Fantasy Writer Sparked War Over Using Real-Life Religions to Build a Post-Apocalyptic Universe

When an independent creator decided to craft a post-apocalyptic fantasy universe, they thought they had hit on a stroke of storytelling brilliance: using the afterlives and cosmologies of real-world religions to build fortified city-states. From a circular "Nirvana Complex" divided into six Buddhist realms of existence to a snowy Norse realm of "Asgard" cut off by perpetual winter, the author sought to kickstart a world of outcasts and gilded fortresses.

However, the writer—who admitted to feeling completely indifferent toward religion—soon found themselves in the center of a raging debate over cultural appropriation, offensive storytelling, and creative limits.

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The creator claimed they were taking precautions not to feature actual living deities as characters or spark real-world offense. Yet their list of inspirations—which spanned Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Taoism, Norse myth, Shinto, and what they mistakenly referred to as "Hebraism"—immediately drew intense scrutiny.

Critics quickly moved in to point out the ethical minefield of treating living faiths as mere aesthetic paint. One commenter pointed out that real-world religious conflicts have inflicted trauma on millions of people throughout history, making it impossible to separate sacred beliefs from geographic and cultural realities. Another observer sharply warned that non-practitioners shouldn't touch traditions like Judaism without serious, rigorous research, noting that using incorrect terminology demonstrates how easily surface-level worldbuilding can misrepresent complex cultures.

Navigating the line between artistic homage and sacred infringement is never simple. While polytheistic pantheons like Norse or Hellenic traditions are often treated as open-source mythologies in popular media, living indigenous traditions and marginalized faiths carry deep historical wounds. Blending sacred afterlives with fictional post-apocalyptic tropes risks turning living spiritual practices into exotic backdrop props.

Others argued that writing about religion while feeling entirely indifferent toward it is a recipe for disaster. One critic noted that if an author lacks passion for the spiritual traditions they borrow, the resulting world will feel sterile, bland, and emotionally vacant to readers.

Yet, a vocal faction of defenders urged the writer to ignore the backlash and push forward. One supporter cited classic masterpieces like Frank Herbert’s Dune, which melded elements of Zen Buddhism, Catholicism, and Islam into a compelling sci-fi universe without seeking permission from religious authorities. Another commentator argued that religions naturally possess built-in dramatic tension, expanding empires, and conflicting ideologies that make for phenomenal speculative fiction. They advised the creator to warp and adapt these systems to fit the story's functional needs rather than worrying about pleasing everyone.

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As the creative debate unfolded, it unexpectedly opened a door into a darker theological conversation: the process of deconstructing personal faith crises, specifically the terrifying doctrine of eternal hell.

For many who analyze religious structures from the outside or attempt to shed past dogmas, the concept of hell stands out as a primary source of psychological trauma. Deconstructing believers increasingly question the moral logic behind eternal damnation, asking how a finite crime committed by a flawed human being could ever justify infinite punishment from a loving divinity. Comparative studies show that modern depictions of hell evolved late in religious history, functioning more as tools of social control than objective moral truths.

Whether designing fictional universes or unlearning real-world dogmas, confronting sacred structures requires more than surface-level interest—it demands an honest look at the immense emotional power these beliefs hold over human lives.

On the latest episode of Holy Smoke, our hosts go toe-to-toe on where creative freedom ends, where sacred offense begins, and whether ancient doctrines of damnation can withstand modern moral scrutiny.