Manalive by G. K. Chesterton

Source of book: I own this

G. K. Chesterton has long been one of my favorite authors, as well as a member of my fantasy dinner party. In fact, with six reviews, Chesterton in third place on this blog, behind Shakespeare and P. G. Wodehouse. Unlike either of them, Chesterton is represented by three genres: Fiction, Non-Fiction, and Poetry. Here are my past reviews:

The Flying Inn

Heretics and Orthodoxy

The Man Who Knew Too Much

New Poems

St. Francis of Assisi

I read it long before I started blogging, but I consider The Ball and the Cross to be one of the most influential books I have read. (You can find the whole list - as of 2014 - here.) 

 

The title of this book seems to be a microcosm of Chesterton’s life and writing. He was, unmistakably, a man alive. I have described him in the past as an overgrown five year old boy, and I still think that is a good way to put it. Everything seems new and thrilling to him, and ennui is impossible.

This is the factor that compensates for some of his other faults. There is a caricatured Jew in this book, which is unfortunate. Chesterton does tend to get preachy from time to time. Sometimes, it works with the narrative. Sometimes, it is more of a distraction. But even in the preaching, he is, as Don Marquis put it, one of “those who could / communicate to you / that they had / just purchased /  ten cents worth / of paper napkins / and make you / thrill and vibrate / with the intelligence.”

Not that Manalive is all preaching, though. It is, like other Chesterton novels, a romp. Unlike most, though, it takes place in a very small area: a boarding house. As one might say, if the characters will not come to the adventure, the adventure must come to the characters. And it does, in the form of a tall and peculiar man by the name of “Innocent” Smith. After his arrival in the midst of a windstorm, Smith proceeds to turn the place upside down, eventually ending up on “trial” to prove he is not criminally insane.

The central question in this tale is that of social convention versus virtue. Is what we value as “virtue” truly goodness, or is it merely compliance with unwritten social rules? And are many of the things that we recoil from as unthinkable actually just failure to follow convention?

Innocent Smith throws himself into adventure and silliness with abandon, fires a gun in the general direction of someone, and is about to elope when he is put on “trial,” an informal proceeding involving a stuffy American professor. In every case, he is shown to be innocent, as his name implies.

Chesterton draws the idea from other books in this tradition, I suspect. Don Quixote is a more humorous example, but the good Don also exemplifies a weird sort of wisdom even as he remains out of touch with his times. Shakespeare too uses the fool who is flippant and feckless, but who has more than a touch of wisdom below the surface.

Woven into the narrative and its central theme is a strong polemic against upper-middle-class disdain for the poor. Chesterton often seems bourgeoise, and for good reason. The little glasses, the cigar and port, and all those British signifiers of class. But underlying that, he always has a belief that it is just foofaraw. And he bristles at the idea of patronizing the poor or even the criminal class.

Just a few quotes from the book will serve.

She [the landlady] said he was “a real gentleman,” by which she simply meant a kind-hearted man, which is a very different thing.

Later, in a letter describing an incident involving Smith, a clergyman describes a speech to working class men.

Some hours afterward the storm broke. I had been addressing the meeting for some time, pointing out the lack of thrift in the working classes, their insufficient attendance at evening service, their neglect of the Harvest Festival, and of many other things that might materially help them to improve their lot.

This is kind of a pet peeve of mine. It remains fashionable 100 years after this book was written for members of the middle class to lecture those with one fifth or even one tenth as much income about frugality. It is no more attractive now than it was then.

There is a companion letter by another clergyman who witnessed the proceedings, and later followed Smith on a rooftop caper. This second clergyman has an epiphany from this meeting with Smith.

I liked the church as a pretty pattern; discipline was mere decoration. I delighted in mere divisions of time; I liked eating fish on Friday. But then I like fish; and the fast was made for men who like meat. Then I came to Hoxton and found men who had fasted for five hundred years; men who had to gnaw fish because they could not get meat - and fish-bones when they could not get fish...In the face of that I had to become revolutionary if I was to continue to be religious.

And later in the same letter, he describes the priest of the first letter:

He is a perfect gentleman; that is his complaint. He does not impose his creed, but simply his class. He never said a word of religion in the whole of his damnable address...When this helpless aristocrat had praised cleanliness in the body and convention in the soul to people who could hardly keep body and soul together, the stampede against our platform began.

This has indeed been some of my own journey over the last few years. If I am going to continue to be a religious person, I can no longer seek to impose my class rather than my creed. It has been a gradual revelation that the Religious Right cares far, far more about a certain white middle class culture than the teachings of Christ. Chesterton was prescient, 100 years ago. Perhaps the United States is just that far behind the English aristocracy.

