As the leaves turn and Halloween approaches, a sharp debate has emerged within American Christian circles over the spiritual permissibility of the horror genre and the celebration of the macabre. The controversy was recently reignited by cultural commentator and influencer Allie Beth Stuckey, who advised her audience that Christians should avoid horror altogether. Her argument centers on the biblical injunction to avoid fear, asserting that because horror is designed to provoke terror, it runs contrary to the life of a believer.
Stuckey’s position rests on a specific interpretation of Scripture, citing the repeated commands throughout the Old and New Testaments for the faithful to not be afraid. She points to the Apostle Paul’s letter to the Philippians, which instructs believers to meditate on things that are true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, and commendable. From this perspective, the deliberate consumption of fear-based entertainment is viewed as a failure to guard the mind against “needless filth” and “plain lies.”
However, this modern push for spiritual insulation is being met with resistance from those who argue that such a retreat ignores the historically grisly and honest nature of Christian tradition. Bart Hutchins, a chef and author who once served as the Southern Baptist Convention’s Bible quiz champion for the state of Florida, suggests that ignoring the terrifying aspects of reality is a departure from the historical “honesty” of the faith.
Hutchins points to Saint Joseph’s Oratory in Montreal as a prime example of how the macabre has historically been integrated into the life of the church. On the fourth floor of the basilica, the physical heart of Brother André Bessette, a saint who died in 1937, is displayed in a glass case. The practice of preserving the hearts of the notable was a medieval custom from France and Italy. Hutchins argues that while the physical act of removing a human heart is a grisly, “not pretty” reality, it serves as a powerful reminder of mortality and the humanity of those who served the church.
This tension highlights two very different ways of approaching fear and the culture. Where Stuckey sees horror as a spiritual threat to be avoided, others see it as a necessary tool for navigating a broken world. The debate often turns back to the context of the very scriptures being cited. Paul, for instance, wrote his letter to the Philippians from a Roman prison, staring his own potential execution in the face. Proponents of a more inclusive view of the macabre argue that Paul was not calling for a retreat into a “safe bubble,” but rather expressing hope while looking at real-world horror with a sober mind.
The literary tradition of the West also provides a framework for this dispute. G.K. Chesterton, writing in 1909, famously argued that children already know about the existence of “dragons” through their own imaginations. The purpose of the fairy tale—and by extension, the ghost story—is not to introduce fear, but to provide a “St. George” to defeat it. Rather than locking the nursery door, Chesterton suggested that providing the tools to manage fear is more effective than pretending the source of fear does not exist.
Modern novelist Michel Houellebecq has also explored this theme, particularly the horror of isolation. In works like “Atomised” and “Submission,” Houellebecq depicts a society that has lost its communal bonds, leaving individuals to face the “horror” of a vast, indifferent universe alone. Critics of the “retreat” movement suggest that modern trends, such as doorbell cameras and the isolation of cul-de-sacs, have already made society more fearful and less neighborly. They argue that shared ghost stories and communal Halloween traditions actually act as a bridge, bringing families out into the dark together to share an experience of fear that is managed through community.
The religious calendar itself suggests a progression from the dark to the light. The day after Halloween marks All Saints’ Day, followed immediately by All Souls’ Day, when the church traditionally remembers and prays for the dead by name. Within this liturgical context, the monsters and ghosts of late October are not seen as ends in themselves, but as the shadows that precede a crowded, communal universe of faith.
For many, the answer to the fear inherent in the horror genre is not to look away, but to embrace the stories and community needed to manage it. As Hutchins notes, the Christian universe is not empty but crowded with the history of those who faced death and the macabre without retreating from their neighbors.
