A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller, Jr

[Werthead]

Six centuries ago, the world was destroyed in the Atomic Flame Deluge, leaving humanity scattered and broken and the world infested by radiation and mutations. One of the few surviving points of continuity to the old world is religion, with the Christian Faith surviving in the form of isolated monasteries and a 'new Rome' that has arisen in the east of North America. When a monk discovers relics dating back to before the nuclear war, a chain of events is set in motion that will reverberate down the centuries.

A Canticle for Leibowitz is a central text of the classic science fiction canon, originally published in 1960 and winning the 1961 Hugo Award as well as a slew of other awards down the years. Unusually for an SF novel, especially one published at that time, it has won significant acclaim from mainstream literary circles, impressed with its grappling of themes such as religion versus science and its assessment of the cyclical nature of humanity's ability and willingness to destroy itself. Whilst there has never been a filmed adaptation, the book's structure and some of its ideas directly inspired an episode of Babylon 5 called The Deconstruction of Fallen Stars which also addressed some of the same themes.

Leibowitz shares a common premise with Asimov's Foundation sequence, with its band of educated men seeking to preserve the knowledge and wisdom of a prior age through the barbarian dark ages of ignorance and fear until civilisation arises again, although the book lacks an analogue to Asimov's psychohistory. The monks of Leibowitz also have themselves little idea of the worth of the knowledge they are protecting, with complex technical schematics stored alongside shopping lists and betting slips. Still, the information they are guarding eventually gives humanity enough clues to begin its rise to technological greatness once again.

Leibowitz is a 'fix-up' novel assembled out of three short stories, set 600, 1,200 and 1,800 years in the future respectively, with corresponding shifts in cast and the technological levels of humanity. Each of the three sections addresses different but related ideas, such as faith and belief in the first part, the seductive nature of technology and power in the second and the clash between religious morality and common morality in the last part. For a novel written in the late 1950s, this book touches on many topics that remain contentious today, such as euthanasia, abortion and the relationship of Church and State. Miller supports no sides, but uses his characters to make compelling arguments on both sides that provides much to think about. The book also has deliberately, even powerfully ambiguous moments (particularly revolving around a recurring character and events involving a mutated woman near the book's end) that introduce huge potential for debate and multiple layers of interpretation to the book.

Leibowitz's literary qualities are founded in excellent writing, strong characterisation (with only 120 pages or so for each part, Miller gives us several memorable and impressive characters per section) and an excellent sense of humour (often very black indeed). Unlike some of its contemporaries, Leibowitz has not aged or dated itself at all, and like Non-Stop, The Stars My Destination and Lord of Light remains a compelling, essential read from this era of SF.

A Canticle for Leibowitz (*****) a rich, funny, dramatic, dark and thought-provoking novel. It is available now in the USA. There is no current British edition (for the time being anyway) but the book is easily available on import or second-hand in the UK. Walter M. Miller sadly took his own life in 1996, but a successor volume, Saint Leibowitz and the Wild Horse Woman, was completed and published with the help of Terry Bisson.

 

[J-WO]

Leibowitz is a true masterpiece. Thanks for putting this up.

 

[j d worthington]

Indeed it is, J-WO; a piece which grows with each rereading, and a beautiful example of how science fiction can be both entertainment and art.....

 

[Urien]

I remember it as an intelligent and moving piece. And at the end I wanted to reach into the story and stop them. A rare and magical book.

 

[Parson]

I probably read this book from a different slant than most. I came to it very late. I only read it for the first time about a year ago, maybe less. It is certainly haunting and a good read. It is about as striking an indictment of humanity and our predilections as you will ever find. (The Calvinist in me wants to talk about total depravity.)

But it was recommended to me as a SF book which took religion seriously. I cannot agree with that assessment. It took people who had religious impulses seriously, but not religion. The religion that the monks pursue is uninformed at best, a farce at worst. God is not a player in the book. This book could have been written by an atheist without any qualms. (I have no idea if it was.)

Also I kept thinking about the popular work a few years ago: "How the Irish Saved the World."

 

[j d worthington]

Parson, I couldn't disagree with you more. Miller was in fact a convert to Catholicism, and the book is permeated with his struggles to make the two worlds match. The final section, with the old tomato-woman and Rachel bears a very important role on this level.

