DIARY G. M. TAMAS
Perhaps we do not care any more why Jesus had to die on the Cross. We are exactly like Dostoevsky's Grand Inquisi- tor: indifferent as we may be about Christ, we are very much committed to our own civilisation, and stick to its foundations like glue. The dilemma need not be as sinister as Fyodor Mikhailovitch thought it was; still, we often encounter the paradox of people being fond of the style, the atmos- phere, the logic of Christianity, people who would not dream of being believers. We want the cultural results of Christian- ity, we love the cool cathedral close, the literary thunder of the prophets, Mozart's Requiem and the Isenheim Altar. We expect our churchmen to be Christians in our stead, and when they turn out to be very much like ourselves, we are offended. The Grand Inquisitor said that we will have to crucify Christ once more in the best interests of Christian civilisation. There was one man who had the courage to spell out the Grand Inquisitor's view: Joseph de Maistre. De Maistre thought the Pope was more important than the Holy Ghost. And if we are justified in our indifferent love of Christendom, he was right, too. De Mais- tre knew that in order to preserve our civilisation, we need authority. Christ, of course, was a subversive. If His transcen- dent authority faded, we would be left with an uncomfortable mystical revolution. The only immanent authority belonged to the Apostolic Church. Whatever the Church said, we had the duty to obey, because disobedience ruined our culture. Small wonder, then, that the first Christian Socialist, Lamennais, was influenced by de Maistre. 'For they that are after the flesh do mind the things of the flesh; but they that are after the Spirit the things of the Spirit. For to be carnally minded is death; but to be spiritually minded is life and peace. Because the carnal mind is enmity against God.' (Romans viii, 5-7). But what about the carnally minded yearnings for and hankering after 'Christian values'?
Probably the greatest, most moving . religious experience of the British in recent years was the mysterious and scandalous death of Canon Gareth Bennett. His suicide (and the tragic end of his cat) made it plain that the public is anxious to keep the Church, but that it is astonished to learn that, to achieve that aim, heroism and sacrifice are needed. It was a humiliat- ing experience. After all, Dr Bennett had made a courageous statement, and then lied about it. He is portrayed as a conten- tious, pig-headed, turbulent priest, and — true to the popular suspicions surrounding Anglo-Catholicism — there are saucy in- nuendoes about his chastity and bachelor- hood. The combination of conservatism and sin is irresistible. All the same, En- glishmen seemed to be concerned about England, for once. Did the dream of the New Jerusalem still exist? And if it did, what did it mean? What was going to happen, if the Church, this boring guardian of abandoned pieties, got fed up with the tasks an unbelieving public assigned to it? The public, this Grand Inquisitor, is embarrassed by the sacrificium intellectus, embarrassed by faith, by the necessary foolishness, the awkward and clumsy gait of fidelity. Indeed, if scandal is the price of preserving the cosy and comfy ambience of Christian tradition, is it worth the trouble?
Consider what Pusey has said:
Faith is instead of eyes. By faith we see Him who to our eyes of sense is unseen. We behold both backwards and forwards, and round about us, and every way we behold the love of God. And beholding and knowing His love, we ourselves, through His gift, love. Backward, we by faith behold God creating us, and we see our own fall; we behold His holiness, and goodness, and love, forming us to love Him everlastingly.
This sort of transcendent faith and love is definitely out of date. But the secular version of the Christian emphasis on perso- nality is still with us. Christ, in a way, stands for exemption from law. Under- standing and forgiving the sinner. But is the love for the sinner not made too easy by our unbelief in virtue? I think that the Bishop of Durham — being a deeply religious man, an atheist and a socialist — is a perfect example of the contemporary Christian. What can an atheist cursed with disturbingly profound religious instincts do? Some of the greatest mystics like Mechtild and Suso were atheists of a sort. One of the most fashionable Protestant theologians of today, Ms Dorothee Soelle, is unquestionably an atheist. (Incidentally, the best historian of Christian atheism is Ernst Bloch, a mystical Jewish Marxist.) Quite unavoidably, secular Christendom will drown in a sea of bottomless compas- sion. No new thing, this: it is an old heresy called Ebionism. ('Ebionim', if I am not mistaken, is the Hebrew for 'the poor'.) The Ebionists thought that Christ died only for the poor, and that only the poor will be saved. However heretical, Ebionism is a religious theory. It is about salvation.
It is curious that people who like tradi- tional and institutional Christendom with- out believing in the Son of Man, will very quickly lose their faith in the institutions as well. Secular faith is rather wobbly. Quoth the best known Catholic writer of today:
Who cared about the individuality of the man in the paddy field — and who does now? The only man to treat him as a man is the political commissar. He'll sit in his hut and ask his name and listen to his complaints; he'll give up an hour a day to teaching him — it doesn't matter what, he's being treated as a man, like someone of value.
Thus Mr Graham Greene in his The Quiet American. This manner of love and guilt will always ignore the fact that the commis- sars do not sit in huts. If it is not Vietnam, it is Cuba. If not Cuba, then Mozambique. Or Nicaragua. Somewhere there must be a good commissar. He will supply the humi- liation, the discipline, the authority, the temptation and 'the pain. Father Ernesto Cardenal, Minister of Culture in the Nicaraguan junta, wept when the Pope did not allow him to kiss his ring. Innocent tears. Desire for authority and desire for justification will be wayward without theol- ogy. Atheist mystical theology is possible, but it is extremely unworldly. Radical self-denial does not care about ihstitutions, traditions and socialism. Infidel nostalgia ends up in riot and ungodly order.
Is there anything sadder than clergymen of the anti-Nazi Bekennende Kirche ('Church of Confession') becoming apolog- ists for the Gulag? Yes, they were applaud- ing rhythmically behind the 'praesidium table' covered by the regulation red cloth, when the Rabid Dogs were condemned to death. We have seen our Bishops becom- ing the allies of the Stalinist wing of the Party, despised even by the Communists.
The pure secular and aesthetic faith in Christian civilisation is impossible. The subversive Saviour will forbid this. There is one possible secular translation of the Gospels, and that is radical revolution. But this translation is not the Church's duty. The Church can serve Christian tradition only if it does not know it is a tradition. It ought to think it is truth. Tradition without theology is too much open to the tempta- tion of pride. Religion without God cannot defend the cathedral close. This is why the Grand Inquisitor is finally mistaken.
The author is a leader of the opposition movement in Hungary.
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