I confess that I was unfamiliar with Neal Shusterman’s work despite arriving early to claim my seat in the back of the theater at Calvin University. I was attending the biannual Festival of Faith and Writing, and Shusterman’s session had caught my eye with its promise of insights into crafting dystopian fiction. (Think “Brave New World,” “The Handmaid’s Tale” or “The Hunger Games.”) I would quickly come to learn that Shusterman is a master of the genre, having written more than 50 books for a variety of ages — many of which have earned him an eye-popping number of prestigious awards, as well as New York Times bestselling status.
Dystopian stories are often defined in contrast to a utopian vision; rather than perfection, we see only peril, the consequence of poor societal decisions. Some technological innovation or viral contagion or authoritarian regime has gotten out of control and wreaked havoc on society. The very idea of humanity itself is threatened in such stories and pushed to the brink of extinction. Dystopia, then, is about living in the ruins that such decisions have wrought.
Neal Shusterman pushed back on this simplistic definition. Dystopian storytelling isn’t about handwringing over where we went wrong; these stories exist to demand that we wrestle with what we must sacrifice to get it all right. Dystopian tales present “explanations of how we sustain hope when everything else has broken away,” Shusterman said. These stories rest upon a well-honed imagination — not because we need to better envision scenes of wanton destruction and large-scale suffering, but because it is only through the imagination that we might dream up a world of true peace, justice and mercy, a world that can transcend the darkest dystopian nightmare.
Why does this matter? Perhaps you are reading the latest headlines and wondering if we’re currently living a dystopian story, what with the rise of artificial intelligence, the destruction of the environment, the dissolution of human relationships, the increase in surveillance capabilities and on and on. It’s tempting to point to those classics of dystopian literature — again, “Brave New World,” “The Handmaid’s Tale” and “The Hunger Games” — and wonder how it is we’ve so thoroughly managed to miss the point.
Shusterman’s insights give me solace: Dystopia points us not to despair but through it — and toward the light of hope.
This is the heart of a religious imagination, too: We don’t engage the sacraments and Scripture simply to conjure new depictions of God; we do so in order that those renewed depictions might better send us out and into the world, to build up the beloved community that God so desires and to sustain us in that work. It’s about where we choose to place our focus: Do we see only the destruction at hand? Or, do we stubbornly insist on pointing beyond that despair, to something more?
In the Second Week of the Spiritual Exercises, St. Ignatius of Loyola paints a rather dystopian image: “The Three Divine Persons look down upon the whole expanse or circuit of all the earth…and behold all nations in great blindness, going down to death and descending into hell.” (SE 102, 106) How does the Trinity respond? By cursing the darkness and wallowing in despair? No. By sending the Christ, the Light of the World, to reorient our focus through hope and sacrifice. (Jn 8:12)
There is some consolation to be found in discovering that — even in the most dystopian of stories, the most dystopian of moments — we see holy patterns emerge. It is precisely at moments such as these that the Trinity gazes and into such moments that the Christ steps. Jesus does not descend into dystopia to wring his hands; he comes to walk alongside both friends and strangers, to heal and to anoint and to bless and, ultimately, to give his very self.
Dystopian stories, then, are not end points but trajectories; there is a literal light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. But we must continue to walk, to muddle onward, to keep our eyes set on our God who beckons. And, ultimately, not lose sight of the world all around us.
Because Christ came to redeem the world, not condemn it. (Jn 12:47) So, what do we need to do to hone our imaginations so as to better steward and shape the world God still dreams into being? And who are we called to walk alongside?
