Contents
- Why Is Modern Art Terrible?
- The Church and Creativity
- Is Everything Christian Fiction?
- Lost in the “Zone of Interest”
- What Makes a Story Worth Telling?
- The Hope for a Renaissance
- Resources
Why do modern movies, art, and literature feel so bland and uninspired?
Andrew Klavan’s conversation with Cassandra Nelson, author of The Theology of Fiction, dives into why today’s creative landscape feels more like a post-apocalyptic wasteland than a flourishing Renaissance.
But there are good reasons for those who still believe in truth, beauty, and a good story to have hope for the future.
Why Is Modern Art Terrible?
Klavan kicks off the conversation with a blunt observation: the last five or six years have been culturally barren. Hasn’t it been longer? Sure, there have been occasional bright spots, but overall, we’ve never had a greater quantity of bad art.
What happened?
“Art, like morality, consists of drawing the line somewhere.”
G.K. Chesterton
Nelson suggests that our art has been hijacked by propaganda and small-minded ideology. Instead of telling compelling stories, modern creators use fiction as a sermon for whatever social issue is trending on Twitter that week.
Good art doesn’t preach—it reveals.
The problem is, nobody seems to know where the line is anymore.
The Church and Creativity
Nelson introduces us to Sister Mariel, a Benedictine nun who championed Catholic fiction and ran into some resistance from the Church.
What was the problem? She suppported literature that depicted real, flawed human beings rather than sanitized, pious caricatures.
At one point, Sister Mariel was exiled from her teaching post because The Catcher in the Rye appeared on a summer reading list.
This raises a crucial question: does faith hinder creativity, or does it liberate it?
Nelson argues for the latter.
“No fun, tennis without a net.”
She references Chesterton’s idea of Catholicism as a “walled garden”—a place where, once inside, true creative freedom flourishes. Or as she puts it, “No fun, tennis without a net.” The idea is that faith provides structure, not suffocation.
The Church’s history with artists has been complicated.
But let’s not forget that Catholicism also gave us Dante, Flannery O’Connor, and Tolkien.
With a little finagling, it’s not unreasonable to argue that most of the Great Western Cannon has been at least inspired by the Catholic worldview.
The key is understanding that truth and beauty often require facing uncomfortable realities.
And just like the way modern art is smothered by sermonizing, so too has Christian art.
Is Everything Christian Fiction?
One of Nelson’s more provocative claims is that “everything good is Catholic fiction.” And also that “nothing is Catholic fiction.”
Confused? Right.
The idea is that all true art, even if not explicitly religious, points toward God in some way. It is created from within the Catholic worldview.
This is why Dante’s Inferno and The Brothers Karamazov are considered deeply Christian works, despite their gritty, sometimes disturbing content.
Meanwhile, books that try too hard to be overtly “Christian” often come across as insufferably preachy and artistically bankrupt.
“The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it.”
Flannery O’Connor
Truth isn’t always wrapped in a tidy bow.
Fiction that wrestles with the messiness of life often brings us closer to God than the sanitized, Hallmark-channel version.
Lost in the “Zone of Interest”
At one point, Klavan references the film The Zone of Interest, a haunting look at how ordinary people can live comfortable lives next to unspeakable evil. It raises the unsettling thought: Are we all, in some way, living in a “zone of interest,” turning a blind eye to the horrors around us?
Nelson suggests that this realization can lead Christians in two directions:
- To cynicism and despair.
- Or, to joy and resilience.
Since we’re commanded to rejoice (Philippians 4:4), the second option is clearly preferable.
But how do we balance facing reality with maintaining hope?
Tony Morrison, a Catholic convert, offers an answer: those who truly understand the depth of human evil also understand the necessity of grace.
True wisdom lies in seeing the world’s darkness without letting it extinguish our joy.
What Makes a Story Worth Telling?
A major theme in the discussion is the purpose of storytelling.
Aristotle believed that stories should follow a certain logic: actions have consequences, and narratives should reflect moral truths.
Modern storytelling often thrives on ambiguity. Characters make destructive choices with no real repercussions.
Klavan points to The Wolf of Wall Street, a film that features all the excess of a debauched lifestyle, but ultimately leaves the viewer repulsed by it.
Contrast that with films that merely glorify vice with no underlying moral insight, and the difference becomes clear.
Fiction should help us see reality more clearly. If a story leaves us feeling empty, confused, or worse—desensitized to evil—it’s probably not worth our time.
The Hope for a Renaissance
Despite the bleak state of modern culture, Nelson and Klavan agree that a creative revival is possible.
But it won’t come from shallow propaganda or sanitized “Christian” art.
It will come from storytellers willing to embrace both the beauty and brokenness of life, trusting that truth will shine through.
Or, as Nelson wisely puts it, “Grace is so important and so superfluous—it’s overflowing, it’s all around us.”
The question is: Are we paying attention?
A new generation of artists is rising, and they will be born out of this culture of lifeless, agenda-driven storytelling. It’s always darkest before dawn, right?