“KPop Demon Hunters” Is Essentially Christian
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. (Jn 1,5)
The animated film KPop Demon Hunters has taken the world by storm ever since its release last June. In its essence, the film touches on the reality of fallen man, and provides a message of healing—one which comes from allowing one’s own wounds to meet the light without, however, using them to justify sin. This message, at its core, is deeply Christocentric, and certainly serves as some kind of “seed of the Word” in a world which, to a greater or lesser extent in some places, has entered into a post-Christian order.
In order to understand this, we must recall how man, though created in the image and likeness of God, is born with certain wounds inherited, ultimately, from the sin of Adam; as well as a deprivation of original justice (original sin). Because of this, man also has a certain inclination to sin, which further deepens his personal and spiritual wounds. Sin, in turn, brings man a sense of shame and alienation—from God, from himself, and from others. Demons also experience shame, but—unlike men—their will remains fixed in sin (St. Thomas, ST, IIIa, q. 86, a. 1).
For this reason, our first parents chose to hide themselves from God (Gen 3,8) and from one another (Gen 3,7) upon committing their first sin. Even when confronted by God, they fail to take responsibility for their own sin (Gen 3,11-13). All of us who come from the stock of Adam also inherit these wounds: inclinations toward sin, shame, and alienation; often reinforced by our experiences.
With that being said, the film brings this reality to light in Rumi, the half-demon main protagonist who struggles to come to terms with her “patterns”; and Jinu, a human brought into the world of demons by making a deal with Gwi-Ma, a not-so-subtle allegory for Satan. Both characters signify different aspects of man’s woundedness: Rumi’s inheritance of particular “patterns” signify the inheritance of certain negative tendencies and dispositions from our parents and, ultimately, from Adam himself.
Jinu’s wounds, however, come from his own past actions: in making a deal with Gwi-Ma, he alienates himself from his family and from his “soul,” i.e., his humanity. He becomes a demon not by nature but by his obstinate indulgence in the “patterns” of sin and shame. In Christian theology, the demons and the lost both share this particular obstinacy which prevents them from ever accepting the grace of repentance.
In the film, we can find two harmful ways some characters take in addressing these spiritual wounds. The first is denial and concealment, as Rumi was encouraged to do by her foster-parent Celine throughout the storyline. Though this temporarily serves to protect the cohesion of a particular group in light of a certain and worthy temporal cause, this also prevents the person from truly coming to terms with the woundedness of his (or her) nature.
The Catechism of the Catholic Church states: “As St. Paul affirms, ‘Where sin increased, grace abounded all the more.’ But to do its work grace must uncover sin so as to convert our hearts and bestow on us ‘righteousness to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.’ Like a physician who probes the wound before treating it, God, by his Word and by his Spirit, casts a living light on sin…” (n. 1848). But this, first and foremost, requires that we acknowledge ourselves for who we presently are: wounded.
The other pernicious pattern is that of indulgence. Jinu is one such example. Driven to despair on account of his past failings, he chooses to indulge in his “patterns” of sin. This was a risk that was present not only for Rumi, who experiences despair (which her demonic side feeds on); but also for others such as Mira and Zoey (Rumi’s colleagues), who give in to their unresolved wounds and insecurities. As the plot reveals, both denial and indulgence are manifestations of our refusal to let our whole selves meet the Light: pride.
The film, however, presents an alternative: transformation. Rumi learns to accept her “patterns” as part of who she is and bring them to the Light. In turn, her “patterns” are transformed by the Light, enabling her to bear witness to the Light. This does not, however, entail identifying with our wounds or reducing ourselves to our “patterns.” We are not called to “love our sins.” Rather, we are called to bring our whole selves to the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ, who loves us not merely despite our wounds and “patterns”; but in some way, in light of them (something many of us, like Celine, fail to do).
The prophet Isaiah says of Christ: “In His stripes we are healed” (Is 53,5). Christ, in taking upon our wounds, saved us from and in our own wounds. “In our own wounds,” because it was not the nails that killed Christ, but rather the spiritual wounds that we inflicted upon Him chiefly by inflicting them first upon ourselves. While Christ never had the guilt of sin nor any inclination thereto, He allowed Himself in His humanity to bear our sins (St. John Henry Newman, Mental Sufferings of Our Lord in His Passion).
In other words, Christ took upon our patterns, and used them to bring about our redemption. Hence, the Christian life does not consist in concealing our wounds and patterns—but rather, in configuring them to the wounds of our Savior; allowing them to be transformed by He who is the Light of the World (Jn 8,12). And us, redeemed by the Light, can imitate Him by allowing our wounds — once a mark of our own shame — to serve as a courageous testament of Grace; which may even allow others to find their souls once again.
Take courage—don’t join the Pride.
FINAL VERDICT: 8.5/10 Pearls.
Daniel Tyler Chua is the founder and president of the Collegium Perulae Orientis. He is also a contributor to the Philippine Daily Inquirer and The Sentinel PH.
