of both, the theological¹.

The meaning in a story is invested in it by the author (see this article for more). At the most fundamental and complete level, we can see this in God’s creation. Our world is defined by God, who made it, and gains its meaning therefrom (Col. 1:16). Man’s stories, like this world, get their meaning from the intent of the authors; irremediable worldbuilding problems, therefore, are to be understood by the reader according to the author’s intent, with an understanding of their human frailties. Just as we do not fault a man for not carrying 50 extra pounds up the hill when we know he can hardly bear his current weight, so we do not fault the author for failing to know that which he could not know. These irremediable flaws of worldbuilding are not moral flaws (for they are not acts of will, merely incapabilities), and while the art might be greater were they remedied, no blame can be laid upon the author: to quote the Crusaders, Deus vult.

A side note to explain why I have emphasized that no moral fault exists in this case (or in many others): If stories are inescapably morally flawed, then we would not be in the right to write them anymore than we would be in the right to engage in petty theft or prostitution (two inherently immoral acts). Indeed, all art, being flawed by its nature as a product of a finite and flawed human, would be verboten. This, however, is clearly not the case, given Solomon’s palace (1 King 7), as well as the implicit approval granted by Paul to several early church hymns in choosing to use them, likely somewhat modified, in his epistles (Col. 1:15-18; Phill. 2:6-11). Art is an imitation of God’s creating hand, and even imperfect art is therefore not sinful, so long as it speaks the truth regarding Him.

Inherent flaws, those built into the premise of the story or accepted as peripherals to it, can be considered, unlike irremediable flaws, intentional acts of the author; even if unperceived, they are within his ability to perceive (we are of course discounting those impossible to perceive, as being in the irremediable, not the inherent, category). Yet not all inherent flaws are made equal. We must ask of each flaw, ‘Does this flaw lie regarding God and His truth, or does it merely represent itself as a knowing, near-hypothetical exception, not to be imported into reality?’ If the first, then the flaw is a lie, immoral and to be abhorred. If the second, then we are simply requesting a suspension of disbelief; the reader understands the unreality of what he reads but accepts it as a reality local only to the story and not reflective of reality.

Generally speaking, the first category holds most of your worldbuilding choices. Dragons, elves, kraken, and hyperspace will nearly always pass this test, so long as they do not bear theologically deceptive implications (often borrowed from their wider context outside the story, in God’s world which they are reliant upon for existence and context/ meaningfulness). The second category, meanwhile, consists (almost entirely) of moral or theological deceptions- calling evil good and good evil, as in the case of Dumas’s attitude in regards to adultery in The Three Musketeers or many science fiction author’s anti-Biblical presumption of macroevolution.

Now we come to what I’ve termed ‘theological flaws’. Perhaps a better way of stating it would be ‘the problem of lacking omniscience’. The natural and supernatural world is perfectly ordered to reflect God’s character; even in this universe’s fallen state, it still speaks of His glory so plainly none can help but hear (Rom. 1:20). Our stories, even in the incidentally incorrect details which will happen in the most persnickety bit of historical fiction, fall short of this measure, speaking with muffled or distorted voices of His glory, of His character, out of incompleteness if nothing else. Thankfully, though, we have a simple answer here. God commanded us to proclaim Him (Matt. 28:16-20), to tell the world and the church of Christ and Him crucified (Acts 4:10; 1 Cor. 2:2). The words which man uses to proclaim this message are invariably imperfect, save when he quotes the Bible directly. Yet God commands us to persist in this effort. Our stories so long as they adhere as closely as He has given to us to understand of Him, are a right and righteous part of this effort; therefore this problem is, while irremediable, not a true flaw.

Now that I’ve gone through these three, let’s consider the unremedied flaws, consider which ones we really do need to worry about. Unfortunately, the answer to this question is reliant on a myriad of factors individual to each case; while a general theorem is possible, and a (long) in-depth process of diagnosis is definable, for today, a list of questions-worth-asking will have to suffice, to give you a place to start thinking.

• Can you fix the problem quickly and easily? If it’s quicker to fix it than to figure out if you should fix it, you should probably skip the rest of this list.
• How obvious is it? A flaw that sticks out is generally worse than one which doesn’t (unless it’s actually an inherent flaw, as per above), but both can be dangerous. Do you want somebody to abandon your book because they couldn’t abide an obvious contradiction? Do you want to reward the careful reader with the realization that your story is indeed illogical?
• Does the flaw destabilize some other part of the worldbuilding? If it does, you’ll need to consider how important that other part is and what implications- logical and moral- it has for your story.
• How does it affect the plot? If the flaw breaks a major plot point’s logic, you’re going to need to fix it. If, on the other hand, its repercussions are fairly mild, you might weigh the costs and the benefits only to find it really isn’t worth worrying about. Remember, though, to consider all the ways it could affect your plot- geography, culture, trade, health, environment, all these and more are interconnected, particularly as you put in more detail and attempt more complexity in your narrative.
• How does it affect your tone, foreshadowing, symbolism, motifs, and other important secondary characteristics of story? This question covers a myriad of possibilities and requires careful thought, but for starters, consider if readers will come across this flaw, assume it is logically explained later (that is, assume you fixed it but are hiding the fix), and therefore gains an understanding of what to expect which you don’t want them to have? Maybe they’ll reach the end, realize that you never explained it, and come away with that failure as a large part of how they remember your story.
• How does it affect the characters? A flaw can sometimes make a character’s decisions seem inconsistent with their prior character, even if they make perfect sense when you aren’t considering them in light of the problem. Another problem can be the ‘why don’t they just do that?’ problem which afflict many comic book universes, over-stocked as they are with plot devices, and which can hurt you just as badly if you aren’t careful. Be careful, in other words, that what you want to say actually matches what you do say.

• How does it affect the theme? Whether directly or (more commonly) through its implications for your plot, characters, or symbolism, a flaw can alter the theological and moral teachings of your story, distorting the truth of God which you seek to communicate by imitating His authorship of reality.
  • Some worldviews, of course, can actually use flaws as a means of communicating metaphysics- i.e. The Last Jedi’s contempt for worldbuilding was a perfect way to live up to its mantra of perpetual revolution², albeit one which sacrificed a lot of artistic value³.
  • The really unacceptable flaws are the ones that bear directly upon God’s character or some essential element of the Gospel, as these are transgressing into the bounds of anathema (Gal. 1:6-9).

Hopefully this article, along with its predecessors, has given you something to mull over as you’re writing. Remember, worldbuilding isn’t just for fantasy or sci-fi. Historical fiction engages with it just as much, albeit in a different way, and even fiction set in the modern day requires some understanding of the world to be coherent (requires also a strong conception of both what is and what should be if it is to endure for longer than a moment in the mind of the reader or the wider world). Furthermore, in a very real sense, we live in a world built by God; we are ourselves built by God. Let us rejoice and be glad in His creation, which, broken as it is by sin, nevertheless is raised by His almighty hand towards redemption (Rev. 21:5).

God bless.

Footnotes

1 – Defined more fully in Part One here.

2 – I believe the sentiment was roughly, ‘Let the old die and bring in the new’, a revolutionary anthem reminiscent of Critical Theory (of which CRT is a subset) and other Godless, (usually) Marxist ideologies.

3 – I’ve not actually watched this movie, but I do follow various reviewers, both of this film and others by its director, upon the basis of which reviews I’m making this statement.