A comfortable faith

I finished The Man Who Was Thursday today.  This is a bit from the end of the book. It is a conversation between the same two poets I mentioned a couple of posts back.  Gregory is the anarchist and Syme is the poet of order.  Gregory, in the novel, is a allegorical representation of Lucifer.

"You!" [Gregory] cried. "You never hated because you never lived. I know what you are all of you, from first to last—you are the people in power! You are the police—the great fat, smiling men in blue and buttons! You are the Law, and you have never been broken. But is there a free soul alive that does not long to break you, only because you have never been broken? We in revolt talk all kind of nonsense doubtless about this crime or that crime of the Government. It is all folly! The only crime of the Government is that it governs. The unpardonable sin of the supreme power is that it is supreme. I do not curse you for being cruel. I do not curse you (though I might) for being kind. I curse you for being safe! You sit in your chairs of stone, and have never come down from them. You are the seven angels of heaven, and you have had no troubles. Oh, I could forgive you everything, you that rule all mankind, if I could feel for once that you had suffered for one hour a real agony such as I—" 

Syme sprang to his feet, shaking from head to foot. 

"I see everything," he cried, "everything that there is. Why does each thing on the earth war against each other thing? Why does each small thing in the world have to fight against the world itself? Why does a fly have to fight the whole universe? Why does a dandelion have to fight the whole universe? For the same reason that I had to be alone in the dreadful Council of the Days. So that each thing that obeys law may have the glory and isolation of the anarchist. So that each man fighting for order may be as brave and good a man as the dynamiter. So that the real lie of Satan may be flung back in the face of this blasphemer, so that by tears and torture we may earn the right to say to this man, 'You lie!' No agonies can be too great to buy the right to say to this accuser, 'We also have suffered.' 

"It is not true that we have never been broken. We have been broken upon the wheel. It is not true that we have never descended from these thrones. We have descended into hell. We were complaining of unforgettable miseries even at the very moment when this man entered insolently to accuse us of happiness. I repel the slander; we have not been happy. I can answer for every one of the great guards of Law whom he has accused."

I can't speak for what the situation in England was in 1908, but today I frequently hear that religion is a source of strength and comfort.  "Religion is the opiate of the masses" and all that.  I suppose that what people mean is that people with faith believe that their fortunes will be improved, if not in this life, then in the next.  They may be sleeping in the gutter in this world, but in the next, they will be kings.  They may suffer torments from their betters in this world, but their tormentors will be their servants in the next.

Was that ever true?  Perhaps in different times and places, but surely not in general.  Faith has either been the mainstream position, in which case it would not soothe and comfort because your tormentor would likely profess the same religion, or it has been a hunted minority.  Can anyone say that Christianity is a comforting religion today?  Dr. Robert George dismissed that notion a few years ago.

Syme's comment is instructive:  ...Why does a dandelion have to fight the whole universe? For the same reason that I had to be alone in the dreadful Council of the Days. So that each thing that obeys law may have the glory and isolation of the anarchist. So that each man fighting for order may be as brave and good a man as the dynamiter.   This struggle was discussed at length in Chesterton's great apologetic Orthodoxy.  In that book he describes a conservative as a radical, always fighting the forces of entropy and decay around you.  "If you want a white post, you have to keep painting it or else you'll end up with a black post."  Fighting for order is every bit as desperate and romantic as fighting a dragon or fighting against injustice.  But it's so prosaic that no one notices.  The shopkeeper sweeping leaves out of his doorway is every bit as daring as the soldier fighting insurgents in Iraq.  But no one will write books or movies about the shopkeeper.

Keeping the faith in the midst of confusion is a bold proposition.  It's not for the faint of heart.  Today a great sifting is going on. We don't have to worry about being beheaded by Islamic radicals and we're not in imminent danger of imprisonment.  But even with that it's not for the faint of heart and it's not for those seeking comfort.  The Benedict Option is often touted as a way of preserving culture, even to the point of believers moving closer to their parishes so that the physical neighborhood would be a place of security and comfort.  But that's not the experience of many.  If you don't kowtow to the mainstream culture, you'll suffer for it.  And if you seek membership in the Church, it's likely that you'll suffer more because you're a bigger target.

However, if you're looking for a fight, if you're looking to engage the enemy and risk your life for your values, it may be just the place you're looking for.  "Culture Warrior" is not the prestigious title it was during Benedict XVI's reign, but that doesn't make them less necessary.  And I feel that's the direction things are going whether Rome likes it or not.  We'll either face our enemies on our feet or on our knees.

A final point before I put Thursday down for another year.  I want to comment on this line:  "I do not curse you for being cruel. I do not curse you (though I might) for being kind. I curse you for being safe!"  This is echoed in a scene from earlier in the book, and portrayed in the YouTube video I posted earlier:  "You policemen are cruel to the poor, but I could forgive you even your cruelty if it were not for your calm."  This runs through the book and it seems to be an inversion of the classic English stereotype of "keeping a stiff upper lip".  Chesterton wrote about it in earlier books, that the great heroes of English history were men of valor and emotion but by the time of Chesterton the English had been drained of emotion, and least in public comportment.  Emotional outbursts were the domain of hot-headed Frenchmen and Italians.  Even English women were advised to pull themselves together in the face of death.  The characters in Thursday find the lack of emotion infuriating.  They fear people that possess a bland expression more than the evil acts that person commits.

And yet the characters themselves are as stoic as them come.  Gregory, the villain in the book, is almost a Bond-villain: treating Syme to a good meal and pleasant conversation as a prelude to a dangerous introduction to the anarchist council.  (I'm going to kill you, but that doesn't mean we can't be civil).  I don't know if Thursday originated that trope, but it's the oldest book I've read that contains the Bond-villain motif.