The entire thing is modeled, really, on the idea of a modern-day version of Biblical parable, which may be why even those who are atheists tend to find this one well worth reading....

 

[J-WO]

I saw the climax as being the end of original sin, with the mutant lady being a new beginning. Whether that's what Miller intended I don't know.

 

[Parson]

Parson, I couldn't disagree with you more. Miller was in fact a convert to Catholicism, and the book is permeated with his struggles to make the two worlds match. The final section, with the old tomato-woman and Rachel bears a very important role on this level.

The entire thing is modeled, really, on the idea of a modern-day version of Biblical parable, which may be why even those who are atheists tend to find this one well worth reading....

J.D.

It would have been interesting to know that this was a story of his struggles to put the world of science (?) and religion together. I also don't doubt that this could be read as a kind of parable.

But I still stand by my evaluation that though the book took religious people seriously. It often showed how religious impulses could bring out the best of humanity. But God was not a player, or at least not in any overt sense. Perhaps you could see him behind the scenes pulling strings, as in the book of Esther, but never overt.

[If Esther were not in the Bible the story itself would not immediately generate any thought of a God.]

Now if you want a novel where God is a player in a cracking good story, I would suggest "The Shack" by William Young.


(Always good to hear from you!)

 

[Toby Frost]

I agree with j.d. worthington. "Taking religion seriously" can be taken to my mind in two ways: firstly, it could mean accepting the claims of religion as literal and unquestionable truths or, secondly, it could mean discussing the claims of religion in an intelligent way, by showing flawed people trying to obey them. It does the latter, and I am glad it does so.

In fact, it doesn't really matter if the God of Leibowitz exists or not. Miller seems to be more interested in discussing the ways in which people - flawed, often ignorant, people but not fanatics or idiots - try to put religious principles into action. Since the existence of God can neither be proved nor disproved, surely it is more interesting and instructive to see how, for good and evil, people try to interpret and obey the word of God. Piety has given us both the Salem witch trials and Mozart's Requiem: I think Miller's skill lies in being aware of both extremes.

 

[j d worthington]

Thank you, Parson... good to once again be partaking of a thread you're involved in.

I mentioned the bit about Rachel and Mrs. Grales. I'd also like to bring in another figure whose presence (I would argue) makes it very clear that Miller does have God operating in the novel, and on a more direct (if also more subtle than is usually the case in such a scenario) level than what, for instance, you seem to see, Parson. That character, of course, is "Benjamin" -- the Wandering Jew. I think it is most likely significant, given that legendary character's fate, that he is not present when Rachel awakes and bestows her benediction on Zerchi; for this is the very moment that he has waited for for thousands of years....

I think, though, that not having God be overtly visible in his actions here was a very good choice, as it kept a strong feeling of realism (or, if you prefer, relationship to our own experiences of everyday reality) to the book without in any way detracting from the conviction that there is such a deity. In doing that, I think, Miller gives more weight to his religious beliefs than would have been the case otherwise.

A wonderfully complex but also entertaining novel. Very layered, full of the sort of symbolism and scholastic allegory so beloved by many Catholic thinkers. While I have no patience with such when it comes to visions of reality itself, it often does (as in this case) make for great art, for it speaks to very deep emotions and parts of our being through mythic/religious terms.

 

[clovis-man]

I don't think I'm agreeing or disagreeing with anyone here, but I don't think God has to be overtly a part of a story in order to be a part of a story, if you catch my drift. Certainly not a character ala Marc Connelly's Green Pastures ("Stand back! I'm gonna pass a miracle!) To my mind, another example would be Brother To Dragons by Charles Sheffield. No overt godly influence, but imbued with an examination of principles which could certainly be conjectured to have a "guiding hand".

 

[Parson]

Thank you, Parson... good to once again be partaking of a thread you're involved in.

I mentioned the bit about Rachel and Mrs. Grales. I'd also like to bring in another figure whose presence (I would argue) makes it very clear that Miller does have God operating in the novel, and on a more direct (if also more subtle than is usually the case in such a scenario) level than what, for instance, you seem to see, Parson. That character, of course, is "Benjamin" -- the Wandering Jew. I think it is most likely significant, given that legendary character's fate, that he is not present when Rachel awakes and bestows her benediction on Zerchi; for this is the very moment that he has waited for for thousands of years....

