The Politically Incorrect Guide to Western Civilization (Politically Incorrect Guides) (35 page)
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Authors: Anthony Esolen
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Please forgive the summary; it is necessary, to set up one of the most theologically fascinating scenes in Shakespeare. At this point, Angelo believes that he has slept with Isabella, but that nobody else knows about it. Isabella and everyone else but the Duke and the jailer believe Claudio is dead. Angelo is, morally, guilty of rape and murder. He should suffer death, for as Jesus warns, in the passage to which Shakespeare’s title alludes, “With what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again” (Matt. 7:2). Before revealing that Claudio is still alive, the Duke sentences Angelo to death:
The very mercy of the law cries outMost audible, even from his proper tongue,“An Angelo for Claudio, death for death!”Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure;Like doth quit like, and Measure still for Measure. (V.i. 409–13)
Evil Popes?Worldly, yes, in the fifteenth century. The papacy was then a prize sought by the leading families in Florence, Rome, and Milan. And the pope had either to establish the Patrimony of Peter, the lands he ruled in central Italy, as a “national” force to be reckoned with, or be steamrollered by ambitious princes on all sides.One or two of the popes were wicked men. The worst (though he was a learned and capable administrator) was the Borgia pope, Alexander VI. Of him, Machiavelli says that he never kept a promise when it was to his advantage to break it. Yet he continued to make promises, and people fell for his charm. It was Alexander’s bastard son, Cesare Borgia, whom Machiavelli had in mind as the “ideal” prince: a bloody, coldhearted, lying knave.But soon after Luther’s thundering condemnation of Roman corruption, we have popes who may have been worldly before they were elevated to the papacy, but who worked hard to reform the Catholic church (Paul III, Pius III). And after that, I’d defy the most hardened secularist to find a wicked pope from that time to the present. If only secular politicians had so clean a record.
But Mariana begs Isabella to intercede on her behalf: to kneel to save the life of the man who intended to ravish her, and who killed her brother.
Here Shakespeare has dramatized the heart of the Gospel. By the letter of the law, Claudio had to die. By the
spirit of the law,
mercy itself cries out that Angelo must die. Without Christ, without the possibility of grace, we all must die—we all must remain in our sins. As Portia puts it in
The Merchant of Venice
, “In the course of justice, none of us / Should see salvation” (IV.i. 198–99). Only when we become aware of our poverty do we cast ourselves upon the riches of divine mercy.
spirit of the law,
mercy itself cries out that Angelo must die. Without Christ, without the possibility of grace, we all must die—we all must remain in our sins. As Portia puts it in
The Merchant of Venice
, “In the course of justice, none of us / Should see salvation” (IV.i. 198–99). Only when we become aware of our poverty do we cast ourselves upon the riches of divine mercy.
Essentially, Isabella here is not called on to do a good deed, for which she might praise herself afterwards. She is called on to recognize her own desperate need for salvation. She is called to become a Christian for the first time, to put to death her old adherence to rules and self-righteousness, and to come to life. That she does, with a magnificent turn of irony, using the letter of the law to blunt its edge. She points out that, in fact though not in intent, Angelo did not rape her, and Claudio’s death was technically legal. In her self-sacrificing and humble plea she embodies Christ, who broke the iron bonds of the law that condemns mankind, by fulfilling its terrible judgments upon the Cross. Here mercy and justice have wedded, peace and righteousness have kissed—as we hear in the psalm for Christmas Eve (Ps. 85:10), two days before Shakespeare and his men first performed this play, at the court of the king.
All of Shakespeare’s energy, his daring portrayal of sexual license and disease, has culminated in the moment of forgiveness that lends the rest of the play its meaning. His theological insight is exactly the same as Chaucer’s in The Pardoner’s Tale, or the gentle unknown poet’s in
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
. It is the same as his own in
The Merchant of Venice
,
Macbeth
,
King Lear
,
Richard III
, and
The Winter’s Tale
. Relying upon his strength of will, his cunning, even his righteousness, man must fall. For the letter kills, and the spirit gives life. In this, Shakespeare too, like Michelangelo and Raphael in their way, was at one with his more homely predecessors.