There are a couple of other interesting lines in this book that really stood out. The first occurs as part of a conversation between Smith and a Russian station worker, recounted by the worker in a letter. Manalive was published in 1912, between two major events in Russian history. The first was the Revolution of 1905, in which ended in some reforms, but never went far enough. By 1912, there was considerable unrest and intermittent terrorism. Most everyone knows what happened a few years later.

Anyway, there is this little line stuck in:

I am a Liberal, and do my best to spread Liberal ideas; but since the failure of the revolution this has been even more difficult. The revolutionists committed many acts contrary to the pure principles of humanitarianism, with which indeed, owing to the scarcity of books, they were ill acquainted. I did not approve of these cruel acts; though provoked by the badness of the government; but now there is a tendency to reproach all intelligents with the memory of them. This is very unfortunate for intelligents.

Little did Chesterton know how long this would reverberate. Even now, a half century after the McCarthy era, fears of “communism” still are used to shut down any discussion of how to reduce inequality or fight systemic racism, and so on. We are always one civil rights law or tax increase away from the Gulags. I find it interesting that the speaker also cites George Bernard Shaw. Now, I have no idea if any station worker in Russia at the time was familiar with Shaw, but Chesterton, as always, has a point here. Chesterton and Shaw were friends, and rivals. Far apart both philosophically and in temperament, they engaged in a famous series of debates, all while respecting each other greatly. Chesterton would write, after Shaw’s death, "It is necessary to disagree with him as much as I do in order to admire him as much as I do." Shaw himself wrote glowingly of Chesterton as a person, even as he disagreed with his ideas.

In this case, though, I think Chesterton intends a favorable mention of Shaw, as one of the purveyors of humanitarian ideals in service of socialism.

The last line I wish to mention comes from one of the rare quotes from Innocent Smith himself, who rarely speaks for himself in this book. But here, he is quoted by the second clergyman.

“I don’t deny,” he said, “that there should be priests to remind men that they will one day die. I only say that at certain strange epochs it is necessary to have another kind of priests, called poets, actually to remind men that they are not dead yet.”

And that is the essence of Manalive, distilled down. Since we are not dead yet, maybe we should get on with living.

A Hat Full of Sky by Terry Pratchett

Source of Book: Audiobook from the library

This is the second book in Terry Pratchett’s Tiffany Aching series of Discworld novels. The first is The Wee Free Men, which I read a couple of years ago. Earlier this year, I listened to it with the kids, who absolutely loved it. I didn’t write a separate review regarding the kids’ reactions. Suffice it to say that No'-As-Big-As-Medium-Jock-But-Bigger-Than-Wee-Jock-Jock was the most popular character. (And I made dad points by being able to say his name correctly…) Any character that can use terrible poetry as a weapon is alright by me.

This book is a good bit longer than the first one, a fact that became important under the circumstances. We generally listen to audiobooks during vacations, and this was no exception. I had planned a camping trip with about 6 hours worth of driving, and chose this book before I realized it was 9 hours long. In the actual event, a freak thunderstorm caused mudslides, closing both main roads north from Los Angeles, causing traffic to be rerouted on to the roads we wished to use. This meant that it took us 10 hours to get where we were going. The superstitious part of me thinks I need to be careful about choosing books in the future. The optimistic part of me says that it was nice to have a book if we were going to be stuck in traffic. The realistic part of me is irritated that I didn’t follow my first instinct and take the northern route from the first, rather than after finding the southern route jammed. Oh well…

A Hat Full Of Sky picks up the story of Tiffany and the Wee Free Men a couple of years after the first book. Tiffany has been selected to study to become a “real” witch as an apprentice to Miss Level, a peculiar character who inhabits two bodies. Tiffany finds that her training doesn’t consist of much - or really any - “magic,” as she understands it. Rather, she spends her time caring for the needy and milking goats. As Miss Level says, these are the “ordinary things” that witchcraft is mostly about. Not what she had envisioned, exactly, and the fact that she gets airsick on brooms and can’t seem to make a “shamble,” a magical version of cat’s cradle, doesn’t help either.

The point, however, is that Tiffany needs to learn the psychological skills of witchcraft before she can properly use the supernatural skills. Tiffany is surprised to find that Miss Level helps even the undeserving.  

