Lessons from A Canticle for Leibowitz

"It was said that God, in order to test mankind which had become swelled with pride as in the time of Noah, had commanded the wise men of that age, among them the Blessed Leibowitz, to devise great engines of war such as had never been upon the Earth, weapons of such might that they contained the very fires of Hell, and that God had suffered these magi to place the weapons in the hands of princes, and to say to each prince: 'Only because the enemies have such a thing have we devised this for thee, in order that they may know that thou hast it also, and fear to strike.  See to it, m'Lord, that thou fearest them as much as they shall now fear thee, that none may unleash this dread thing which we have wrought.'  But the princes, putting the words of their wise men to nought, thought each to himself: If I but strike quickly enough, and in secret, I shall destroy those others in their sleep, and there will be none to fight back; the earth shall be mine.  Such was the folly of the princes, and there fellowed the Flame Deluge."

Walker Percy, in an essay discussing Walter Miller's novel A Canticle for Leibowitz, asserted that the book contains a secret.  And if anyone figures it out, he dare not tell it.

It's been about a week since I turned the last page of A Canticle for Leibowitz.  I have my next novel already checked-out from the library and ready to be read.  But my mind is still wrestling with the questions, images, and themes from Miller's work.  It probably will be for a long time.  It's just that kind of a book.  It makes you ponder, wonder, speculate.  What did he mean?  What was he suggesting?

It is indeed a mystery.  And perhaps it's best that way.

Walter Miller was a one-book author.  A Canticle for Leibowitz was published in 1959.  Though written 55 years ago, some of the dialogue sounds eerily like something one could easily hear today.  It's both prophetic and apocalyptic in nature.  

Miller was an engineer and during WWII he served as a bomber pilot, participating in the controversial shelling of the ancient monastery of Monte Cassino in Italy--the site where St. Benedict established his first monastery.  Miller's experiences in the war understandably had a profound impact on him.  A convert to the Catholic faith, he lost his faith later in life and, tragically, committed suicide in 1997.

A Canticle of Leibowitz is set in the future and is divided into 3 sections: Fiat Homo (Let There Be Man), Fiat Lux (Let There Be Light), and Fiat Voluntas Tua (Let Thy Will Be Done).  They almost exist as stand-alone stories, with different tones, ideas, and characters in each.  Yet, they form a unity in the unraveling of human history, seemingly doomed to commit the same grievous errors again and again.

The focal point of each section is the monastery of the Order of Saint Leibowitz, located in the desert southwest.  The order was founded by a scientist who became disillusioned when his wife died in a nuclear fallout at the end of the 20th century.  The event is referred to as the "Flame Deluge"--the flooding of earth with the fire from nuclear explosions.  

In response to the vast nuclear destruction, the "Simpletons" emerged.  Blaming science and knowledge for the nuclear catastrophe, the simpletons sought to eradicate all literacy and learning.  They boasted of their ignorance.  Leibowitz founded his order in opposition to them, forming a community of religious who are bookleggers and memorizers, committed to the preservation of culture, books, and history.  They gather the artifacts of the earlier civilization in their "Memorabilia."  For his efforts, Leibowitz dies a martyr.

"At the beginning, in the time of Leibowitz, it had been hoped--and even anticipated as probable--that the fourth or fifth generation would begin to want its heritage back.  But the monks of the earliest days had not counted on the human ability to generate a new cultural inheritance in a couple of generations if an old one is utterly destroyed...The Memorabilia was there, and it was given to them by duty to preserve, and preserve it they would if the darkness in the world lasted ten more centuries, or even ten thousand years, for they, though born in that darkest of ages, were still the very bookleggers and memorizers of the Beatus Leibowitz..." 

In this reflection on the novel, I would like to organize my thoughts according to the three sections of the book.

Fiat Homo

Fiat Homo centers on Brother Francis, a simple, guileless religious who is seeking to take his full vows in the Order of Leibowitz...and to help advance the cause to sainthood for their founder, who is Blessed Leibowitz at this point.  

During his Lenten fast in the desert, Francis meets a mysterious pilgrim, who leads him to an underground fallout shelter, which holds treasures of the Pre-Deluge time.  With great wonder, the brothers admire and contemplate the relics of this former time...including, to the reader's humor, a grocery list.  Among the items gathered is a blueprint belonging to none other than Blessed Leibowitz himself.

It becomes Francis's life task to create a copy of the blueprint.  He and the monks have no idea what the blueprint represents.  It is meaningless to them, yet they know it contains meaning, and so they seek to preserve it for a future time when an "integrator" will come and connect the dots.  Francis labors for years to create his copy, using gold inlaid and beautifying it with scrolls and artistic embellishments.

When New Rome announces that Blessed Leibowitz is to be canonized, Francis is selected to attend the ceremony and commences his journey, the original blueprint (now a relic) and his finished masterpiece of a copy in hand.  

However, during his journey, the copy of the blueprint is stolen by some cannibals along the road--mutants due to the effects of radiation.  Francis never retrieves the work on which he spent his life laboring and dies, shot by an arrow between the eyes.

Killing the protagonist is a grim way to end the first third of the book.

It also sets the reader on an uneasy trajectory: what was the purpose of any of it?  Francis spent years creating a copy of a blueprint, of which he knew nothing save it was done by the founder of his order.  No contemporary of his, living in an illiterate world, could understand it.  The reader is left with the unsettling question: did Francis waste his life?  Was that all his life amounted to--Lenten fasts in the desert surrounded by wolves, tedious copying of texts no one understood, dying alone, unmourned in the desert with vultures overhead hungrily eying his remains?

