Star Wars is the archetypal science-fiction franchise, but it doesn’t contain a lot of science. You may have caught this somewhere between its humanoid aliens, geographically monotonous planets, thunderous explosions, and spaceship dogfights, but if you haven’t, a lot of Star Wars material should be scientifically bothersome upon initial viewing. It’s well known that an X-Wing wouldn’t produce a fiery explosion after being shot in space—or at least not one of the magnitude we see in the movies. Beyond the scientific, there are also plot holes and inconsistencies. Why would Luke keep his infamous surname if he is trying to remain hidden from the Empire? Or what about the fact that Leia tells Luke she remembers their mother, even though we saw in Revenge of the Sith that she dies in childbirth.
Most of Star Wars’s problems stem from the reality that most of its mythology was created over the course of decades across several movies (and books)—it’s expected that Lucas and his creative team would occasionally introduce inconsistencies. Beyond that, there’s simply the reason that the creators wanted something cool. Sure, they could film the space battles more in line with 2001: A Space Odyssey with large, slow-moving ships, but by taking on the aesthetic of WWII dogfighting, Star Wars became hugely entertaining and one of the most successful film franchises of all time.
Acknowledging this background information has proven acceptable for most people; for the sake of verisimilitude, the movies need to be a certain way and we’re mostly OK with that. But not all of us. Some of us need something more. And for that reason, Star Wars fans are notorious for synthesizing “in-universe” reasons for why the films are the way they are.
Why do explosions happen in space when there is no oxygen? Something about ion engines and the untrue vacuum of space. How could a massive space station like the Death Star get destroyed by a single space-torpedo? We’ll write an entire movie to tell you. For some Star Wars fans, there’s never any reason to appeal to the filmmaking process; instead, we can find a perfectly good reason in the world of the movies and mythology. And normally I’m fine with this sort of thing—in fact, it’s kinda fun. The only issue is when similar behavior manifests in the interpretation of holy texts.
You see, Christians like to read the Bible an awful lot like Star Wars fans. We try a little too hard to find in-universe reasons for oddities in the text. When Joshua tells us that all the inhabitants of Canaan were wiped out but Judges depicts some natives still hanging around, an in-universe reason is forced to reinterpret the meaning of “He left no survivor, and he utterly destroyed all who breathed” (Josh. 10:40). Or when Paul says that some will not taste death before the Lord returns and that it is best for those unmarried to stay as they are, but elsewhere longs for death as he will not live to see the parousia, some Christians force themselves to further develop the mechanics of the Second-Coming just to make sense of it all.
Now, this is commendable to an extent. Our default should always be to give the benefit of the doubt to internal logic. If Star Wars fans always appealed to cool moviemaking, then there would be no magic left to find on the silver screen. If Christians always chalked up the Bible’s teaching to the personal preference of an apostle, then there would be nothing left to bend and transform our way of living.
This is because, ultimately, we transform the Bible more when we try to make it bend to our rules of interpretation. Not only is this simply a dishonest way of reading Scripture, it shades the complexity of the holy book, causing it to lose its edges and surfaces. In losing this complexity, we no longer see the diverse viewpoints in the text or appreciate the theological slants of the various books. The Bible has a history, and we’re only made better by accepting it.