I think, though, that not having God be overtly visible in his actions here was a very good choice, as it kept a strong feeling of realism (or, if you prefer, relationship to our own experiences of everyday reality) to the book without in any way detracting from the conviction that there is such a deity. In doing that, I think, Miller gives more weight to his religious beliefs than would have been the case otherwise.

A wonderfully complex but also entertaining novel. Very layered, full of the sort of symbolism and scholastic allegory so beloved by many Catholic thinkers. While I have no patience with such when it comes to visions of reality itself, it often does (as in this case) make for great art, for it speaks to very deep emotions and parts of our being through mythic/religious terms.

JD

Sorry to be slow to respond. I've been away at our denomination's national legislative meeting. (Once a decade or so my turn comes up.)

Ahh, Benjamin. You might have hit on someone there that fits the bill. In an allegoric sense he might be a Christ figure. I had high hopes for him in the story. But as you pointed out he was not there in the end. That his absence might have some deeper meaning never entered into my thinking. (My B- brain doesn't work in those realms unless someone is priming my pump.) Also I don't see the book as a book so much as a couple of interrelated stories. ---- (B- brain says.... "Sorta like the Bible?") ----- I was thinking of an author that had a couple of short stories and made a try for a novel, which much to his surprise was quite successful.

Clovis Man: The religious impulse in humanity has certainly called out the best and the worst in us. I would contend that the more we try to shape ourselves according to imitate the Lord Jesus. And the worst comes when we allow humanity to set our own agenda in the name of God.

 

[j d worthington]

Ahh, Benjamin. You might have hit on someone there that fits the bill. In an allegoric sense he might be a Christ figure. I had high hopes for him in the story. But as you pointed out he was not there in the end. That his absence might have some deeper meaning never entered into my thinking. (My B- brain doesn't work in those realms unless someone is priming my pump.) Also I don't see the book as a book so much as a couple of interrelated stories. ---- (B- brain says.... "Sorta like the Bible?") ----- I was thinking of an author that had a couple of short stories and made a try for a novel, which much to his surprise was quite successful.

No... Benjamin, if you'll recall, was always looking for some mysterious "Him" to appear, and was severely disappointed on the occasions he thought this might be the case and was not. Now, given that Miller was drawing many parallels between the mediaeval Church and his Church of the future, he also made use of some of the myths and legends of the middle ages, such as that of the Wandering Jew, to add to the allegorical aspects of his tale. It has been debated as to whether or not Rachel is meant to represent a form of "immaculate conception" or not, or whether she is meant to represent another related aspect, that of the truly unfallen innocent; or whether her "awakening" is the fulfilment of the idea of the "thief in the night" (coinciding as it does with the final destruction of the earth as a new heaven and new earth are, in essence, formed for humanity). I think (though I could be wrong) that Miller deliberately left this ambiguous, intending to increase the similarity to Biblical parable, but told within the framework of a modern scientific parable as well (much as Blish did with A Case of Conscience).

As for it being a "fix-up" novel... that is something that, I think, is rather complex. I do believe, if my memory serves, that it began as a single such parable, but then the idea seems to have truly taken hold of him, causing him to develop it at a much greater scope. (He also had a "prequel/sequel" of sorts, Saint Leibowitz and the Wild Horse Woman, which was left uncompleted at his death -- later completed by Terry Bisson -- which deals with many of the same themes. Sadly, I'm afraid that it can't hold a candle to this one, though there are some fine passages here and there.)

This is by no means an unusual occurrence, as many writers (Balzac, Lovecraft, Moorcock, Cabell, Tolkien, etc.) have had a particular vision, theme, or idea grow and branch out so that it went from a single shoot to a vast spreading tree of story. So, while I suppose it began with a short story, by the time he was putting things together as a novel (and the short story was itself revised for that... I've got a copy of the original around somewhere in storage), there really was a unifying vision behind the whole, and the original material was brought into line to reflect that shift in perspective.