The monks were safekeeping the keys to knowledge in their Memorabilia, but if and when society became interested in such knowledge, what would they choose to do with it?  Would they choose to destroy themselves again?

Whispers of despair begin in this first section.  I turned the final page of Homo Fiat, hoping that somehow Brother Francis--good, kind, honest, faithful Francis--would be revived and that his end wouldn't be so painfully trite.  Surely that couldn't be the conclusion of his story?

Well, it all depends on the lenses through which your read the novel and understand the world.  

That seems to be one of the overarching themes of this complex work.  Prof. Ralph Wood, in a lecture given at the Notre Dame Center for Ethics & Culture, explains that Miller attempts to show that, without the guiding light of theology and philosophy, there is no way to unify things.  Theory proceeds understanding: if one can envision using philosophy and theology, then one has the right lens to make sense of what is before you.  Believing enables understanding.

So, was Francis successful?  Perhaps not--his life work, his copy of Leibowitz's blueprint, amounted to nothing.  But was Francis faithful?  Yes, to his dying moment.  And, as history tells us, the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church. 

Furthermore, Francis's story isn't done with his death in Fiat Homo.  Death is not the end.  Francis is present again in the second section, when the abbot invokes his intercession (Francis is beatified at this point).  In the third section, as the world is literally crumbling around him, the final abbot reaches out his dying hand, which falls upon Francis's skull--a reminder that "the world is passing away, and also its lusts; but the one who does the will of God lives forever" (1 John 2:17).

Fiat Lux

If the first section of A Canticle for Leibowitz is akin to the Dark Ages, when the monks of the Church preserved culture by copying manuscripts by hand in their monasteries, then this section may be analogous for the Renaissance.

Society has advanced in the several hundred years since Francis's time.  There are professors, called "thons," who have created theories about science and technology.  Meanwhile, the still-illiterate rulers seek domination and power.

One particular thon, who plays a large role in this division of the book, is named Thon Taddeo.  Note the pun on his name: it contains the word Deo, which is the Latin word for "God."  It is a pun, of course, because Taddeo is an atheist.  

The focus, as the title of this second section suggests, is light.  What should illuminate our life?  As Prof. Wood explained, what is the lens, or light, by which we see?  The idea is hinted at in a brief exchange between Taddeo and a priest named Apollo:

"I can't accept it.  How can a great a wise civilization have destroyed itself so completely?" [Thon Taddeo]

"Perhaps," said Apollo, "by being materially great and materially wise, and nothing else."  He went to light a tallow lamp, for the twilight was rapidly fading into night.  He struck steel and flint until the spark caught and he blew gently at it in the tinder.

Taddeo requests permission to visit the monastery of the Order of St. Leibowtiz and to study the documents in their Memorabilia.  Taddeo's visit, as one might imagine, creates multiple scenes of conflict and contrast.

On the one extreme, there is Brother Armbruster, the librarian of the Memorabilia.  

"Armbruster was not impressed by the fact that the secular scholar, in two days, had unraveled a bit of a puzzle that had been lying around, a complete enigma, for a dozen centuries.  To the custodian of the Memorabilia, each unsealing represented another decrease in the probable lifetime of the contents of the cask, and he made no attempt to conceal his disapproval of the entire proceeding.  To Brother Librarian, whose task in life was the preservation of books, the principal reason for the existence of books was that they might be preserved perpetually.  Usage was secondary, and to be avoided if it threatened longevity."

The monks have a tremendous treasure in their Memorabilia.  But, the question is: what should they do with such a treasure?  Brother Armbruster would have it such that the treasure is hidden away, perfectly preserved and never used.  It exists to exist--not to change, to invent, or to create.

Taddeo, on the other extreme, accuses the monks of hiding away the keys to knowledge that could advance society.  He asserts that it would be more fitting to have the Memorabilia housed in the collegium, where the scientists would have ready access to it.  Taddeo accuses the abbot, Dom Paulo:

"Keep science cloistered, don't try to apply it, don't try to do anything about it until men are holy.  Well, it won't work.  You've been doing it here in this abbey for generations...If you try to save wisdom until the world is wise, Father, the world will never have it."

Were the monks right in keeping claim on the Memorabilia?  Many of them did, after all, die to preserve it.  Or should they have allowed the Memorabilia to reside in the hands of the scientists who could make the most sense of it?

The questions raise an interesting dilemma about the Church in the world.   

To what degree should the Church intermingle in a pagan society?  Would the Church's presence in society corrupt their Christian mission?

In the narrative, the monks warmly welcome Taddeo into their monastery and Dom Paolo explains to Taddeo that anyone may come to visit.  But the Memorabilia stays where it is.  

The point is that Christians cannot close themselves in and exist only in the realm of purity.  We cannot be insular and leave the world to its own devices.  We must reach out, welcome in, and invite the stranger as we would Christ.  Simultaneously, however, the treasures Christ has given the Church must remain within Her.  They do not belong to the world.  

Prof. Wood, in his lecture, comments that Christians must interact with the pagan world, but in doing so, the Christian's primary mission cannot be subordinated to pagan culture.

This idea is brilliantly highlighted in a symbolic scene involving a crucifix.  

Brother Kornhoer, using the theories advanced by Taddeo, creates a generator that is capable of producing light.  Thon Taddeo is to work and study in one of the alcoves outside the Memorabilia, which happens to be one of the darkest spaces.  It is agreed that it is most fitting that the newly invented light bulb should be hung over his study space.  However, the glitch is that there is something already hanging there: a crucifix.

Dom Paolo initially agrees to remove the crucifix and install the light.  After all, why create a light and not use it?  From a pragmatic perspective, it all makes complete sense.

