Simon Raven on the prodigal son
This book is ostensibly about a remarkable and courageous lady, Mother Teresa of Calcutta; and indeed Malcolm Muggeridge begins it with a nicely written and rather moving account of how Mother Teresa, born in Yugoslavia of Albanian stock, left a hap- py home to pursue her vocation as a nun among the poorest of the Indian poor, and later founded her own Order, the Missionaries of Charity, which now has Houses, not only in India and Ceylon, but also in Venezuela, Tanzania, Rome, Australia and London.
At this stage, however, the author himself starts to obtrude into the narrative. Mr Mug- geridge now explains that he first met Mother Teresa in London (where he in- terviewed her for, television), and was so im- pressed, both by her works and her serene, indomitable faith, that he persuaded the BBC to send him out with a team, in 1969, to make a film of her activities in Calcutta. For some pages, at this juncture, Mr Muggeridge gets rather out of hand : 'This Home for the Dying is dimly lit by small windows high up in the walls, and Ken was adamant that filming was quite im- possible there . . . It was decided that, nonetheless, Ken should have a go, but by way of insurance he took, as well, some film in an outside courtyard . In the processed film, the part taken inside was bathed in a
particularly beautiful soft light, whereas the part taken outside was rather dim and con- fused.
`How to account for this?'
Mr Muggeridge insists that there was a miracle, and animadverts somewhat unctuously upon churchmen and others who have suggested more temperate theories. After this, however, he calms down a little and tells us something of Mother Teresa's philosophy and of her attitude to her work : poverty and misery, she considers, are the distressing disguises assumed by Christ himself; by serving and loving the destitute, one may serve and love Christ. This and similar sentiments are 'then rehearsed and interpreted in some of Mother Teresa's own prayers and in a transcript of her con- versations with Mr Muggeridge in Calcutta. The book concludes with a kind of sermon in which Mr Muggeridge, inspired, as he claims, by Mother Teresa's doctrine and ex- ample, denounces the world at large for its Godless preoccupations, and tells us (quite rightly, perhaps, but with a relish that is less than urbane), that we are all greedy, lustful, horrible and unhappy, but might cease to be so if we would only model ourselves on Mother Teresa.
It will be seen from this summary, then, that the book is quite as much about Mr Muggeridge and his views as it is about Mother Teresa; and indeed it is a great deal more interesting in consequence. For whereas Mother Teresa is beyond our praise or criticism and therefore beyond our com- prehension, Malcolm Muggeridge may be properly subjected to all three.
Now, as I see it, before the publication of this book the Muggeridge story had reached the classical situation in which the ageing sensualist begins to feel the skeleton beneath the skin and to deplore the vanity of the flesh in the dignified and elegiac manner of (say) the Book of Ecclesiastes. This sort of thing is very relevant to our earthly condition, and Mr Muggeridge fabricated a contemporary idiom in which he did it supremely well.
So far, so good. But Something Beautiful for God has introduced a new and more ferocious element into the whole affair. Under cover of writing about a saintly woman, Mr Muggeridge is now propagating a merciless fanaticism. For he is no longer the world-weary patriarch who counselled a degree of modesty and caution in those under the eye of their Creator; he has become the shrill and naked prophet of the Thebaid, preaching nothing less than our total self-abasement before a furious and almost insane God, who apparently lurks within lepers' sores and demands that we kiss them to show our love. This, of course, is to overstate it; the fact remains that Mr Mug- geridge has now dismissed as worthless all his fellow-men save those who are in some way spiritually dedicated, and that he reserves his highest approval for those who dedicate themselves to love and serve a Christ in- carnate in the destitute and most foully diseased (thus 'doing something beautiful for God'). Mr Muggeridge even deposes that anyone who tries to reduce the appalling raw material on which such love can act— anyone, that is, who advocates birth-control in starving countries—is blaspheming against God and against Life.
Ah, well. `Joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth,' etc, etc. But was it necessary, dear Malcolm, to be quite so ex- treme? And have you no kindness left for your old companions of the tavern and the garden? They say you were a merry fellow then, and trade merry the hearts of those about you. On your present performance, you will depress the very Angels when you go to heaven, and may even depress God Himself.
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