Reluctant Theologian

Is Philip Pullman merely the author of an atheist manifesto for kids? He most certainly is, if you believe the conservative Christian groups, such as the Catholic League, that are sponsoring boycotts of "The Golden Compass," the forthcoming film based on the first of Pullman's novels in his trilogy "His Dark Materials."

I see him in an altogether different light. Although Pullman identifies himself as an atheist, I prefer to think of him as a sort of "reluctant theologian." When the British author paid a recent visit to New York City, I had the opportunity put the question to him directly.

"Well," he answered, chuckling a bit, "I admit I am not accustomed to being called a theologian." But the possibility intrigued him, and we spent a good deal of time exploring how it might even be true. He was excited by the idea of himself as an edgy theologian, and about the possibility of "His Dark Materials" as a work of Christian theology.

Intentionally or not, Pullman has given the world a theological masterpiece that is anything but anti-Christian. Its telos or "end purpose," highlights a vision of the Christian God and God's relationship to this world—one that has long lingered in the rhetoric of Christian feminist and liberation theologians. Until Pullman, their work has languished in the dark corners of academe and on the wrong side of Christian orthodoxy. The popularity of  "His Dark Materials" provides an extraordinary opportunity for these oft-hidden and even suppressed theological visionaries. It is a wonderful starting place from which Christians might engage in new and newly invigorated theological reflection about God, the soul, virtue and salvation.

In Pullman's concept of Dust, we discover the divine fabric of the universe in "His Dark Materials." Dust, also named Spirit, Wisdom and Consciousness, is the stuff of which all good things are made. It is Dust that gives us life, love and knowledge. And it is Dust that literally makes the worlds of heroine Lyra and hero Will go 'round. With Dust, Pullman follows directly in the footsteps of several Catholic feminist theological greats. Sandra Schneiders's "Women and the Word" asks us to open our minds to new ways of talking about and imagining the divine. Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza's "In Memory of Her" challenges the authority of patriarchal models of biblical interpretation. And most of all, Elizabeth Johnson's "She Who Is" reinterprets the Trinity from a feminist perspective. Rather than read the Trinity through the classic channels of the Father or the Son, Johnson runs her vision of the divine through the third person of the trilogy—the Holy Spirit, Wisdom-Sophia, who is feminine in scripture. Implicitly, Pullman makes the same arguments. His Dust is Wisdom, Spirit, and most definitely a She. From Dust, it is only a short leap to Pullman's vision of the soul, virtue and salvation—all of which are deeply Christian.

Dust makes all beings conscious and conscientious. Our souls—or dæmons, as Pullman calls them—are made of Dust. (In "His Dark Materials," each character's dæmon takes the form of a particular bird or animal that accompanies the character everywhere.) In Lyra's world, humans spend a lifetime cultivating a playful, loving and intimate relationship with their dæmons and therefore with God. Our bodies are made of Dust (think Genesis here). Our spirits, too, in the form of ghosts for Pullman—that which we become after our bodies and dæmons "die"--are destined to return to Dust by dissipating back into creation and consciousness, a kind of afterlife in which our ghosts are intended to nourish not only the divine, but the divine in all who come after us.