Yet, as said above, the Christian's primary mission is not to be subordinated to a pagan culture.  As the first book emphasized, what is the lens--or the light--by which we see the world?  Knowledge gleaned without the guiding light of Christ may be knowledge that only leads to one's perdition.  And so, Dom Paolo changes his mind.

Brother Kornhoer slipped into the room again.  He was carrying the heavy crucifix which had been displaced from the head of the archway to make room for the novel lamp.  He handed the cross to Dom Paulo.

"How did you know I wanted this?"

"I just decided it was about time, Domne."  He shrugged.

The old man climbed the ladder and replaced the rood on its iron hook.  The corpus glittered with gold by candlelight.  The abbot turned and called down to his monks.  

"Who reads in this alcove henceforth, let him read ad Lumina Christi!" 

Without the lumina Christi, one walks in darkness.  So it is that Taddeo, brilliant though he is, is still blind.  He pursues the advance of knowledge, regardless of the repercussions it may cause.  For you see, Taddeo's cousin, Hannegan, is the present ruler and seeks to dominate the entire continent.  He will inevitably call upon Taddeo and use the scientist's knowledge to his gain...a destructive, deadly gain.  Taddeo has no light to guide his conscience and, thus, simply and conveniently avoids it.

Thon Taddeo knew the military ambitions of his monarch.  He had a choice: to approve of them, to disapprove of them, or to regard them as impersonal phenomena beyond his control like a flood, famine, or whirlwind.  Evidently, then, he accepted them as inevitable--to avoid having to make a moral judgment...How could such a man thus evade his own conscience and disavow his responsibility--and so easily! the abbot stormed to himself. 

So the whisper of despair that begins in first section grows louder. Are men, walking in darkness, doomed to make the same grievous errors over and over again?  Will they remain in the darkness?  Dom Paulo asserts:

"It never was any better, it never will be any better.  It will only be richer or poorer, sadder but not wiser, until the very last day." 

Is Dom Paulo right that things will never be better?  Perhaps he is.  Satan is, after all, the prince of this world.  Each and every human person enters the world with original sin.  Concupiscence is part of who we are.  "For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do--this I keep on doing" (Romans 7:19). 

Listen, are we helpless?  Are we doomed to do it again and again and again?  Have we no choice but to play the Phoenix in an unending sequence of rise and fall?  Assyria, Babylon, Egypt, Greece, Carthage, Rome, the Empires of Charlemagne and the Turk.  Ground to dust and plowed with salt.  Spain, France, Britain, America--burned into the oblivion of the centuries.  And again and again and again.  Are we doomed to it, Lord, chained to the pendulum of our own mad clockwork, helpless to halt its swing?

And if that is the reality--that human kind will destroy itself over and over again in perpetuity--is that cause for despair?  Was that the demon that drove Miller to take his own life?

Fiat Voluntas Tua

A different light emerges in the third and final section of A Canticle for Leibowitz.  It is the light of nuclear weapons.  The codename for the dropping of a nuclear bomb is: "Lucifer has fallen."  

The Evil One has many names, but it was fitting for Miller to select "Lucifer," as the word itself means "bringer of light."

Yet, what a radically different light from that of Christ!  This light brings death, not life.

It is the final nuclear war.  Pagan scientists, using the information preserved by the Christians, but without the guiding moral principles of Christianity, create a new civilization.  History repeats: this new civilization will destroy itself.

Coinciding with the nuclear battle is the ideological battle between the abbot, Zerchi, and Dr. Cors over the proper treatment for the victims of radiation poisoning.  Many of the injured seek refuge within the walls of the monastery.  Dr. Cors enters to provide assistance.  He works for the "Green Star."  Prof. Wood notes the illustrative change from the Red Cross (a symbol of Christ's blood poured out for us) to the Green Star (green for the environment, a star for false hope).  

And it is false hope that Dr. Cors offers.  He is a "mercy" killer.  Again, note the fitting name for the doctor: cor in Latin means "heart."  

Following the theme of the previous two sections, what is the lens or light through which you view things?  How do you make sense of the pieces put before you?

Dr. Cors sees great suffering and what appears to be inevitable death and offers euthanasia.  In a line that could be quoted from a politician, doctor, or scientist today, Dr. Cors argues that someone who isn't a Christian shouldn't be bound by Abbot Zerchi's Christian principles.

Abbot Zerchi sees suffering and offers prayer and death with dignity.  He orders the brothers to carry signs in front of the euthanasia tent bearing the message: "Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here."  The light of Christ tells us that suffering is redemptive, that pain in this life is no match for the glory that await us in heaven.  And, in response to Dr. Cors, Abbot Zerchi asserts that, even if someone isn't Christian, that doesn't negate what is true.  

The doctor hesitated.  "I think it would be proper to make such a promise with respect to patients who belong to your Faith...Others are not bound by your principles.  If a man is not of your religion, why should you refuse to allow--"

..."Because if a man is ignorant of the fact that something is wrong, and acts in ignorance, he incurs no guilt, provided natural reason was not enough to show him that it was wrong.  But while ignorance may excuse the man, it does not excuse the act, which is wrong in itself.  If I permitted the act simply because the man is ignorant that it is wrong, then I would incur guilt, because I do know it to be wrong.  It really is that painfully simple."

The Christian case isn't the easy one and Miller brilliantly presents both sides of the argument.  Dr. Cors' position is compelling.  But it isn't true.  The fear of pain drove their culture; it drives ours as well and, as a result, we have the Culture of Death.