By the way... I'm assuming you are familiar with Jung's comments on the concept of the "Imitatio Christi"? If not, you may find them of some interest:

We Protestants must sooner or later face this question: Are we to understand the "imitation of Christ" in the sense that we should copy his life and, if I may use the expression, ape his stigmata: or in gthe deeper sense that we are to live our own proper lives as truly as he lived his in all its implications? It is no easy matter to live a life that is modeled on Christ's, but it is unspeakably harder to live one's own life as truly as Christ lived his. Anyone who did this would [...] be misjudged, derided, tortured and crucified[....]

-- Modern Man in Search of a Soul​

 

[Parson]

No... Benjamin, if you'll recall, was always looking for some mysterious "Him" to appear, and was severely disappointed on the occasions he thought this might be the case and was not. Now, given that Miller was drawing many parallels between the medieval Church and his Church of the future, he also made use of some of the myths and legends of the middle ages, such as that of the Wandering Jew, to add to the allegorical aspects of his tale. It has been debated as to whether or not Rachel is meant to represent a form of "immaculate conception" or not, or whether she is meant to represent another related aspect, that of the truly unfallen innocent; or whether her "awakening" is the fulfillment of the idea of the "thief in the night" (coinciding as it does with the final destruction of the earth as a new heaven and new earth are, in essence, formed for humanity). I think (though I could be wrong) that Miller deliberately left this ambiguous, intending to increase the similarity to Biblical parable, but told within the framework of a modern scientific parable as well (much as Blish did with A Case of Conscience).

As for it being a "fix-up" novel... that is something that, I think, is rather complex. I do believe, if my memory serves, that it began as a single such parable, but then the idea seems to have truly taken hold of him, causing him to develop it at a much greater scope. (He also had a "prequel/sequel" of sorts, Saint Leibowitz and the Wild Horse Woman, which was left uncompleted at his death -- later completed by Terry Bisson -- which deals with many of the same themes. Sadly, I'm afraid that it can't hold a candle to this one, though there are some fine passages here and there.)

This is by no means an unusual occurrence, as many writers (Balzac, Lovecraft, Moorcock, Cabell, Tolkien, etc.) have had a particular vision, theme, or idea grow and branch out so that it went from a single shoot to a vast spreading tree of story. So, while I suppose it began with a short story, by the time he was putting things together as a novel (and the short story was itself revised for that... I've got a copy of the original around somewhere in storage), there really was a unifying vision behind the whole, and the original material was brought into line to reflect that shift in perspective.

By the way... I'm assuming you are familiar with Jung's comments on the concept of the "Imitatio Christi"?

JD, your reach of literature is always astounding! "The Wandering Jew," now I do remember (my B- brain being primed again) that medieval myth. So in context he was more "John the Baptist" looking for, but alas, never finding, his Messiah. His great age points at the miraculous, and by extension a god. But I think that Benjamin is a pattern for a heroic but tragic humanity. Without there truly being a divine hand, given enough time every hope dies and every fear materializes.

This reminds me of the prophet Jeremiah who talks about a test from prophesy: [chapter 28]

8 From early times the prophets who preceded you and me have prophesied war, disaster and plague against many countries and great kingdoms. 9 But the prophet who prophesies peace will be recognized as one truly sent by the LORD only if his prediction comes true."

Humanity left to its own devices shows great promise but is tragically flawed with sin. Outside of divine intervention, given enough time, we will be the instruments of our own destruction. --- I think that is the deep truth of the Genesis account that is so often viewed as science rather than theology.

As for Jung, I was not aware of that exact quote, but the idea of the "image of Christ" is ubiquitous among theological tomes. On the surface of it (not knowing the context) I would say that he is wrong. To follow Christ's pattern is to flow precisely against the flow of flawed humanity. This life pattern will certainly result in a literal and/or a figurative cross to bear. But to be true to yourself might just bring you fame and fortune.

 

[j d worthington]

JD, your reach of literature is always astounding! "The Wandering Jew," now I do remember (my B- brain being primed again) that medieval myth. So in context he was more "John the Baptist" looking for, but alas, never finding, his Messiah. His great age points at the miraculous, and by extension a god. But I think that Benjamin is a pattern for a heroic but tragic humanity. Without there truly being a divine hand, given enough time every hope dies and every fear materializes.

