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.