“A witch never expects payment and never asks for it and just hopes she never needs to. You can't not help people just because they're stupid or forgetful or unpleasant. Everyone's poor round here. If I don't help them, who will?”

This is familiar to me, of course. I spent the early years of my legal practice at the local Legal Aid non-profit, and I very much spent time helping those who were in some ways “stupid, forgetful, and unpleasant.” My wife the nurse does this even more, and she - like a witch - cannot refuse service to the undeserving.

Later, Mistress Weatherwax, the greatest witch of all, explains to Tiffany:

“[S]he likes people. She cares about 'em. Even the stupid, mean, dribbling ones... who treat her like some kind of servant. Now that's what I call magic... That is the root and heart and soul and centre of witchcraft, that is.”

As a Christian, this concept is recognizable and dear: Grace. Favor and kindness offered where completely undeserved.

G. K. Chesterton in Orthodoxy (reviewed here) also notes this:

Charity is the power of defending that which we know to be indefensible.... It is true that there is a thing crudely called charity, which means charity to the deserving poor; but charity to the deserving is not charity at all, but justice. It is the undeserving who require it, and the ideal either does not exist at all, or exists wholly for them.

It is the same idea, though stated by two very different - and yet alike - authors. Pratchett was not religious, but he had the same irrepressible hope and joie de vivre as Chesterton. And, I might add, the same charity and goodwill toward all that I admire in both.

In this sense, I disagree with those who believe that grace can only be shown by Christians. I have experienced it from those outside the faith as well as those within, and Pratchett’s explanation in this book is as good as I have ever seen it.

The story doesn’t contain just the mundane, however. Tiffany also faces an external enemy. This is a mysterious supernatural entity called a “hiver,” although the book is intentionally unclear as to exactly what it is. It was apparently birthed in the first moments of creation, and is like a disembodied brain, but without the ability to truly think. It takes control of animals and humans, and tries to give them power, but ends up destroying them in the end.

The best explanation of the Hiver, however, may be a psychological one. As the story unfolded, I began to realize that the Hiver in a way serves to feed the Id of the host. The Hiver tries to please its host by granting its subconscious wishes. The wishes are not good for the host, however, which is the main problem. As Tiffany later realizes, the part of her that is still the mere animal - the monkey if you will - wants things that are not good for it. That part of her wants revenge, power, shortcuts, pleasure, and so on. The Id.

The Hiver represses her ego (the part of her that delays gratification and seeks long term good), and her superego (the part that is her conscience, telling her to do what is good, not what feels good.) These are the parts of her that are truly human, rather than animal. This is also the part of her that seeks help in ridding her body of the Hiver.

At this point, it will take the efforts of the Wee Free Men - who fear nothing - and Mistress Weatherwax to enable Tiffany to throw off the Hiver and regain her human, empathetic self.

In the end, then, both of Tiffany’s challenges turn out to be internal rather than external. She must fight her own worst instincts and tap into her better nature. She must seek and offer grace, rather than mere justice. She must also learn the difference between seeming and actually being.

As usual, Pratchett does what the best “children’s” authors have always done: take important and profound concepts and weave them into compelling tales in ways that let children (and adults) discover the conclusions themselves. A Hat Full of Sky is a compelling story, hard to put down, wonderfully paced, and full of delightful details and jokes and believable characters. And yet, one finds Freud and philosophy at its heart too.

I didn’t discover Pratchett until a few years ago, but I am greatly enjoying catching up. His books make the miles (or at least hours in this case) disappear, and give much food for thought. The fact that my kids love him too is a bonus.

One final bit I must mention. The “mean girl” in this book has a simply perfect name: Annagramma. At least among my nerdy friends, I shall from henceforth use it as shorthand for that sort of girl.

***

Also, a bit of music. Because.

The Man Who Knew Too Much by G. K. Chesterton

Source of book: I own this.

At the outset, I should note that Chesterton’s book has absolutely nothing to do with the two movies by Alfred Hitchcock of the same name. Hitchcock originally directed a 1934 version, later remaking his own movie in 1956, utilizing stars Jimmy Stewart and Doris Day. That later film is famous for the song, “Que Sera, Sera.” But I digress. 

Chesterton wrote a number of mystery and detective stories through his career. The Father Brown stories are particularly well known. In my own case, the first non-used book I ever special ordered was the complete Father Brown. There are others, with various detectives which are in some way reminiscent of Chesterton himself, if not directly representative. The Man Who Knew Too Much is no exception.