Really, Doctors Cors, the evil to which even you should have referred was not suffering, but the unreasoning fear of suffering.  Metus doloris.  Take it together with its positive equivalent, the craving for worldly security, for Eden, and you might have your 'root of evil,' Doctor Cors.  To minimize suffering and to maximize security were natural and proper ends of society and Caesar.  But then they became the only ends, somehow, and the only basis of law--a perversion.  Inevitably, then, in seeking only them, we found only their opposites: maximum suffering and minimum security.

The book ends with the ending of the world.  A nuclear holocaust takes place as Abbot Zerchi dies and a flight of bishops, priests, and brothers takes off for an outer space colony.  

The reader is left wondering the question we began with: was it all for naught?  Man destroyed himself again.  Are we doomed to repeat the same mistakes?  Is there no hope for mankind?

The answer, I think, may lie in a mysterious character named Rachel.  

Living near the monastery is a woman named Mrs. Grales.  She was born with genetic defects, due to the long-lasting effects of radiation.  Mrs. Grales doesn't have all of her mental abilities.  The reader also learns, as she confesses her sins to Abbot Zerchi, that she has had an abortion.

Another important point: Mrs. Grales has two heads.  There is Mrs. Grales's head and there is another head attached to her called "Rachel," who does not speak or even seem alive.  

At the conclusion of the book, as the world is being destroyed, Abbot Zerchi sees Mrs. Grales before him.  Or rather, he sees Rachel.  The Mrs. Grales head is now passive, mute, and dying.  Rachel, however, is very much alive.  In his final moments, Abbot Zerchi attempts to baptize Rachel, who refuses the sacrament.  Instead, she picks up a consecrated host and gives him his viaticum.  

In an earlier scene, one of the brothers had a dream about Rachel, which provides some more clues regarding her identity.

In a dream he met Mrs. Grales again.  There was a surgeon who sharpened a knife, saying, 'This deformity must be removed before it becomes malignant.'  And the Rachel face opened its eyes and tried to speak to Joshua, but he could hear her only faintly, and understand her not at all.

"Accurate am I the exception," she seemed to be saying.  "I commensurate the deception.  Am."

He could make nothing of it, but he tried to reach through to save her.  There seemed to be a rubbery wall of glass in the way.  He paused and tried to read her lips.  I am the, I am the--

"I am the Immaculate Conception," came the dream whisper.

Rachel is the exception--there is something unique about her that sets her apart.  She also commensurates the deception, or undoes the deception.  This may well refer to the greatest deception: that of the ancient serpent, convincing Eve that she and Adam may be like gods. 

Rachel is the Immaculate Conception...the New Eve.  She is an image of the Blessed Mother.  But why call her "Rachel?"  There is a passage in Scripture that reads:

 This is what the Lord says:

“A voice was heard in Ramah

    of painful crying and deep sadness:

Rachel crying for her children.

    She refused to be comforted,

    because her children are dead!”

But this is what the Lord says:

“Stop crying;

    don’t let your eyes fill with tears.

You will be rewarded for your work!” says the Lord.

    “The people will return from their enemy’s land." (Jeremiah 31:15-16)

And this is indeed explicitly what happens at the end of the novel: God's people return from their enemy's land.  

As 1 John 5:19 states, "We know that we are children of God, and that the whole world is under the control of the evil one."  Indeed, the world belongs to the prince of the world: Satan.  In the end, God's faithful return to their ultimate homeland in heaven, while others continue Christ's Church on another planet.  

In the face of despair, when it seems like man is doomed to repeat his errors, Mary shines before us.  We are all Mrs. Grales: handicapped by our concupiscence, fallen with our sins.  But one of us--one of our race--chose correctly.  She is united with us, just as Rachel and Mrs. Grales share a body.  Mary stopped history's repetition.  Through her, a new race was born: sons and daughters of God.  

The Rachel figure at the end of the book, so very alive despite the death and destruction around her, is a poignant reminder to us that in the world there is evil, but Christ has overcome the world.  Through Him, man can be transformed.  

When faced with a Culture of Death, with paganism, with evil, we know we will not be completely victorious until the Coming of Christ.  Sin and evil will be a part of this world until the end.  

We might not save the whole world.  But we can do what we can, guided by the light of Christ and filled with hope, to help the Thon Taddeos and Dr. Cors of our culture to know and live by that light.  

Lessons from Ben-Hur

"What manner of man is he?"

Before reading the novel, whenever I heard the title Ben-Hur, I pictured a chariot race, a mental image only reinforced by the beautiful artwork on the cover of my Mom's copy, which she had leant to me.  A chariot race is indeed featured prominently in the narrative and, while it may be the climax of the plot, it isn't the point of it.  

I was taken aback when, upon opening the book, I realized I had the title wrong.  It isn't titled: Ben-Hur; the full title of the book is Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ.

My perplexity grew as I read the first few pages where, instead of Romans and chariots, I was introduced to Wise Men and camels.

This book was not what I had anticipated!

It is indeed a book about a Jew named Judah Ben-Hur and the substance of the plot is devoted to his life events.  As an adolescent, Ben-Hur has a following out with a childhood friend named Messala, who happens to be a Roman freshly returned from a few years immersed in the Eternal City and in its pagan philosophy and depraved culture.  Arrogance, satire, and derision fill his words and demeanor.

"...love is nothing, war everything.  It is so in Rome.  Marriage is the first step to divorce.  Virtue is a tradesman's jewel...The world is going the same way; so, as to our future, down Eros, up Mars!  I am going to be a soldier; and you, O my Judah, I pity you; what can you be?"

