Fairy Tales, Fantasy, and the Catholic Imagination

Growing up, I spent most of my childhood reading, writing, and pretending I lived in fantastical stories. As I got older, I wondered how I could return to the wonderful world of fairyland. Now that I am a mama to a brave knight and princess, I find that I never left.

I have come to realize that Catholics never outgrow bedtime stories, because our faith infuses in us a love for the art of storytelling and an imagination that is completely in tune with the fantastical. Catholicism equips the mind to discern truth in story, just as it disposes the imagination to delight in the telling. Through eyes trained by faith, Catholics can see where the Author of life has woven the narrative of salvation into all stories, but these golden threads shine especially bright in fairy stories

Catholicism is steeped in story, birthed from a beautiful oral tradition. For generations, the Hebrew people handed down the stories that explained the world and their place in it, writing on the hearts of their children. From the Creation, where God Himself spoke the history of the universe into existence, to the miraculous lights of the Maccabees; these tales defined them and bound them together.

Christ, the great storyteller, came from this people, and spent His life immersed in this culture.  Christ’s teaching was full of references to the shared narrative of God’s people, the story He himself had come to complete. His disciples then carried the history of His life, death, and resurrection to all the corners of the Earth. The Church became the custodian of what Tolkien and Lewis called “the true myth” of salvation and embraced the redeemed tradition of storytelling.

The Catholic faith accustoms us to mystery, training us to look at the world with eyes of wonder.  For the Catholic, “the world is charged with the grandeur of God,” as one of my favorite poets, Gerard Manley Hopkins, said.  Not only does Creation bear the marks of its Creator, but it also has been transformed by the Incarnation. When God stepped into our story and wrapped Himself in human flesh, He infused the physical world with the potential for Grace.

As Catholics, our faith is built upon mysteries: A man who is God, bread that is flesh, water that cleanses the soul, and words that transform the nature of the universe. Our sacramental imagination makes it second nature to believe that things are not always what they seem. Is it any wonder, then, that we love to hear of other worlds, when our very soul depends on the fact that there is more to this world than what we can see and hear and touch?

In the worlds of heroes and magic, where good struggles against evil and ultimately celebrates its defeat, the Catholic imagination is particularly at home.

In this land of “once upon a time,” evil darkness constantly threatens to overcome what is good and true, which comes as no surprise to the Catholic. For those who acknowledge Original Sin and acquaint themselves with the depths of their own soul, there can be no doubt of this danger.  We have but to look at our culture of death to see that there are still dragons left to slay, and we have only to look within us to see demons still to battle.

Catholics are intimately acquainted with the reality of evil. They dare not laugh off villains, because they know just how fearsome wickedness can be. Yet, as G.K. Chesterton points out:

“Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon. “

The defeat of the darkness, though it comes at a great cost, is always inevitable in fairyland. Good not only can triumph, it must. Catholics call this belief the virtue of hope. We have not rejected “happily ever after,” because we know that, eternally, the story of the universe has a happy ending.

For those living in the story, the defeat of evil may seem uncertain, even impossible, but they have a choice: to fall before it or stand against it.

It is often the small, the weak, and the unlikely who thwart the mighty by choosing to fight for good. Just as storybook characters, no matter how common they seem at first, become heroes when they take part in a greater battle for good, Catholics believe that we can be the vessels through which the light overcomes the darkness.

The cosmic battle between light and dark does not only take place in the spiritual realm, but here on Earth, in and amongst men. We are not spectators, but participants in the battle for souls.

Catholics have only to look to the pages of history to see how the heroes of our faith — the saints — have fought for God, despite their own weakness and ordinariness. Catholicism celebrates this glorious gift: that God allows us to choose Him, to fight for Him, so that in participating in His suffering we may participate in His triumph.

We love fantastical stories, because history itself, stranger than fiction, is the great ongoing tale of the mystery of redemption in which we — small and simple though we are — play a part. We love heroes because we are called to be them.