This book, a collection of eight related short stories, features Horne Fisher as “the man who knew too much.” Specifically, Fisher knows far too much about the internal workings of politics because he is an insider, related to a number of the key players in a fictitious pre-war England, but unlike them in essence. Based on this knowledge, he is able to solve a number of murders, thefts, and blackmails that involve political figures in some way.

This might be interesting enough, but Chesterton adds a twist: Fisher cannot expose the criminals, because to do so would incur greater harm.

As Fisher himself relates to his friend, the journalist Harold Marsh upon their first meeting while Fisher is, well, fishing, he always has to throw back the big fish.

Marsh isn’t exactly Fisher’s Watson. He does figure in most of the stories (but not the ones that take place before their meeting), but he is more of an intellectual counterpart to Fisher. He challenges Fisher just as Fisher challenges the assumptions of his society. The two form a medium by which Chesterton can explore politics and philosophy. Their banter and deeper discussions both illuminate the crime and add dark complexity to the world in which the crime was committed.

It is a bit difficult to determine how much of Fisher’s political views reflect that of Chesterton. One suspects that there are substantial parallels, but fiction isn’t always that direct. Chesterton certainly has a love for paradox that often adds depth to metaphysical truths, but doesn’t entirely help in a discussion of concrete politics in the real world.

What this leads to is a common dilemma in interpreting Chesterton. As an inspiration to a deeper spiritual life and as a counterpoint to conventional truisms, he is a powerful voice. As a source of anything resembling coherent - or even desirable - public policy, he is both severely limited and on occasion dangerous.

I mention this in connection with this book because it contains some uncomfortable moments, when Chesterton - or at least Fisher - veers into xenophobia and anti-Semitism. In the one story, Fisher is unwilling to bring to light an attempted murder which inadvertently kills the perpetrator because of the chaos it would bring to British military. Not such a big deal, except that at the end, Fisher opines that the real cause of death in the armed forces is the fact (in his opinion) that the British military acts at the behest of Jewish financiers, who are the real persons pulling the strings in the world. Yeah, that old canard again. And it ruins what was otherwise brilliant tale of a love triangle, professional ambition, and class politics.

Likewise, there is a bit in the last story wherein Fisher accuses the government of intentionally importing foreign labor with the express goal of starving the peasants. I’ll admit to being a bit sensitive about this in part because my ancestors were once the poor immigrants accused of stealing the very bread from earlier European settlers of the United States. It also seemed jarringly similar to the rhetoric of the current “black helicopters” conspiracy minded crowd I know all too well in our own time. One wishes that Chesterton (or at least Fisher) would have shown a little more empathy for the immigrants themselves.

Of course, this is part of the complexity of Chesterton, who did get carried away a bit with “Good Ol’ England” with its Celts, Saxons, and Normans at the expense of everyone else, from the Germans on down. Except that since this book was written in 1922, I am willing to forgive a little anti-German sentiment. That whole world war and all. Likewise, Chesterton does show a bit of an anti-Semitic edge in the rest of his writing, although, as I have pointed out elsewhere, he was hardly alone in Europe with these views. On the positive side, Chesterton did speak out against Hitler and his racial views long before it became popular to do so. As I said, it’s complicated.

I hate to dwell on these flaws because there is much in this book to enjoy. Chesterton is at his best when he is teasing out the nuances of the human soul, particularly its dark corners. Father Brown solves his mysteries, not by looking for physical clues like Sherlock Holmes, but by ascertaining the human heart and its sordid motivations. In this book, Horne Fisher relies on his insider knowledge, to be sure, but also on his acute understanding of motive. It is, in fact, the complexity of motive that drives the narrative, and explains why exposure of the criminals cannot happen. There are, shall we say, complexities.

I should mention a few of my favorite moments. First is the character of the title character in “The Soul of the Schoolboy.” This boy accompanies his uncle on a tour of some of the sights of London, but does not share his uncle’s love for the antique. Rather, he is fascinated by the electrical wiring and apparati - and the endless variety of omnibuses, which he catalogues in his head.

It is as if Chesterton knew my sons. My older one - true story - can tell you within 5 minutes of entering a room where all the outlets are and what is plugged into them. And he started this at age four. And, my younger son can identify the make of a car faster than I can. At age one he was liking up matchbox cars in perfectly orderly and even rows. I could have sworn Chesterton looked ahead a century and saw them or something.

