The Sparrow: An Evangelical Response
I just finished reading Mary Doria Russell’s The Sparrow, the first in a two book series about the discovery of intelligent life on another planet and a Jesuit mission to make first contact. I found it mostly well-written, but not for the faint of heart or easily offended. Before going further, I warn the reader that this blog post contains spoilers (though I try to limit them, a huge one comes in the next few sentences) and the book contains language and depictions which may offend. Characters in the book, including Jesuits, use “colorful” language, as actual people often do. There are two sections, along with passing references to consequences of same, which depict nonconsensual sex. In the first section, the sex involves a young orphan girl and remains, thankfully, in the background, in passing reference and memory. In the second section, the sex involves interspecies male-on-male sodomy, and comes very close to depicting the acts graphically. The worst comes to light at the very end of the book. I have warned you. Do not read this book if any of that would be too disturbing for you. Now, onward to the meat of the response.
At 405 pages, this book is about the length of Tolkien’s The Two Towers, give or take, depending upon font, typesetting, and format. It rarely drags, which is a testament to the author’s command of craft. The characters feel believable, if a little two-dimensional at times, and the author handles development of the protagonist fairly well. She also captured some of the internal struggles with God and belief that many people of faith endure in a respectful and genuine manner. I found the writing compelling, but I also felt manipulated into turning pages to see how it all turns out, like some metaphor of a train wreck you just can’t stop watching.
Apart from the aforementioned objectionable bits, I will attempt to capture concisely the problems I have with the text. If you want a synopsis or plot summary, this isn’t that. Plenty of places to find one online. Please come back here when you’re done, if you’re unfamiliar with the book. Now, let’s consider the method of travel—pushing an asteroid, even with proper technology, to near light speeds from our solar system to Alpha Centauri, seems a bit like skipping a rock across a pond. Should go where you throw it, if you throw it with skill, but the unexpected happens. Arriving at a solar system with three suns, which means navigating the stellar space around three powerful gravity wells, then traveling about such a system at *very* sub-light speeds in a chunk of rock with extremely limited sensors, finding and then reaching a planet after arriving in said locality, and doing it all with relative ease seems an impossible coincidence or a grand miracle. Then, after all that, arriving upon a planet with a breathable atmosphere, drinkable water, and food that sustains human life, even if the lone survivor develops scurvy, presses heavily against my willing suspension of disbelief. But considering the author’s purpose in writing, which we’ll get to, seems acceptable. The author is writing to make a point about God and faith, and these coincidences fall among a long line of them leading to the conclusion of the story.
The protagonist, Emilio Sandoz, finds himself in a position to combine a crew who possess skills and compatibility necessary to travel a great distance away from the rest of humanity and the planet of our birth, and in touch with the resources possessed by the Catholic church to embark upon another mission for Christ, this one among the stars. All things in the story point to the idea that God wanted to bring these people together and send them to space for His glory, and Emilio, a priest who has long struggled with doubts and desires of his own, embraces this moment with a profound love and awe of God. But quickly and shockingly, in the end (literally in the last few dozen pages of the book), we watch it all fall apart in the past as we learn why the protagonist we meet in the beginning, set in the present, appears a broken and wretched shadow of a man of God. And we learn, though we long suspected it, that this story is a tragedy, and the character flaw that leads to the protagonist’s downfall is his simple faith that, as the author puts it in “A Conversation with Mary Doria Russell” found at the back of the edition I read, “God micromanages the world, and with seeing what may be simply coincidence as significant and indicative of divine providence.” As a consequence of doing so, she says, “It’s very easy then to go out on a limb spiritually, expect more from God than you have a right to expect, and set yourself up for bitter disappointment in his silence and lack of action.”
This leads me to the primary problem I have with this book. I see in it a failed faith in Christ which sets the reader up to have certain expectations, building upon coincidence after coincidence, all the while teasing the horrible ending to come, building the reader up to see the hand of God at work in the story’s universe, only to dash those hopes to pieces in the end. Teasing the reader to look for the protagonist’s failings that caused the downfall, only to find the failing was a simple faith in the provision of God and His providence in all situations. In this I also sense the author’s own justification for conversion from Catholicism to Judaism, though perhaps I speculate farther than is prudent.
Were it not for all the warm, human, and even funny moments scattered throughout the book, it would play as horror because only one soul survives, the protagonist, left to endure mutilation and emotional scarring, compounded by the knowledge that his choices led to the deaths of everyone he held dear in this world. The book ends on a note that is far too pessimistic or even, just possibly, nihilistic for my tastes, founded upon some premise suggesting God is nice and all, but should stay in his box in the closet and come out only for holy days and religious observances. Suggesting further that perhaps we are closest to God when we struggle in despair and suffering. The title comes from Scripture, quoted by one priest, and a reply given by another:
“Not one sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it.”
“But the sparrow still falls.”
Yes, the sparrow still falls, but we are not sparrows. I watched “Free Market Jesus” just recently, a talk by Donald Miller, available on rightnowmedia.org. In it he laments the idea that Jesus has been overhyped as if a commercial product and solution to all our woes, an instant panacea of sorts. He points out that the idea that we should be productive for the kingdom of God is a product of modern American, post-industrial-revolution thinking. If that is so, why does Christ Himself tell us that every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire? Why does the Bible tell us to have nothing to do with idle Christians? And why did Christ, upon finding the fig tree without fruit, curse it? But I’m going off topic here. I bring up his talk because it reminded me of this author’s work—an attempt to grapple with the idea that God doesn’t jump to give us everything we want or ask. I can’t give all the answers because I don’t have them, but still I say that my gut tells me both Donald Miller and Mary Doria Russell have missed the mark trying to make God and faith safe against bitter disappointment.
But I tell you, along with Scripture, “The one who trusts in Him will never be put to shame.”
Does that mean nothing bad ever happens? No.
Does that mean that we will never be disappointed? No.
It means what it says. The one who trusts in Christ will never be accursed, dishonored, ashamed, disgraced, etc. It means that even when all seems lost and bleak and the worst comes to call at your door, you continue to hope in Christ for the best. I’m not suggesting that Jesus is proof against every ill, mistake, or upset, but that in Him, if one remains steadfast in hope and faith in Christ, He makes a way through darkest darkness.
Knowing this, we might say with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego that our God can deliver us, but even if He doesn’t, we will not bow down to escape the tortures our enemy has devised.
One last complaint about this book, which was well-written overall, I absolutely loathed her blatant use of red shirts. Star Trek fans, nerds, geeks, and writers will understand what I mean. Two characters come out of nowhere to join the mission to Rakhat. Both die with relatively little characterization and no real development.
Russell wrote a sequel to this book, but if the goal of the series is to teach the reader that it’s wrong to look for God’s hand in the everyday events of our lives and that simple faith in His providence will lead to bitter disappointment, I’ve no more desire to read it than I had to view the horrible acts done to break our tragic hero. It’s refreshing to read a story that allows people of faith and people of science to be the same people, but it’s disappointing to find out that the reason for writing was to teach such a negative lesson about faith in Christ.
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