I think, in a way, that Miller may have been playing with that concept here. After all, Benjamin is nowhere to be seen when the event he has awaited occurs... perhaps because he has finally given up his hard-earned faith, or perhaps for some other reason. Again, I think (though I could be wrong here) that this is a question Miller wanted to leave open, to emphasize the importance of faith. After all, it has often been noted that some of the passages in the New Testament referred to the return of Christ within the lifetime of those listening to the speaker; yet though this did not occur, faith became no less an important tenet of the Christian religion. In fact, I would argue it became even more so because of that very fact. I think Miller wished to address this without being flat-out didactic. While I think he was wrong-headed on the matter, I also think he did a beautiful job of it artistically.

This reminds me of the prophet Jeremiah who talks about a test from prophesy: [chapter 28]

8 From early times the prophets who preceded you and me have prophesied war, disaster and plague against many countries and great kingdoms. 9 But the prophet who prophesies peace will be recognized as one truly sent by the LORD only if his prediction comes true."

Humanity left to its own devices shows great promise but is tragically flawed with sin. Outside of divine intervention, given enough time, we will be the instruments of our own destruction. --- I think that is the deep truth of the Genesis account that is so often viewed as science rather than theology.

This is one of the areas where you and I most fundamentally disagree, I think. While I think we have the potential to be the means of our own destruction, I do not by any means think it inevitable; and in fact I would argue that faith without reason, and without serious questioning, is more likely to lead to that than a complete lack of faith in any supernatural, supernal, or supreme being. Skepticism is a very healthy thing, as long as it doesn't become outright negation of evidence which is there; and we do have a tendency, far too often, to view humanity as corrupt beyond comprehension. Coming from the evolutionary standpoint, I would argue that we have improved our lot -- albeit often only in tiny increments -- and I think that is backed by both the paleontological, archaeological, and historical records. This does not mean we are "redeemed", even in a strictly secular sense; but rather that we can go either way, and there is no less reason to believe we are not capable of realizing our potential, given time than there is to believe the opposite.

I suppose you could say that, despite my early upbringing and the inclinations that instilled in me, I have over time learned to have a good deal more faith in humanity and its ability to overcome these things, without becoming entirely optimistic about the matter. However, Miller makes an emotionally powerful and intellectually stimulating argument for his lapsarian view; which is why I still think this is one of the true gems of science fiction. (Then again, I seem to be in the minority these days in having such a strong liking for Blish's A Case of Conscience....)

As for Jung, I was not aware of that exact quote, but the idea of the "image of Christ" is ubiquitous among theological tomes. On the surface of it (not knowing the context) I would say that he is wrong. To follow Christ's pattern is to flow precisely against the flow of flawed humanity. This life pattern will certainly result in a literal and/or a figurative cross to bear. But to be true to yourself might just bring you fame and fortune.

It might... but I think not. For one thing, to truly live one's own life fully, without compromise, would tend to alienate too many people on too many levels, however worthy that life might itself be. We must needs make concessions to our fellows at cost of certain parts of ourselves simply in order to function within a society, as otherwise the very range of personality-types would simply not be able to comprehend, let alone cooperate with, each other. We may sacrifice as little as we can reasonably get by with, but some sacrifices in this realm must be made. Whether that is a good thing (part of growing up and becoming wiser) or not, is something well worth consideration....

Thank you, by the way, for the compliment. I've always found both the legend of The Wandering Jew and that of the Flying Dutchman to be powerful metaphors on many levels, and I have an especial liking for Baring-Gould's recounting of the first in his Curious Myths of the Middle Ages... something which I would, given the cast of the novel, almost be willing to wager that Miller had in mind....

And, again, thank you for a stimulating conversation....

 

[The Judge]

(Then again, I seem to be in the minority these days in having such a strong liking for Blish's A Case of Conscience....)

I'm one of those who disliked it intensely, and was taken to task by you after my very short and very, very feeble critique in a worst-books-you-have-ever-read thread. o) I don't know if it would be of interest to Parson, since it is a novel in which religion -- or, at least, a man of religion -- plays a major role, but I would certainly be interested in your thoughts on it, if you had time, though perhaps it will be too much off topic to post here?

 

[j d worthington]

I'm one of those who disliked it intensely, and was taken to task by you after my very short and very, very feeble critique in a worst-books-you-have-ever-read thread. o) I don't know if it would be of interest to Parson, since it is a novel in which religion -- or, at least, a man of religion -- plays a major role, but I would certainly be interested in your thoughts on it, if you had time, though perhaps it will be too much off topic to post here?