Also always interesting is Chesterton’s brilliance in deconstructing the “simplicity” affectation of the wealthy. I discussed this a bit in connection with The Flying Inn, which contains an amazing takedown of dietary trends. [insert link] In one of the stories in this book, an aristocrat prides himself on eating no meat but the fish he catches in the river abutting his extensive property. In fact, he spends all of most days simply fishing. “Of course, he’s all for simplicity, like so many of these millionaires.” Fisher points out that maintaining this facade of “simplicity” requires immense effort on the part of many “lesser” men, who labor for far less so that he can enjoy the “simple” life. So much of this is as applicable to today - or even more so - than it was 90 years ago.

One final quote, just because I enjoyed it so much. This is the opening of “The Hole In The Wall.”

Two men, the one an architect and the other an archaeologist, met on the steps of the great house at Prior’s Park; and their host, Lord Bulmer, in his breezy way, thought it natural to introduce them. It must be confessed that he was hazy as well as breezy, and had no very clear connection in his mind, beyond the sense that an architect and an archaeologist begine with the same series of letters. The world must remain in a reverent doubt as to whether he would, on the same principles, have presented a diplomat to a dipsomaniac or a ratiocinator to a rat catcher…

It is in these moments of humor, as in his introspective paradoxes, that Chesterton is at his best. While The Man Who Knew Too Much isn’t the very best of Chesterton’s works, it is worth a read for its strengths and in spite of its flaws.  

Other Chesterton reviews:

I have been a fan of Chesterton for some time, and he is in my top five persons I would love to have at the ultimate dinner party. I have been attempting to read something of his, whether poetry, fiction, or non-fiction, each year since I started this blog. Here are my past reviews:

Heretics and Orthodoxy

New Poems

The Flying Inn

Saint Francis of Assisi 

Also, a quick mention of The Ball and the Cross as one of my 10 most influential books. 

New Poems by G. K. Chesterton

Date originally posted to Facebook: February 13, 2011
Source of book: I own this.

I am slowly republishing my old reviews on the blog. I'm almost done! After that, I intend to figure out how to create an index of all the posts. Wish me luck.

***

I admit it. I’m an unabashed Chesterton fan. One of those larger than life personalities, his writing resembles a big, overripe tomato thrown at the staid conventional wisdom. Oddly, however, I had stuck to his prose, never really sampling the poetry.

Amanda found a nice used hardback collection for me for Christmas this year, and I dove in.

Like a few other artists of the early 20^th century, Chesterton chose to follow the old styles and forms, rather than forging a new path. In that sense, he could be compared to Rachmaninoff, or perhaps even Sibelius with his “pure cold water”. Nevertheless, traditional forms are unable to contain his outsize ideas. Throughout, a word here or there will stick out with audacity, a piquant spice transforming a formerly predictable dish.

This particular book contains most of Chesterton’s poems, including “New Poems”, published in 1932, near the end of Chesterton’s life. My book prints the poems in reverse chronological order, oddly enough.

“New Poems” contains short poems about a variety of subjects. Some are very specific responses to current events, headlines, articles, and other poems. Representative of this type is:

            “On A Prohibitionist Poem”

            Though Shakespeare’s Mermaid, ociean’s mightiest daughter,

            With vintage could the seas incarnadine:

            And Keats’s name that was not writ in water

                        Was often writ in wine.

            Though wine that seeks the loftiest habitation

            Went to the heads of Villon and Verlaine,

            Yet Hiram Hopper needs no inspiration

                        But water on the brain.

(As I noted in my post on The Flying Inn, Chesterton correctly saw American Prohibition as an attempt to impose a moral code on the poor, particularly African Americans – a code ignored by the wealthy, of course.)

Others are about timeless subjects. One of my favorite examples:

“The World State”

Oh, how I love Humanity,

  With love so pure and pringlish,

And how I hate the horrid French,

  Who never will be English!

The International Idea,

  The largest and the clearest,

Is welding all the nations now,

  Except the one that’s nearest.

This compromise has long been known,

  This scheme of partial pardons,

In ethical societies

  And small suburban gardens—

The villas and the chapels where

  I learned with little labour

The way to love my fellow-man

  And hate my next-door neighbour.

Still others are delicious parodies.

In his extended poem, “Answers to the Poets”, Chesterton imagines such things as Lucasta replying to Lovelace, and the monk in the Spanish cloister replying to Browning. I am particularly fond of the following from his anonymous response “To a Modern Poet”:

            But I am very unobservant.

                                    I cannot say

            I ever noticed that the pillar box

                        was like a baby

                                    skinned alive and screaming.

                                    I have not

                                    a Poet’s

                                        Eye

                        which can see Beauty

                                                everywhere.

