A Course Correction
Anonymous #2
July 2023
Walter Miller wrote A Canticle for Leibowitz after his conversion to Catholicism following his role in the Second World War. During the war, 19 year-old Miller flew an impressive 53 bombing missions in a B-25 over the Italian Theatre. It was during these missions that Miller’s life would take an unexpected turn. Of little significance to him at the time, some of these bombing missions were directed attacks against the Abbey of Monte Cassino.
Monte Casino, built by St. Benedict himself in the 6th century A.D., was a foundational physical presence during the rise of Christendom. The Order of St. Benedict has had an immeasurable impact on the modern world; and they trace their heritage to that beautiful abbey. Before Miller participated in its destruction, Monte Cassino was the oldest physical church in the world. During the Allied invasion of Italy, Monte Cassino was incorrectly believed to be a stronghold for fascist forces. The historic site was needlessly destroyed. Born into an agnostic household, young Walter Miller had no understanding or appreciation for a site like Monte Cassino. He would later reveal that while flying the bombing missions over the abbey, he didn’t even know what the word “abbey” meant. Miller came to be greatly disturbed by his own involvement in the ruin of Monte Cassino. It is easy to see that Miller was disgusted with his own ignorance. Miller blindly allowed himself to choose the secular and temporal conquest of the war over the immortal conquest and higher ideal of Christendom itself. Shortly after the war, at the age of 25, Miller converted to Catholicism. Miller’s authorship of Canticle in the 1950s can be seen as a cathartic experience for him, perhaps even a form of therapy. The events of the novel are a total reversal of Miller’s own actions. Leibowitz, an agent of the future US Government, rededicates himself to the Church after the flame deluge. The fictional Order of Leibowitz rebuilds a new abbey from the rubble of the fallen secular world. This abbey then gets to save humanity from its own suicide. Miller, like Leibowitz, was also an agent of the US Government. Miller’s own work during the Second World War consisted mostly of destruction and ruin, but Leibowitz chose preservation in the Third World War. Miller physically destroyed the stones laid by Benedict of Nursia, but the Order of Leibowitz reused them for their own abbey. Canticle is more than a sci-fi novel; it is a course correction. It is a correction not just for Miller’s life, but of Western Civilization itself. One cannot help but think Miller’s anti-war stance was motivated by deeper sentiments- anger and grief at the realization Christendom has split herself, injured herself, killed her own sons for the sake of temporal secular conflict. Miller’s thinking might not actually be universally anti-war, only distrustful of secular conflict. This reading of Canticle parallels the obvious truth that Miller was not anti-science, just distrustful of progress without morality and thinking without wisdom. Consumed by secular conflict, humanity has come dangerously close to the destruction depicted in Canticle. This is perhaps the most obvious lesson of Canticle and the surrounding dystopian literature of the 20th century. A key difference between Canticle and other dystopian science-fiction is that the interstate conflict of Canticle is portrayed as parochial and temporal in comparison to the Church. Miller mockingly writes of lavish but illiterate “Hannigans” who dream of ruling all of Texarkana, outlived by the simple abbey in the desert. The learned “Thons”, pinnacles of the future educational system, can only rediscover the findings of the ancient past. The Thons possess little wisdom, only the will to dominate thinking. A Canticle for Leibowitz prescribes a strong course correction for the West: avoid secular conflict at all costs; seek to preserve those institutions which are truly worth defending. The novel does not speak to the institution of the Church; rather it is best directed at people who have not yet aligned themselves to her goals. Ironically, Canticle is so full of the zeal of a new convert that it has been misjudged and misunderstood by much of the secular world. The uninitiated might see this book as an obfuscated reimagining of Cold War anti-nuclear fears. A deeper reading of Canticle sees a eulogy for dying institutions, celebration of the undying Church, and praise of a God who witnesses and forgives it all, time and again, as we refuse to learn. Canticle covers the lives of monks who willingly give their lives for the Church. Many give their lives in dramatic martyrdom of fire or combat; but even more give their lives to the Church quietly. They work away by candlelight (or perhaps arc-lamp) for centuries. They copy books, stake their dominion over nature, and in the final part test soil samples to find the very evidence of mankind’s final suicide attempt by nuclear destruction. All their actions are part of a greater narrative- a deeper purpose to their lives. Not only does the community provide meaning to the characters of the novel, the community is also the main character itself. This unbroken chain of communion between all people is what is truly worth defending. The lives and deaths of the fictional monks are all for that goal: the defense and preservation of that unbreakable communion. These honorable fates are perhaps the best witness we have of Walter Miller’s deepest desire: a life of