By the time readers reach Rhythms of War, the fourth installment of Brandon Sanderson’s The Stormlight Archive, they have traveled through broken oaths, shattering guilt, and faltering hopes. Yet in this massive volume, Sanderson pivots from external wars to internal ones: the war for the soul, for identity, and for forgiveness.
From a Lutheran perspective, Rhythm of War offers one of the most powerful fictional portrayals of the Christian life as simul iustus et peccator—simultaneously saint and sinner. Sanderson masterfully interweaves the struggles of Kaladin, Navani, and Venli in a way that illustrates despair, confession, redemption, and vocation. Though Sanderson is not consciously writing Christian allegory (to my knowledge), the novel echoes biblical truths every Christian would do well to ponder.
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Kaladin Stormblessed and the Wound that Will Not Heal
Kaladin’s journey in Rhythm of War is brutal and raw. His struggle with depression now comes front and center in his battle fatigue. But Sanderson refuses the easy way out: Kaladin does not simply overcome depression through heroism. Rather, he wrestles with his failure to save everyone—a failure that gnaws at him constantly. At one point, Kaladin confesses, “I’m broken. I can’t fix everyone. I’m not strong enough to hold all of their pain.” This confession of limitation is strikingly Lutheran. It echoes what Jesus says to Paul in 2 Corinthians 12:9, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.”
Luther expresses the same when he writes, “It is certain that man must utterly despair of his own ability before he is prepared to receive the grace of Christ” (LW 31:40). Sanderson’s depiction of Kaladin’s despair matches this: the moment of deepest helplessness is not the end, but the beginning of grace.
Kaladin’s healing begins not with victory but with rest. In a profound move, Kaladin steps away from being a soldier to become a surgeon again—an act of humility that reflects Luther’s theology of vocation. He does not abandon his calling to serve. Instead, he lives it in a way that acknowledges his creaturely limits, not as shameful, but as holy. In the way he understands it, he doesn’t need to be a soldier to keep his oaths and protect people; he can still protect people by being a surgeon. This is a vital step he takes toward finally confessing his final and Fourth Ideal, “I accept that there will be those I cannot protect!”
Navani Kholin: Crafting Truth from Humility
Navani’s arc in Rhythm of War is a stunning exploration of vocation born out of humility. Throughout the earlier books, Navani is portrayed as a queen, an architect, and a political player. Yet in Rhythm of War, stripped of her political status, she finds her true calling not through nobility but through her persistence and suffering as a true scholar.
Captured by the Fused, particularly one named Roboniel, Navani is forced to collaborate on technological advancements designed to unmake the Sibling, the spren of the tower Urithiru. Navani taunts herself, “You are not a true scholar. You are merely a child, banging on pots, hoping to make music.” In this self-doubt, she faces her deepest fear: that she is an impostor among greater scholarly minds.
But Navani does not fall completely into despair. Instead, she embraces humility, perhaps to a fault. She leans into the vocation God often gives His people: to serve faithfully even when the world despises them. To paraphrase Luther, God’s works are always unattractive; they are hidden under suffering and the cross (see LW 31:52-53). Navani embodies this. Although her groundbreaking discovery of anti-Light can permanently destroy spren (much to her dismay), it can also permanently destroy the Fused, promising an end to their perpetual war once and for all.
Navani’s bond with the Sibling comes not through domination or cleverness, but through trust. Navani speaks plainly, “I will not enslave you. I will listen. I will protect.” The Sibling responds—not because Navani masters it, but because she offers herself in service.
This act is deeply sacramental. As our Confessions say, “Through the Word and Sacraments, as through instruments, the Holy Spirit is given [John 20:22]” (AC V, 2). Navani’s bond with theSibling happens not through might, but through humble words spoken in faith and promise.
Navani’s arc shows true authority is never seized for oneself—it is received through humble service. She does not triumph by proving her intellect, though she certainly proves herself to be a scholar. Instead, she triumphs by confessing her limitations, committing to service, and speaking truth against the overwhelming forces of domination and corruption.
Her resilience and her bond with the Sibling offer a profound picture of Christian vocation: one rooted not in pride, but in a life laid down for the sake of another.
Venli and the Gospel for the Guilty
Perhaps the most surprising theological depth in Rhythm of War comes from Venli, a former traitor who unwittingly facilitated the return of the oppressive Fused. Venli’s arc is about guilt—not superficial regret, but spirit-crushing, soul-deep guilt.
Early in the novel, Venli despairs: “My crime was too great. My betrayal too vast. The Voices would never forgive me.” This echoes the despair that drives sinners away from grace—the belief (the devil’s lie) that forgiveness is possible for others, but not for oneself.
Yet Sanderson does not leave Venli in despair. Slowly, through the steady companionship of her spren, Timbre, and through her own acts of secret rebellion against Odium, Venli begins to change. She does not erase her guilt. She confesses it through her actions. She serves those she once betrayed and her former enemies. She seeks not self-exoneration, but restoration.
This mirrors what Melanchthon writes on repentance: “Now, strictly speaking, repentance consists of two parts. One part is contrition, that is, terrors striking the conscience through the knowledge of sin. The other part is faith, which is born of the Gospel [Romans 10:17] or the Absolution and believes that for Christ’s sake, sins are forgiven. It comforts the conscience and delivers it from terror” (AC XII, 3-5).
Venli’s path is not triumphal; it is humble. She walks forward with her guilt, trusting that even one such as she can still serve the Light. This is Christian faith in action: living not by sight or feeling, but by the Word of promise.
Songs of Healing: The Liturgical Vision of Rhythm of War
One of the great motifs of this volume is the use of songs—ancient, binding rhythms that shape the singers, listeners, and Fused alike. These songs can control, enslave, or unite. Sanderson’s depiction of song mirrors the power of liturgy in the Christian life.
When Navani creates a new rhythm—the Rhythm of War—it is not merely artistic. It is sacramental, in a way—it binds what was broken. Similarly, when the singers under Venli begin to sing new songs of freedom, they are performing a kind of new creation—a liturgical renewal.
This reflects the biblical view that worship is not mere expression but participation in God’s divine service (Gottesdienst). The psalmist sings, “Oh, sing to the LORD a new sing; sing to the LORD, all the Earth” (Psalm 96:1). And the Church, through its hymns and liturgies, joins this eternal song. Luther understood this deeply: “…next to the Word of God, music deserves the highest praise. She is a mistress and governess of those human emotions… which as masters govern men or more often overwhelm them” (LW 53:323).
In Rhythm of War, music becomes more than sound—it becomes a weapon, a balm, and a prayer.
The Rhythm of War Within
Rhythm of War is not merely about battles between armies; it’s about the battles within the human soul: between despair and hope, shame and grace, bondage and freedom. Each central character—Kaladin, Navani, Venli—fights this internal war. And each emerges, not merely by conquering, but by confessing, serving, and trusting in a power beyond themselves. For the Christian, this novel is a profound mirror. We, too, are broken warriors singing in a broken world. We, too, are called to confess our weakness, to receive grace, and to join the eternal song of the Lamb who was slain.
In Rhythm of War, Brandon Sanderson offers a vision not of human self-sufficiency, but of divine sufficiency—of grace flowing into fragile vessels, making them instruments of healing. And so, with Kaladin, Navani, and even Venli, we learn that even the rhythm of war within all of us can be turned into a rhythm of peace—when it is tuned to the music of grace. “To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under Heaven: …a time of war, and a time of peace” (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 8).
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