If we take Einstein at his word, space and time are really one thing—spacetime. In other words, we can’t just think of a certain location in space or a certain length of time; we must think in terms of events. Location + Duration = Event. He also insisted that the Theory of Relativity doesn’t mean that everything is relative, but that every event is subject to that Absolute of Absolutes: The Speed of Light.
I may be belaboring the obvious when I point out that “The Star” describes a carefully orchestrated celestial event. Light travels at a finite speed. (186,000 miles per second: It’s not just a good idea; it’s the law.) In Clarke’s story, it takes 3,000 years for light to travel from point A (the exploding star) to point B (the Middle East in 4 BC). In order for the light of the exploding star to get to Earth at the correct time, in the correct spot in the sky—in other words, in order for the correct event to occur—the star must explode 3,000 years in advance of the events in Bethlehem. But, according to Einstein, causes and effects cannot race ahead of the lightwave front within our universe. The events at the star and at Bethlehem can have no conceivable connection with each other until the lightwave front hits Earth.
The only way cause and effect can be linked across a 3,000-light-year gap before the events occur is for an outside force to intervene. A force not restricted by the speed of light. Like a complex military operation in which separate tactical maneuvers must be synchronized exactly in order to achieve the overall strategic goal, the events in the Christmas Story must be planned and executed to the letter. And—this is a key point—this must include the planned destruction of the alien civilization.
No wonder the Jesuit priest is utterly demoralized. He realizes that the destruction of those people is not just an unfortunate side effect of the event, but an integral part of it. And here we get to the heart of the matter. “The Star” is not just so much thoughtless Christian-bashing; it’s a serious critique of a fundamental Christian belief—the necessary existence of the All-Powerful, All-Knowing God—and, perhaps even more pointedly—the Completely Scripted Universe, naturally flowing out of the deity’s own omnipotence and omniscience. That kind of deity must thoroughly dominate its creation from Alpha to Omega. Think of “The Star” as a thinly disguised metaphysical essay and criticism of the theological concept of predestination.
Clarke is not protesting against the existence of suffering in the universe. We can all pretty well accept the fact that suffering would exist in any kind of universe imaginable inhabited by sensitive, intelligent beings. The problem for Christians is that of the necessity of planned suffering, of scripted suffering.
Clarke is saying that the Biblical universe is basically theologically unsound. If everything that happens to humans (and presumably to alien beings) is arranged by God outside of spacetime, the serious theologian must ask what all the fuss is about in being Christian or not, being good or not, being save or not. Cause and effect, thought, decisions, and action cannot be seen in such a universe as the acts of free, moral centers of insight—human beings—but merely some small, suitably embroidered scenes written into the Scripted Universe.
Picture the Scripted Universe as a vast block of spacetime—an eternal, crystalline immensity of well-ordered events—well ordered by God outside of spacetime. Everything is already in place, is predestined. The blocks of spacetime that we experience are all in place. The story, the action, free will itself, are illusions created by our movement through our own portion of spacetime. We humans are but speckles of paint on an immense work of art.
We are told about the Christmas Story by Christians. We read about it in the Bible. We are told that this Story came to be through the freely willed actions of God and human beings. But, when Clarke devises his own story, allowing us to grasp something of what an all-Knowing, All-Powerful God must be, we begin to realize what kind of power such a God would automatically have to have over His creation. That great block of spacetime, of well-ordered events, is His. And, if everything has already been decided, we realize that this Christmas Story cannot be a story at all, at least not about freely chosen human actions. It can’t have the tense anticipation of an undetermined future with the characters wondering if they’ll succeed or fail. It must be a fait accompli.