I also recommend reading “Variations of an Air”, which consists of Chesterton’s imagining of what “Old King Cole” would sound like if written by Tennyson, Yeats, Browning, Swinburne, and best of all, Whitman. This is easily found online, although many versions inexplicably omit the final verse in the style of Swinburne.

It will be an adventure to return to Chesterton at regular intervals as I continue my poetry project.

St. Francis of Assisi by G. K. Chesterton

Source of book: I own this.

I read Chesterton fairly frequently. To me, he seems one of those larger than life characters that could never fit into a box - or perhaps even the world itself. His ideas are unpredictable, and he always forces me to look at things from an unexpected angle. If I were to choose one person from history to spend an evening with, he would be near or at the top of the list.

I chose this book in part because of the choice of the current Pope to take the name of Francis. Although I am a Protestant, not a Catholic, (and not wedded to a particular denomination, for that matter) I still follow important developments in the other branches of the Church.

St. Francis was a rather interesting person, and his story is fascinating. However, do not read this book intending to get a clear idea of the life of its subject. Chesterton assumes that you already know the basics of the story, which meant that I had to brush up on it myself. Chesterton rather wishes to comment on the significance of the man and his ideas, and explain to the modern mind the context of that man’s works and ideals.

In fact, one of the best things about this book is that Chesterton understands that context is vitally important for understanding the past, and that we can’t simply analyze historical figures as if they existed in the same cultural context as today. (I’ve written before about how this tends to lead to a idolization of past cultures, while ignoring the reality, especially for those who lacked power in those societies.) Chesterton strikes a good balance in this book, neither worshiping the Middle Ages nor unfairly condemning them. I believe the reason is that Chesterton is always brimming with love and good humor. He really can’t bring himself to hate anyone - even the villains in his works of fiction. In that respect, he was a modern counterpart to St. Francis, at least in his good will toward his fellow men.

A great example of this was Chesterton’s friendship with George Bernard Shaw, his philosophical opposite. In Heretics, Chesterton devoted an entire chapter to the dismantling of Shaw’s beliefs, all the while expressing his personal admiration. I mention Shaw, because one of the key points of this book is the idea that being charitable to the poor is much, much different than loving the poor. This is so very true in our modern society, when we truly believe that material success is the result of “godliness,” and that thus, we middle class people are truly “better” than the poor, even as we generously attempt to better their condition. (This is true of both liberals and conservatives.) Chesterton correctly identified the problem as being due, in large part, to thinking of “the poor” in a collective sense, rather than as individuals. Humans in the same sense that we are.

Chesterton saw this impulse in St. Francis, and attributed our modern bewilderment at his often bizarre actions to our lack of understanding of the true nature of religion. To the modern, rational mind, religion is a philosophy. (To the atheist, it is an irrational, mad, philosophy at best.) Chesterton noted that the things that St. Francis did resembled the crazy things that people do when in love.

He was a Lover. He was a lover of God and he was really and truly a lover of men; possibly a much rarer mystical vocation. A lover of men is very nearly the opposite of a philanthropist; indeed the pedantry of the Greek word carries something like a satire on itself. A philanthropist may be aid to love anthropoids. But as St. Francis did not love humanity but me, so he did not love Christianity by Christ. Say, if you think so, that he was a lunatic loving an imaginary person; but an imaginary person, not an imaginary idea.

The same impulse that leads to sacrifice in the name of romantic love led to the sacrifice of asceticism in St. Francis.

Men will ask what selfish sort of woman it must have been who ruthlessly exacted tributed in the form of flowers, or what an avaricious creature she can have been to demand solid gold in the form of a ring: just as they ask what cruel kind of God can have demanded sacrifice and self-denial. They will have lost the clue to all that lovers have meant by love; and will not understand that is was because the thing was not demanded that it was done.

This is the meaning of love, that self-giving without the demand. It is the difference between legalistic systems that look to make God like us more than other people and the amazing things that people like St. Francis have done out of an abundance of love for the Creator. It is the difference between those who sort others into categories of acceptability and those who see others as having equal worth and value.

Later, Chesterton hints at the difference between true equality and condescending charity when he says that a Gentleman cannot be fully an egalitarian until he can quarrel with his servant.

In contrast, St. Francis truly seemed to have approached each person as an individual made in the image of God.

