Dean Koontz is, I think, a Christian humanist. Or, to be more specific, a Christian casuist.
Perhaps,
it is his application of casuist principles in his writing that is in large
measure responsible for his incredibly large fan base.
This
willingness or desire, on the part of Koontz, to examine the human condition
predicated not only on “universally applicable moral laws governing human
conduct,” and his understanding that their application cannot be administered
by some simplistic set of rules or formulas to the great variations in human
conduct and motivation has established a unique nexus between author and
reader.
Koontz
has always been an outstanding storyteller brought about by his prodigious
moral and creative imagination, and his expertise regarding plot, dialogue,
and theme. He is one of the few writers that impales the reader on the first
page, and even on the first sentence.
Koontz
is the master of the moral dilemma and he surely stayed awake many nights
conjuring up the unique plot in his new thriller, Velocity.
His protagonists
are regular people, just like his readers, and Billy Wiles is no exception.
Yes, he does have a past and something of a checkered past as well, but he’s
placed himself in a comfortable groove, just getting by, kind of floating
along in life. Does he remind you of anyone you know?
Soon
enough this friendly bartender is faced with the epitome of moral dilemmas
presented by a demonic psychopath with an ulterior motive. It is a chilling
story because Koontz refuses to let the reader discern, within the classical
Judeo-Christian worldview, the “right” choice for Billy to make. You find
yourself shaking your head at Billy’s actions!
Employing a casuistry that would make St. Alphonsus Marie de Liguori, the author of Theologia Moralis,
smile, Koontz’s Billy Wiles works through every challenge the demonic/psychopath
has to offer. It is the Great Temptation, a pathway to a perverted perfection,
the ultimate seduction.
Koontz’s
success is, in part, due to the age in which we live. Modernity is a fecund
era for the novelist determined to examine the human condition, given our
abandonment of a transcendent God, and our embrace of moral relativism and
its associated philosophies, popular since the Enlightenment. Koontz, much
like Flannery O’Connor, eschews those Manichean theologies that see “the
natural world as unworthy of penetration.”1
He understands that our relationship to the transcendent God is established
upon the lives we live, the world in which we live, our minds, our bodies,
and our spirit. Exclude one of these elements, each of which is crucial in
the Great Mystery, and you have the surreal, the inhuman, modern man. Koontz
explores a higher Christology; not only the dualism of Christ as man and
God, but also that man is complete only in the unification of his body and
spirit.
Koontz’s
casuistry is, I think, that which attracts his readers. It is genuine and
sincere because he very much understands and comprehends human frailty. He
does not demand his pound of flesh but proffers a cushion for his protagonists,
for they (and we) are bound to fall. And this, I think, is a key element
in his writing. If he embraced contemporary moral relativism, we have your
typical “popular” writer. If he embraced the rigidity of absolutism, we have
a writer engaging in a one-size-fits-all “moral algebra.”
By applying
the ancient medieval principles of casuistry Koontz has been able to consistently
dramatize the texture of human life juxtaposed with the themes of forgiveness,
redemption, and salvation within the context of God’s creation.
Dr. Thomas Fleming, in his recent book, Morality in Everyday Life, points out,