Their enmity is sealed when, after Ben-Hur accidentally injures a Roman governor, Messala condemns him an assassin and aides the Roman soldiers in indicting Ben-Hur and capturing his mother and sister.  Ben-Hur is enslaved as a rower in the Roman galleys, torn from his family and tormented by the mystery of his family's fate--were they even still alive?

Then follows three years of endless toil and long-suffering.

There is only one moment of light and love for Ben-Hur in those three years.  While being dragged along en route to the galleys, his hands bound and tied around the horses's neck, Ben-Hur has a short reprieve as the Roman soldiers stop at a small town named Nazareth for a drink of water.  A young boy offers Ben-Hur a drink.

"...looking up, he saw a face he never forgot--the face of a boy about his own age, shaded by locks of yellowish bright chestnut hair; a face lighted by dark-blue eyes, at the time so soft, so appealing, so full of love and holy purpose, that they had all the power of command and will.  The spirit of the Jew, hardened though it was by days and nights of suffering, and so embittered by the wrong that the dreams of revenge took in all the world, melted under the stranger's look, and became as a child's...And so, for the first time, Judah and the son of Mary met and parted."

It is not the last time that Christ and Ben-Hur meet.

Ben-Hur, in saving the life of Quintus Arrius, the commander of his ship, is granted freedom and adoption by the Roman duumvir.  He sets out to accomplish his two goals: revenge upon Messala and justice for his mother and sister.  The first involves a chariot race, the second a journey back to Jerusalem.

Yet, interwoven with Ben-Hur's narrative is the simultaneous unfolding of Christ's life.  Among Ben-Hur's associates is a man named Balthasar, one of the Wise Men.  He shares with those around him the story of the Nativity and assures them that the King has arrived and must soon be manifested.  

In this kingship, Ben-Hur finds the realization of his hopes and dreams.  A King of Israel would crush Roman domination and pride!  A King of Israel would establish justice and peace!  For what other purpose had God given Ben-Hur his freedom?  What other use should his great wealth, inherited from Arrius, be used for?  Why else should he have been given such great strength, earned at the oars of the galley, but to lead men in the greatest military battle to date?  

"He had dealt punishment, not wrong, to Messala.  By permission of the Lord, he had triumphed; and he derived faith from the circumstance--faith the source of all rational strength, especially strength in peril.  Nor did the influence stop there.  The new life was made appear to him a mission just begun, and holy as the King to come was holy, and certain as the coming of the King was certain--a mission in which force was lawful if only because it was unavoidable."

Ben-Hur is present when John the Baptist proclaims Jesus the Lamb of God and then follows Him along His three year ministry, witnessing the miracles and preaching.  He is there when Jesus rides into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday and the Passion draws near.

Still, Ben-Hur awaits a sign to call forth the four legions of Galilean men he has trained and prepared for war.  Even as Christ is led away after Judas's betrayal, Judah calls out to him, "Tell me, I pray thee, if I bring rescue, wilt thou accept it?"  But Belthasar reiterates that the Messiah has come for another purpose--a greater purpose.

"Consider first the excellence of the existence which was reserved for us after death, and give heed to the feelings and impulses the thought is sure to awaken in you--heed them, I say, because they are your own Soul astir, doing what it can to urge you in the right way.  Consider next that the after-life has become so obscured as to justify calling it a lost life.  If you find it, rejoice, O son of Hur--rejoice as I do, though in beggary of words.  For then, besides the great gift which is to be saved to us,  you will have found the need of a Savior so infinitely greater than the need of a king; and he we are going to meet will not longer hold place in your hope a warrior with a sword or a monarch with a crown."

Ben-Hur's story is the story of the Christ.  Both follow a parallel course of betrayal, suffering, and redemption.  It is through Christ's story that Ben-Hur comes to understand his own.  

Lew Wallace, the author, does an impeccable job of interlacing these two stories--one fiction, one fact.  I was thoroughly impressed with how Ben-Hur became connected with Our Lord and how he related to the events of the Gospel.  One particularly interesting twist occurred during the scene on the Mount of Olives, when Christ is arrested after Judas's betraying kiss.  Ben-Hur follows Christ, calling if he should bring rescue, and the mob closes in on Ben-Hur.  He narrowly escapes, the clothes being ripped off his back, and flees away naked--thus is the individual referenced in the Gospel of Mark:

"Now a young man followed him [Christ] wearing nothing but a linen cloth about his body.  They seized him, but he left the cloth behind and ran off naked" (Mark 14: 51-52).

I truly enjoyed reading about Christ from Ben-Hur's perspective and it was a helpful reminder of the historicity of Our Lord's manifestation.  Christ became incarnate in time--a particular historical context.  The Jews of that time certainly had expectations of the Messiah, influenced by their oppression under the hands of the Romans.  

Throughout, Ben-Hur struggled with the nature of Jesus.  What manner of man is this?  It is the question each one of us must ask ourselves as well.

In a beautiful juxtaposition, Ben-Hur is presented at the foot of the cross, offering Christ a drink of water.  Ben-Hur was the recipient of the same kindness from Christ years before, during his time of great suffering, innocent though he was.  

At times, I felt the narrative lagged, perhaps due to the incredible historicity of Wallace's writing.  There were extensive details regarding geography, dress, culture, and architecture.  I might venture as far as to say some heavy editing could have made the plot more suspenseful and gripping.  However, that might just be my 21st-century mind impatient with Wallace's Civil War-era writing.

Overall, Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ offered an engaging, poignant, and powerful tale--a reminder of how we can unite our sufferings with those of Christ and find in Him the living water that wells up to eternal life.