I have said that St. Francis deliberately did not see the wood for the trees. It is even more true that he deliberately did not see the mob for the men...He only saw the image of God multiplied but never monotonous. To him a man was always a man and did not disappear in a dense crowd any more than in a desert. He honoured all men; that is, he not only loved but respected them all. What gave him his extraordinary personal power was this; that from the Pope to the beggar, from the sultan of Syria in his pavilion to the ragged robbers crawling out from the wood, there was never a man who looked into those brown burning eyes without being certain that Francis Bernardone was really interested in him; in his own inner individual life from the cradle to the grave; that he himself was being valued and taken seriously, and not merely added to the spoils of some social policy or the names in some clerical document.

I found this book to be a bit convicting on this point. It is so easy to forget the person. To look at others as problems to be solved, rather than individuals, each with his or her own story.

St. Francis has been referred to as le Jongleur de Dieu. The Jongleur was a juggler, a musician, a clown, all rolled into one. A fool, perhaps. Chesterton makes much of this idea. Certainly, Francis was unafraid to be thought a fool or to do “foolish” things. Many of these, however, had a serious and oddly logical purpose. He is legendary, of course, for his refusal to own property, either individually or collectively - the socialist ideal. Chesterton points out that this would not have worked for everyone, as someone has to be responsible for the upkeep of the means of sustenance and shelter. However, for the particular point he was making, it did make sense for him.

His argument was this: that the dedicated man might go anywhere among any kind of men, even the worst kind of men, so long as there was nothing by which they could hold him.

A few more random thoughts from this book, which is full of stuff to ponder.

One of the incidents in St. Francis’ life that Chesterton dwells on is the episode with St. Clare. She was a seventeen year old girl, who ran away from her father to become a nun. (Francis assisted her escape.) Chesterton quite correctly points out that had she run away to elope, like Juliet at age fourteen, St. Francis would have been an analogue to Friar Lawrence. Again, by understanding religious passion as a form of romantic love, the choice makes sense. She would go on to form the counterpart to the Franciscan order. Chesterton’s take on this is interesting.

[W]e may at least assume that no friend of what is called the emancipation of women will regret the revolt of St. Clare. she did most truly, in the modern jargon, live her own life, the life that she herself wanted to lead, as distinct from the life into which parental commands and conventional arrangements would have forced her.

Chesterton was pretty conservative, and not much of a feminist, but he is gracious enough to grant the point. Women, too, are legitimate in desiring to make their own choices about their own lives. (Notwithstanding the Christian Patriarchists, who believe in the absolute control of daughters by their fathers and then husband, for example.)

I also liked Chesterton’s discussion of the difference between conquest and conversion. He notes this in a contrast between the worst impulses of the Catholic Church (particularly in the New World) and the approach of St. Francis. I think this debate still rages in conservative Christian circles, with a significant contingent still seeking political dominion.

In contrast to this attitude and quest for power, St. Francis said that he found the secret of life in being the servant and the secondary figure. I want to make this the goal of my own life - to be the world’s best second fiddle, as it were. To lead through service, not through domination.

I noted above the need for historical context to understand the writings of the past. Chesterton noted that this even applies to the very words of Christ.

It is a truism to say that Christ lived before Christianity; and it follows that as an historical figure He is a figure in heathen history. I mean that the medium in which He moved was not the medium of Christendom but of the old pagan empire; and from that alone, not to mention the distance of time, it follows that His circumstances are more alien to us than those of an Italian monk such as we might meet even to-day. I suppose that the most authoritative commentary can hardly be certain of the current or conventional weight of all His words or phrases; of which of them would then have seemed a common allusion and which a strange fancy. This archaic setting has left many of the sayings standing like hieroglyphics and subject to many and peculiar individual interpretations.

From my own experience in the legalistic labyrinth of the Patriarchy movement, I would say that there are many possible “peculiar individual interpretations” which take on a life of their own. The point is that we may well often have to admit that we really don’t know and understand everything that is written. We can do the best we can to understand the times and the illusions, but we are best served by a humility in our approach. We see and understand in part only, and our interpretations are not the final word. I love that Chesterton is willing to admit that fact. 

One line that stuck with me, and that I may quote on future occasions is this: “it is as rational for a theist to believe in miracles as for an atheist to disbelieve in them. In other words, there is only one intelligent reason why a man does not believe in miracles and that is that he does believe in materialism.”

There are a few points on which I decidedly did not agree with Chesterton. He was a Catholic, and I am a Protestant, so his views on the role and function of church hierarchy are bound to be different from mine. I also am not sure what to think about his views of the Middle Ages, although he at least doesn’t wish to return there.