meaningful work toward the highest possible ideal. Sadly, it was far easier for Miller to write a narrative of this than to accomplish it himself. Miller struggled with post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, and grief in the years following the success of Canticle. The years turned into decades and Miller hardly wrote even a short story. In the half century after Canticle, he managed to publish several compilations of short stories, universally written by others or by himself prior to Canticle. By the 1990s Miller had entered a recluse phase, hardly leaving his home, and had turned away from the Church toward new-age beliefs. Walter Miller took his own life in 1996, shortly after the passing of his wife. Miller may have viewed himself as irredeemable for his own past, an obvious contradiction to a faith which he might not have fully understood. He might have come to believe he could not undo this great evil he had committed. He ultimately chose the path he had condemned so strongly in the final part of Canticle. Perhaps Miller’s fatalistic and irredeemable view of his past prevented him from making the course correction he prescribed in his novel. |
A Canticle for Leibowitz: A Lense Into Humanity
Andrew Kaveler
June 2023
A Canticle for Leibowitz Spoilers Ahead
“Set in a Catholic monastery in the desert of the southwestern United States after a devastating nuclear war, the book spans thousands of years as civilization rebuilds itself. The monks of the Albertian Order of Leibowitz preserve the surviving remnants of man's scientific knowledge until the world is again ready for it.”1 When Matt Lanetti introduced me to this novel a few months ago, the word “fragile” kept coming to my mind. Throughout the centuries, the monastery and its mission seem constantly on the verge of annihilation. In Fiat Lux (Part 2 of the book), the regime of Hannegan of Texarkana threatens to conquer North America and persecute the church into subservience. However, shortly into Fiat Voluntas Tua (Part 3), the reader quickly realizes the worry was for naught. Though empires rise and fall and many perish, humanity and the church ultimately persist. And though the earth experiences another atomic holocaust in Part 3, a small contingent of refugees (including some monks of the order of Leibowitz) escape into space. The story is an uncomfortable but poignant reminder of what Christian hope truly looks like. Hope is not a naive comfort that everything and everyone will be alright. We are promised nothing more, or less, than that salvation is possible and that the Church and her mission will persist. While I appreciate the comforts of 21st century America, our relative ease of life makes slipping into self-complacency almost effortless. Humility, having realistic knowledge of our abilities and circumstances, is consequently vital since it reveals how little control we have and how dearly we need God. Which makes me wonder whether continual adversity is almost critical for humility to thrive. Living in the company of danger, as the monks do, leaves little doubt as to how easily things could fall apart and how much of a supporting hand God must have in our affairs. Such genuine humility is beautifully shown in Fiat Homo (Part 1) through the life of Brother Francis2. The lives of the saints are rarely glamorous, and Francis is no exception. During his novitiate fast and vigil in the wilderness, he discovers a relic of his order’s founder, Blessed Leibowitz3. Due to the questions of its authenticity, Francis ultimately spends seven years as a novice4 and even upon acceptance is under constant scrutiny by the abbot. He spends the following decade working on an illumination of the relic, all while being ridiculed by his fellow monks. Decades later, when Leibowitz is canonized a saint, Francis delivers the relic to the pope but is killed by cannibals on the journey home. While his life seems miserable, it also one spent fostering virtue. His tale is also a reminder that although we value traits such as intelligence, eloquence, and leadership, these qualities are not requirements for sainthood. Humility is. Even the cherished knowledge saved by the monks is ultimately useless without the wisdom to harness it wisely. Miller clearly emphasizes that while knowledge is a source of inspiration and enlightenment, it easily becomes recourse for arrogance and self-destruction. A humble man instead recognizes that his gifts (including knowledge) are but aides for his role in a mission far greater than any personal scheme. Our struggle between humility and pride is a microcosm of our greater struggle for virtue and sin, good and evil, Heaven and Hell. It is a continual choice, reinforced or degraded by our daily actions. All our schemes and efforts, physical and spiritual, could either succeed beyond our imagining or fail horribly depending on how God wills it. Not our intelligence, skills, wealth, or societal safety nets. Humility enables us to embrace this reality and points us to hope for deliverance. We can only focus on doing our best at taking the next step God offers us and trusting He will use it to fulfill His promises. 1 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Canticle_for_Leibowitz 2 I assume that Miller considers Brother Francis to be the model of a saint, i.e. an example to be followed. 3 Compared to the typical one year to be accepted as a monk by the abbot. 4 The relic is an electrical blueprint of a transistor, as Leibowitz was an electrical engineer. |