"If you continue in your belief as to his character--that he is to be a king as Herod was--of course you will keep on until you meet a man clothed in purple and with a sceptre.  On the other hand, he I look for will be one poor, humble, undistinguished--a man in appearance as other men; and the sign by which I will know him will be never so simple.  He will offer to show me and all mankind the way to the eternal life; the beautiful pure Life of the Soul."

Lessons from Under Satan's Sun

"His laughter!  That's the weapon of the prince of this world.  He hides away, as he lies, takes on every kind of face, even our own...He never waits, never stays in one place.  He's in the eyes that defy him, the mouth that denies him.  He's in the anguish of the mystic, and the serenity and self-assurance of the fool.  The Prince of this World!  The Prince of this World!"

Georges Bernanos is perhaps best known for his famous work, Diary of a Country Priest.  (Another famous work that, alas, I have yet to read!)  Before that, however, came an earlier book entitled Under Satan's Sun.  

It's a hard book to come by, at least in English.  It's out of print and a used copy online goes for roughly $80 or so.  (The devil clearly doesn't want this book being read...)  However, my local librarian was able to make some calls and obtained a copy for me from Fordham!

Bernanos wrote this book shortly after he returned home from the First World War.  As one might imagine, his experiences in the trenches greatly affected him.  The war made the author directly confront the mystery of evil.  How could one explain such carnage and destruction?  The politicians, economists, and sociologists offered rationals, all of which fell short.  

No, there was something else at play.  

During an interview, Bernanons once stated, "I have seen the devil, as I see you, since my childhood."

In many ways, perhaps without even realizing it, we have all seen the devil since childhood.  

~~~~~

Under Satan's Sun opens with the story of Mouchette, a young, restless girl looking for freedom from monotony: she seeks adventure, risk, and--above all--singularity.  She has an affair with an older man, becoming pregnant, and subsequently goes to visit her lover one evening.  

"Although she would have been at a loss to explain the strange pleasure she felt or to give a name to the mounting tide of confused feelings in her fearless heart, all she wanted at that moment was to humiliate her lover in his poverty and to have him at her mercy...So complete was her disappointment, so quick and decisive her scorn, that the events that were to follow seemed in fact to be already engraved in her heart.  We talk of chance, but the face of chance looks very much like our own."

Mouchette, a volatile personality to begin with, becomes enveloped in a kind a frenzy or mania and the night ends with her shooting her lover dead, at point-blank.  The viciousness within her remains as she soon captures a second lover, who is easy prey to her willfulness and capriciousness. 

As Mouchette's story unfolds, one begins to detect a deeper presence within her, driving her actions and dispelling any reason.  Her life is a tragedy--a story written by the vileness that lived within her.

There are those who seem to be made for a peaceful life, but a tragic destiny awaits them.  We are amazed by the strangeness and unpredictability of fate.  Yet facts are unimportant, for the tragedy was already there in their hearts.

~~~~~

Bernanos then shifts the story to his protagonist, Father Donissan.  The priest is described as a rather tall, clumsy fellow with notably 

large feet and a perpetually unkept, soiled cassock.  He would certainly make an impression upon a first meeting--this not due to any impressive vocabulary, demonstration of depth of knowledge, or polished social skills...but lack thereof.

Indeed, there was nothing impressive about Fr. Donissan that met the eye.  But within--in his soul--there was something entirely singular.  What set Fr. Donissan apart was his vocation in life.  He had determined, in the guileless and innocence of his soul, to offer his life--all consolations from God and even his own salvation--for the sake of poor sinners.  His name suits him well.  Donissan literally means "to give one's blood."  He is truly an alter Christus, another Christ, who offers himself for sinners.

It was a sacrifice offered with a great price: Fr. Donissan places himself in a lifelong battle with Satan.  The former seeks to save souls; the latter, to damn them.

"The concrete sign of an uneasiness that so far had been vague and undefined was almost as frightening as a real and visible presence, of which he now had no more than a sense, a sharp but indescribable feeling.  He was no longer alone, but who was with him?...Ah, how strong and cunning this Other is, how patient when necessary, and as swift as lightning when his time has come!...As the enemy approached, he felt hatred, not fear.  He was born to fight, and at every turn in the road ahead, there was to be blood." 

Bernanos modeled his saint, Fr. Donissan, after St. John Vianney.  Like the Cure of Ars, Fr. Donissan realizes that Satan aims his most vicious attack at those striving most ardently toward God.

"...tiny souls, tiny mouths--this is not for you...the Satan of your strange litanies is nothing but your own distorted image, for he who worships the carnal world is Satan unto himself.  The monster watches you and laughs but has not yet speared you on his claws...But he is to be found in the personal prayer of the solitary, in his fasting and penitence, in the depths of the most profound ecstasy, and in the silence of the heart...His hatred is reserved for the saints."

Sometimes Satan's attack is even physical.

One of the most captivating scenes of the book occurs when Fr. Donissan is en route to a nearby retreat, where he is awaited to hear confessions.  While on the back country roads, however, the priest finds himself inexplicably lost.  He tries to retrace his steps and begin again.  He knows that his destination is simply over the next hill, yet no matter how directly he walks or how quickly he moves, he repeatedly finds himself further and further from his end goal.

"Then, once he had crossed a final ditch, he was on a very narrow, scarcely distinguishable dirt track in the middle of a plowed field that he remembered taking an hour or two earlier.  But then, he thought, he had been alone.  For some time now in fact--why not admit it?--he had not been alone.  Someone was walking beside him.  It looked like a very lively short man, first on his right, then on his left, sometimes in front of him and sometimes behind, hard to make out in the dark, trotting along at first without a word.  Perhaps they could help each other on such a dark night?"