The medieval world was far ahead of the modern world in its sense of the things in which all men are at one: Death and the daylight of reason and the common conscience that holds communities together. Its generalizations were saner and sounder than the mad materialistic theories of to-day; nobody would have tolerated a Schopenhauer scorning life or a Nietzsche living only for scorn. But the modern world is more subtle in its sense of the things in which men are not at one; in the temperamental varieties and differentiations that make up the personal problems of life.

There is some truth there, and he certainly identifies the way in which the modern life is easier on those who differ from the normal expectation. (See St. Clare, above.) I have my doubts about how much better the generalizations were, and wonder whether Chesterton’s fairly privileged upbringing might be a contributing factor. As always, in discussions about the past, one must not just look to the class of wealthy men, but must also look at the conditions of the serfs, one one risks falling into a nostalgia of self-interest.

As usual with Chesterton, his creative use of words was part of the pleasure.

First, I noted his use of “botheration,” which I associate primarily with a friend from New Zealand, for whom it was a multi-purpose imprecation.

Second, I had to look up “adumbrate.” It means, per the dictionary: 1) To give a sketchy outline of, 2) To prefigure indistinctly; foreshadow, 3) To disclose partially or guardedly, 4) To overshadow; shadow or obscure. It is related to “umbra,” or shadow. It’s fun to learn a new word.

One final thought that I am still pondering.

Every heresy has been an effort to narrow the Church.

Since the Catholic Church as historically regarded Protestantism as a heresy, and took great pains to exterminate those “heretics,” I am not sure exactly what Chesterton means by this, although in context, he applies it to the idea that St. Francis could not found his own religion for that reason. There was and is much Christianity apart from St. Francis and his followers. The Franciscan movement has its place and its truth and beauty, but it is not all there is to either. Had it limited Christianity to like minded followers, it would have become a heresy. Perhaps this might apply best to legalism in general. St. Francis followed Christ as he was called. Not everyone had or has the same calling. Once we decide that everyone must do as we do, we narrow the kingdom of God. Still thinking about this one.

As usual, Chesterton’s ideas have caused me to step back and think. Whether one agrees or disagrees with his points, it is impossible to not respect the originality of his thought, and his overflowing love and good cheer.

Note on the legacy of St. Francis:

The Franciscan order of friars is the most obvious. Father Junipero Serra, who founded the California mission system, was a Franciscan, as was Father Francisco Garces, who explored much of the Southwestern United States and discovered the Tejon pass, between the desert and the San Joaquin Valley, back in 1776. He is honored here in Bakersfield for the work he did in the area.

Also of note, the city of San Francisco was named after St. Frances. Also, the ill fated St. Francis dam, which broke in dramatic fashion.

Note on the poetry of St. Francis:

The best known poem that is believed with certainty to have been written by St. Francis is the Canticle of the Sun.

Most high, all powerful, all good Lord!

All praise is Yours, all glory, all honor, and all blessing.

To You, alone, Most High, do they belong.

No mortal lips are worthy to pronounce Your name.

Be praised, my Lord, through all Your creatures,

especially through my lord Brother Sun,

who brings the day; and You give light through him.

And he is beautiful and radiant in all his splendor!

Of You, Most High, he bears the likeness.

Be praised, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars;

in the heavens You have made them bright, precious and beautiful.

Be praised, my Lord, through Brothers Wind and Air,

and clouds and storms, and all the weather,

through which You give Your creatures sustenance.

Be praised, my Lord, through Sister Water;

she is very useful, and humble, and precious, and pure.

Be praised, my Lord, through Brother Fire,

through whom You brighten the night.

He is beautiful and cheerful, and powerful and strong.

Be praised, my Lord, through our sister Mother Earth,

who feeds us and rules us,

and produces various fruits with colored flowers and herbs.

Be praised, my Lord, through those who forgive for love of You;

through those who endure sickness and trial.

Happy those who endure in peace,

for by You, Most High, they will be crowned.

Be praised, my Lord, through our sister Bodily Death,

from whose embrace no living person can escape.

Woe to those who die in mortal sin!

Happy those she finds doing Your most holy will.

The second death can do no harm to them.

Praise and bless my Lord, and give thanks,

and serve Him with great humility.

Better known is his famous prayer, but it is not certain that he wrote it. Certainly, it is consistent with his writings and beliefs, but it may have been written at a later date, as it did not appear in print until the early 1900s.

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

Where there is injury, pardon;

Where there is doubt, faith;

Where there is despair, hope;

Where there is darkness, light;

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

I am partial to John Michael Talbot’s musical setting of the prayer.