LOL... Sorry if I gave you a rough time. I do sometimes debate these matters with a rather forceful tone, even though I don't mean to offend. (Well, not generally, anyway.)

Yes, it would probably be too far OT as far as this thread is concerned, but I'll try to find time to get my thoughts together and send them to you. I had several posts on this a long while back, but I've been having trouble with the search function lately, which means I may not be able to track them down... necessitating my putting all that together again....

 

[Quokka]

I remember there was a thread on it in the Classic SF section.

Edit: Yep it's drifted down to page 4 by now but JD did stop in to say hi .

 

[The Judge]

Ah-ha. Thanks, Quokka. I've found it now (searching under the title, "conscience" separately and even "Blish" got me nothing, oddly enough). I have to say, despite the praise given, this is not one I think I would change my mind about -- perhaps because I have no sympathy/empathy for the main character or any of his actions throughout.

To get back on topic, I have enjoyed reading the different reactions to A Canticle, which isn't a work I've read. So thank you, everyone, for that.

 

[Parson]

This is one of the areas where you and I most fundamentally disagree, I think. While I think we have the potential to be the means of our own destruction, I do not by any means think it inevitable; and in fact I would argue that faith without reason, and without serious questioning, is more likely to lead to that than a complete lack of faith in any supernatural, supernal, or supreme being. Skepticism is a very healthy thing, as long as it doesn't become outright negation of evidence which is there; and we do have a tendency, far too often, to view humanity as corrupt beyond comprehension. Coming from the evolutionary standpoint, I would argue that we have improved our lot -- albeit often only in tiny increments -- and I think that is backed by both the paleontological, archaeological, and historical records. This does not mean we are "redeemed", even in a strictly secular sense; but rather that we can go either way, and there is no less reason to believe we are not capable of realizing our potential, given time than there is to believe the opposite.

In the end JD it comes down to what you have "faith" in. Both of us are far too realistic to believe the plethora of easy answers the popular purveyors of culture and religion bring to the market place of ideas. They often have a handle on a truth, but fail to see the nuance and the balance that is a part of human interaction (to say nothing of a human divine interaction).

I would agree with you that there has been slow (often painfully slow) progression in humankind's mores, but whereas you point to the bootstrap philosophy as the cause, I say things like "By the grace of God..." to direct a person to the architect of what is good and right about humanity.

I suppose you could say that, despite my early upbringing and the inclinations that instilled in me, I have over time learned to have a good deal more faith in humanity and its ability to overcome these things, without becoming entirely optimistic about the matter. However, Miller makes an emotionally powerful and intellectually stimulating argument for his lapsarian view; which is why I still think this is one of the true gems of science fiction. (Then again, I seem to be in the minority these days in having such a strong liking for Blish's A Case of Conscience....)



It might... but I think not. For one thing, to truly live one's own life fully, without compromise, would tend to alienate too many people on too many levels, however worthy that life might itself be. We must needs make concessions to our fellows at cost of certain parts of ourselves simply in order to function within a society, as otherwise the very range of personality-types would simply not be able to comprehend, let alone cooperate with, each other. We may sacrifice as little as we can reasonably get by with, but some sacrifices in this realm must be made. Whether that is a good thing (part of growing up and becoming wiser) or not, is something well worth consideration....

Thank you, by the way, for the compliment. I've always found both the legend of The Wandering Jew and that of the Flying Dutchman to be powerful metaphors on many levels, and I have an especial liking for Baring-Gould's recounting of the first in his Curious Myths of the Middle Ages... something which I would, given the cast of the novel, almost be willing to wager that Miller had in mind....

And, again, thank you for a stimulating conversation....

I have not read Blish's A Case of Conscience --- Is this James Blish? The things I've remember reading of his tend to be aimed at young adults or perhaps even pre-teens. [I looked at his Wiki bio and I believe that it was StarDwellers and Flight to the Heart Stars that I read.]

I will look up A Case of Conscience and perhaps I will agree with you or perhaps with the Judge about its comparative worth.

About Canticle I have not really changed my mind. A very good novel which takes people of faith seriously, but not God.

A pleasure to examine a intriguing book with you JD.