Fr. Donissan finds himself walking with Satan.  And Bernanos captures the scene brilliantly.  Satan appears as an ordinary man--a horse-handler, to be exact.  Too often, I think, we associate Satan with powerful, dramatic scenes of terror.  Consider the movie The Exorcist.  Certainly, Satan sometimes chooses to manifest himself in such extraordinary, frightening ways.

But I think even more frightening is the more common experience of Satan--precisely because it is so undramatic.  A thought, consideration, a subtle insinuation.  How often has Satan been walking alongside us...and we didn't see him?  In my life, I can clearly pinpoint a time when Satan was overtly tempting and attacking me interiorly.  Yet, I find more alarming the myriad of other occasions when Satan was on the offensive and I was unaware...perhaps even an unknowing accomplice.  

Under Satan's Sun was a complex, complicated book, one that I could probably read several times and still not fully understand all the layers of meaning.  It's only fitting, though, since the struggle with evil is itself complicated and complex.  The battle lines of interior warfare are not clearly drawn.  What happens on the interior is shadowed, even from ourselves at times.  Where do I end and the devil's evil influence begin?  Is that particular thought my own, or has the Evil One presented it to me?  Sometimes the devil--the father of lies--even masquerades as an angel of light: there are moments when Fr. Donissan acts, thinking he is being prompted by God, only later to realize he was answering the beckoning of Satan.

"Be careful, Sabiroux, to remember that the world isn't a piece of well-constructed clockwork.  God throws us between Himself and Satan as if we were the last rampart.  It's through us that for centuries and centuries the same hatred has been trying to reach Him, through our poor human flesh that the ineffable murder is consummated.  No matter to what heights prayer and love may raise us, we carry the dreadful companion with us, girded to our loins and bursting his sides with huge peals of laughter." 

~~~~~

In his quest to save souls, God bestows upon Fr. Donissan a great gift, which also becomes a very heavy cross for the priest: the ability to see into the interior of a soul.

Fr. Donnisan awakes from his physical encounter with the devil to the kind, concerned questioning of a local quarryman.  As the man leads Fr. Donnisan to town, the priest first realizes the power God has given to him.    

"The quarryman was still walking on calmly ahead of him...The soul that was opened up to him filled him with respect and love.  It was a simple soul without history, attentive, ordinary, and filled with very ordinary cares, but a royal humility bathed the man in its reflected glory, like a heavenly light.  What a lesson it was for the poor tormented priest haunted by his own fears to discover the mute, inglorious villager unknown to himself and others, bearing the burden of his destiny and his life's humble loves beneath God's gaze!  A thought came to him, unbidden, adding an element of fear to the respect and love: perhaps it was from that simple man alone that the Other had taken flight?"

In sharp contrast to the pious quarryman, Fr. Donnisan is led onward and, as the dawn slowly breaks, he happens upon Mouchette, who is lurking in the morning shadows, awaiting her lover.  

To many, it is the central scene of the novel.  Donissan does not offer Mouchette reformation, but redemption.  As Michael Tobin explains in his book Georges Bernanos: The Theological Source of His Art, Mouchette must be "bought back from her sins."  Bernanos wrote of this scene, "Thus Fr. Donissan did not appear by chance: Mouchette's wild cry of despair called him, made him indispensable."

As they converse, Fr. Donissan tells Mouchette:

"We can never judge ourselves properly, and we often keep up the illusion of certain failings so as not to see the things in us that are really rotten and need to be cast out if we are to live."

It was a sentence that particularly struck me.  If someone were to ask me, "What is your greatest fault?," I would have an answer...but very likely not the correct one.  When we walk under Satan's sun, we are blinded to the truth--even the truth about ourselves.  

~~~~~~~~~

Fr. Donissan's life is one of severe struggle.  He passionately empties himself out in his priestly ministry, spending hours in the damp, dusky confessional where his interior sight allows him to bestow peace and healing upon the souls come to him for absolution.  It is a peace he never experiences himself in his constant warfare with the demonic.  

Bernanos wanted to create this kind of saint, a saint in stark contrast to the kind of bourgeoise piety he witnessed around him.  The author sought the shock value that comes from a saintly protagonist who almost fledges himself to death in an extreme effort to banish what is considered an undeserved joy.  I still ponder that scene in my mind, uncertain as to its meaning.  Was Fr. Donissan's self-flagellation a response to the devil, or an effect of the devil?  

A few points were, however, strikingly clear.  The first is the incessant attack of the devil upon all of us (but most especially upon those sincerely striving to live a virtuous life).  We must recommit ourselves to pray especially for our priests, for whom the devil especially harbors deep hatred.  In Under Satan's Sun, Bernanos has the devil refer to priests as "stupid little tabernacles of Jesus Christ."  They are alter Christus and they need our prayers.

Bernanos, in the character of Fr. Donnisan, gives the image of the spiritual soldier--incessantly attacked, sometimes wounded, but carrying the weapon that, through God's grace, will lead to victory.

"For the first time the saint of Lumbres heard, saw, and touched the being that was to be his shameful companion for the rest of his harsh life...tense with horror, his eyes closed as if to concentrate his strength within him, striving to avoid any pointless exertion, with his will drawn out like a sword from a scabbard, strove to go beyond his anguish." 

Lessons from Lord of the World

"There was the Catholic Faith, more certain to him than the existence of himself; it was true and alive.  He might be damned, but God reigned.  He might go mad, but Jesus Christ was Incarnate Deity, proving Himself so by death and Resurrection, and John his Vicar.  These things were as the bones of the Universe--facts beyond doubting--if they were not true, nothing anywhere was anything but a dream."

