Da Vinci Code: Fact and Fiction

Everyone at my congregation is buzzing about The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown's runaway bestseller. "Is this true?" a woman in my adult Sunday school class demanded. Amidst the clamor of this and other requests for information, I broke down and read it on a recent trip to England.

It proved to be perfect light reading material for a journey. In fact, I loved it. Brown has masterfully woven information about esoteric art symbology, church history, and even the Knights Templar into a fast-paced potboiler I dare anyone to try to put down. What's not to love?

A lot, apparently. I have listened with incredulity as church leaders and biblical scholars have, one after another, almost universally denounced it as rubbish. Their responses seem defensive and shrill, as if Brown's thriller is something to fear, that the masses need to be protected from. Certainly one gets the idea that Brown and his ilk should not be encouraged, and isn't it just too bad that burning at the stake has become so politically incorrect? Even hip and liberal fiction authors such as Laurie King denounced the book at her recent appearance at Epiphany West.

Are such denunciations warranted? Is this something we should be discouraging parishioners from reading?

Sorting Out Fact from Fiction
The most important thing to remember when reading The Da Vinci Code is that it is a work of fiction. It is not intended to be a history textbook. It is intended to keep you on the edge of your seat and make you think. In this is it entirely successful. One always runs into trouble when trying to make one thing out of another-such as using a screwdriver to do the job of a hammer or using the Bible as a science textbook-and The Da Vinci Code is no exception. It offers an intriguing mix of fact and fiction, which many folks have found titillating and fascinating, and which some folks have found downright distressing.

Brown's genius has been to take disparate and unrelated historical ideas and movements, and weave them into a complex conspiracy, and this is the key to sorting out his facts from his fiction. The historical ideas and movements are real-the conspiracy is not.

So yes, it is true that goddess worshippers kept the cult of the divine feminine alive in underground rites and rituals in spite of the threat of torture or death at the hands of church authorities-some estimate that as many as nine million people (mostly women) were put to death for keeping alive the "old ways" in the middle ages.

It is also true that the Knights Templar were a secretive and probably heretical order of the Roman Catholic Church that was suppressed, and that their legacy provided the foundation of the Masonic orders. And it is probably true that Leonardo Da Vinci was involved in a secret society of some sort or another (although I am admittedly out of my field on that one). What is not true is that these facts are all part of a contiguous movement, a true and alternative "church" running parallel to the "orthodox" version of Christianity down through the ages.

Opus Dei, too, is a real organization, representing amongst its members the far right wing of the Roman Catholic Church, and granted for many years a special place of favor by the pope. Brown sets Opus Dei up as the heavies early in his novel, but later backs off and makes it clear that only certain members of Opus Dei are responsible for the nefarious intrigues that beset our hero and heroine, and not the organization as a whole.

The notion that the "true believers" of Christendom (represented by Opus Dei) and the "faithful remnant" of those who honor the divine feminine (represented by Sophie's grandfather in the novel) are two monolithic and diametrically opposed camps whose enmity has burned for millennia is a literary device that Brown uses to good effect.

What about the assertion that Jesus and Mary Magdalene had children together that formed the basis of the "divine right of kings" claimed by the royal houses of Europe? Unfortunately there is no way to substantiate or disprove this assertion, but it is certainly true that this has been believed by many people in history. Holy Blood, Holy Grail was the first of many books to document this belief, and while the evidence presented in that book and its successors is far from conclusive, it is nonetheless compelling. But it is nothing new. Holy Bloodwas a runaway bestseller in the 1980s in much the same way as The Da Vinci Code is today, and the ecclesiastical structures as we know them have not crumbled or faded into obscurity.

It is probable that this theory has been believed and passed down by word of mouth secretly within the royal families of Europe themselves, perhaps for hundreds of years. The fact that the general public has only recently been made aware of it does not prove or disprove it-it is, nonetheless, just the sort of delicious mind candy that makes rooting around in the cellars of history, religion, and philosophy so much fun.

What Brown got right
What makes the petty nitpicking at Brown's novel so tiresome is that few are noting what he is doing right. For most Christians, prodding the sacred cow of the church or its history is simply off limits. To our credit, Episcopalians are often more willing than other Christians to see the evolution of the church in terms of politics and the vicissitudes of human sin, probably due to the fact that Anglican origins are steeped in both. But there are still those who are only willing to go so far back with that and still view the early church as a graced and unsullied period.

As many studies are making clear, however, nothing could be further from the truth. One cannot speak of "early Christianity" but only of "early Christianities" in the plural, as the early church was just as replete with controversy, and theological and political squabbles as it is today. The "golden age" of the church is as much a conspiratorial fiction as Brown's cult of the divine feminine. Books such as Bart Lehmann's (sp?) Lost Christianities and Elaine Pagels' Beyond Belief are invaluable because, like The Da Vinci Code, they are inspiring readers to think deeply and critically about the church's history and teachings, and that is never a bad thing.

Aristotle said that "intelligence is the ability to entertain an idea without accepting it." Too much of what passes for Christian entertainment is of such poor quality precisely because it is afraid to color outside the lines, as if all Christians are children that need to be protected from anything that is not "faith positive" in content. Brown's book is just exactly the sort of thing that Christians should be reading because it exposes us to ideas that are sometimes uncomfortable, and alternative views of history and faith that are valuable because they enlarge our cultural perspective. Being exposed to an idea does not mean that we have to accept it, defend ourselves against it, or protect other people from it. The Gospel is not so fragile that it needs us to defend it, and if there are elements of Brown's book that frighten us, should be grateful, since there are enough elements of Brown's work that are true that should right and properly shame us.

Indeed, Brown is tapping into a generalized distrust of Christianity and its authority structure. Many people are all for Jesus, but highly suspicious those who presume to know his mind and act on his behalf, so often to the detriment of others (the religious right's current campaign to limit the constitutional rights of gay and lesbian people is just one contemporary example of this). The divide between what we as people of faith are supposed to stand for and the wreckage we often leave in our wake is a wide one, and many people appreciate Brown's ability to point out naked royalty when he sees it. As Christians we should feel humbled by this, not defensive. He's right, after all-in fact he hasn't even scratched the surface. Part of the work of redemption is acknowledging our own sin and confessing it to others, and we have a lot to answer for. That people do not trust the institutional church is clear, but that their distrust is well-founded is rarely discussed. Brown does, and bully for him.

The Da Vinci Code may not be providing historically accurate answers, but it is asking all the right questions. The mere fact that people are excited about and discussing church history, thinking critically about its interaction with the cultures that have been impacted by it, and what that means for us today is not a threat but a grace-filled opportunity. Every member of the clergy in the diocese should read it, because without a doubt, each will be approached by a parishioner with questions. Questions that should be encouraged and talked about. The Da Vinci Code is not the last word, and I doubt that Dan Brown intended it to be. But it is a great place to start the conversation.