I was in 12th grade English class and we were discussing the subjective meaning of words.  

"Why is it," my teacher posed, "that that chair over there is called 'chair?'  Why don't we call it a 'ball?'"

After a number of questioning stares, he continued on.  "Perhaps what we understand of as 'chair' doesn't even exist.  This idea we have--it's just that, an idea.  Maybe this piece of metal in front of me, which we use to sit on, should be called something else.  Maybe there is no such thing as a 'chair.'"

And so went on the rest of that class.  The takeaway lesson: meaning is unstable.  

It was my first introduction to deconstructionism.  

I vividly remember a classmate yelling out exasperatedly, as the bell rang, "So is anything true?!"

Our reading that year included Derrida, Hegel, Nietzsche, and Vonnegut.

As all of reality seemed to be called into question, I found myself remembering more and more that inquiry of Pilate's: "What is truth?"  And while the class's probing into meaning caused a kind of existentialistic crisis for some students, if anything, I found it oddly reassuring.  To me, it was all quite simple.  Truth isn't a "what," it is a "Who."  

We had a large, end-of-the-year paper due, on a topic of our choice.  I decided to write mine on the subject of physical objects versus words: which is more real, more true?  My conclusion: both are true because truth lies in the one who is Truth, who is the Word made Flesh.

I went to a public high school and, in many ways, I think it did more for my faith than if I had attended a Catholic school.  Faith became something internalized to me then, a self-identification when there was so much contrary to the Faith in the ideas, words, and actions around me.  

I never had any idea what a treasure I had been given.  I have a bit more of an inclination now, but still not enough.

That next year, when I was a freshman in college, I began dating a man who was an agnostic, soon-to-become atheist.  He had so many questions for me about about the Faith.  My answers weren't sufficient for him--in part because, while I believed, I couldn't defend.  Faith is based on reason, and I didn't know how to explain the reasonableness of it all.  

But my answers were also insufficient because, while he was certainly intelligent enough, he lacked faith.  It would have helped my discussions with him if I had possessed a PhD in theology, no doubt about that.  Yet, all the degrees and knowledge in the world can never fill the place of faith.

"Well, they say there is a thing called Faith--a kind of deep conviction unlike anything else--supernatural--which God is supposed to give to people who desire it--to people who pray for it, and lead good lives, and so on...Well, this Faith, acting upon what they call Evidence--this Faith makes one absolutely certain that there is a God, that He was made man and so on, with the Church and all the rest of it..." 

Fr. Robert Hugh Benson wrote Lord of the World in 1907.  The futuristic novel is set in what is now our past--it takes place around the year 2000.  Many call the novel prophetic, as Benson describes with an eery realism many facets of contemporary culture, from technological advances (modern highways, weapons of mass destruction, airplanes--or "volors") to the Culture of Death (there are places called "Homes of Rest" where people can be euthanized).  

Benson also foresaw the crisis in faith that we observe today.  Many leave the Church for the new religion: Humanitarianism.  Their creed is, "Man is God."  This religion says that the supernatural doesn't exist and worldly peace, without any division in the brotherhood of man, is the ultimate purpose.

"...the primary lesson of the gospel [was] that there was no God but man, no priest but the politician, no prophet but the schoolmaster."

"There is no Faith, as we used to call it: it is the vision of Facts that no one can doubt..."

Catholicism shifts from being a minority religion to a persecuted religion.  All are obligated to attend the new public worship on the Feast of Paternity and those who refuse will be jailed.  And, when an attack on the part of some Catholics is uncovered, the government seeks to totally obliterate Catholicism.

Fr. Percy Franklin finds himself at the heart of the struggle as Julian Felsenburgh, a politician whose eloquent, captivating speeches have enamored the whole word, comes to power.  It is, in fact, not just any struggle, but the ultimate struggle: Felsenburgh is the Anti-Christ and the end is near.

Antichrist and the Devil, Signorelli

All the world is poised against God and His Church.  The logical, reasoned arguments, the allure power and glory, the promise of peace and prosperity: these all seem to lie with Felsenburgh.  Meanwhile, the Church, for all intents and purposes, seems to be falling into shambles as St. Peter's itself is completely decimated...

"Here, then, was the other formulated answer to the problem of life.  The two Cities of Augustine lay for him to choose. The one was that of a world self-originated, self-organized and self-sufficient, interpreted by such men as Marx and Herve, socialists, materialists, and in the end, hedonists, summed up at last in Felsenburgh.  The other lay displayed in the sight he saw before him, telling of a Creator and of a creation, of a Divine purpose, a redemption, and a world transcendent and eternal from which all sprang and to which all moved.  One of the two, John and Julian, was the Vicar, and the other the Ape, of God...and Percy's heart in one more spasm of conviction made its choice..."

It is 2014 and the world has not ended.  Christ has not returned.  But until the day He does, we each make our choice: what will we believe?  As attacks against the Faith grow in our day, perhaps we will find that the choice to believe demands further sacrifice.  Persecution may await us, too.  Our faith will be tested.

I thank God for the gift of faith--given out of love and generosity to me, a gift completely undeserved and unmerited.  It is the most valuable gift I have ever been given.  I need to ask myself: how precious do I guard that gift?  Do I thank God for it?  Am I helping to make that gift grow--for faith can be shaken, can be destroyed.

And so, when the priest elevates the Host at the moment of consecration, I pray: 

Lord, I believe!  Help my unbelief!  (Mark 9:24)

When Christ comes again, may I still be believing!