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight
. It is the same as his own in
The Merchant of Venice
,
Macbeth
,
King Lear
,
Richard III
, and
The Winter’s Tale
. Relying upon his strength of will, his cunning, even his righteousness, man must fall. For the letter kills, and the spirit gives life. In this, Shakespeare too, like Michelangelo and Raphael in their way, was at one with his more homely predecessors.
Then the PC dogma is a colossal exaggeration, claiming that in the Renaissance men rejected traditional authorities and set forth on their own—like bold, free-thinking, modern individualists—to discover truth, or to dispense with the quest entirely, since all is a matter of opinion. It might be as valid to say that they
multiplied
authorities. But there was certainly an intellectual upheaval whose results we are still living with, some good, some bad. First let’s look at what made the upheaval possible: the printing press.
multiplied
authorities. But there was certainly an intellectual upheaval whose results we are still living with, some good, some bad. First let’s look at what made the upheaval possible: the printing press.
It’s true that movable type was invented in China, not in the West. But the Chinese, believing their land the center of the universe, had no great use for it. Why bother doing anything except making decorative prints for the emperor, since the Order of Heaven that governs the world is unchanging in its regular cycles? Why go anywhere, when you are standing at the center? But Johann Gutenberg took the idea and invented the printing press. Soon books became, if not common, at least affordable for a well-off merchant or craftsman, and not only the duke or the bishop. Ideas could be disseminated across the continent. No printing press, no Protestant Reformation; no modern world.
Gutenberg’s first printed book was a Bible. That too is significant. People who could afford a book wanted Bibles, eventually in the vernacular, since most of them would not have had enough Latin to read the Vulgate. There had been vernacular translations of Scripture before, though their influence was restricted by the fact that few people could read, even if they could afford a hand-copied book. Literacy rose, and translators—not only of the Bible—rushed in to meet the demand. The Reformers would, with some hedging, recommend that believers read the Bible for themselves, detaching them from the authority of Rome. They tried to attach them instead to the authority of the reformed theology: Calvin wrote voluminous commentaries on the Scripture, clear and commonsensical, easy for the intelligent layman to read. But the multiplicity of opinions caused some to despair of finding certitude in any one of them. Which Church is the genuine Bride of Christ?
What! is it She, which on the other ShoreGoes richly painted? or which, robbed and tore,Laments and mourns in Germany and here? (John Donne, HolySonnet XVII, 2–4)
By the time of the Puritan revolt in 1642, John Milton will write “that it is dangerous and unworthy the Gospel to hold that Church government is to be patterned by the Law” (
The Reason of Church Government,
ch. 3), condemning the established Church of England and its bishops as unscriptural. By the end of his life, still considering himself Christian, Milton will claim that “it was in God’s power consistently with the perfection of his essence not to have begotten the Son” (
The Christian Doctrine,
ch. 5), reviving the old Arian heresy, and lending assistance to the anti-trinitarianism that will result in Enlightenment Deism. It is no coincidence that Milton never did join any church.
The Reason of Church Government,
ch. 3), condemning the established Church of England and its bishops as unscriptural. By the end of his life, still considering himself Christian, Milton will claim that “it was in God’s power consistently with the perfection of his essence not to have begotten the Son” (
The Christian Doctrine,
ch. 5), reviving the old Arian heresy, and lending assistance to the anti-trinitarianism that will result in Enlightenment Deism. It is no coincidence that Milton never did join any church.
A similar splintering can be seen in philosophy. Until the Renaissance, it was taken for granted that natural philosophy, what we call science, was a part (and not the most important part) of the whole quest for
scientia,
that is, knowledge, and wisdom. When Copernicus, a Catholic priest, dedicated his work on the revolution of the heavenly bodies to Pope Paul III, he intended no rift between science and religion. There is no evidence that he disturbed anyone’s faith. For one thing, the cardinal Nicholas of Cusa had already suggested that the Earth revolved about the sun, citing the ancient astronomer Aristarchus, and a disputed passage in Plato.
10
Nobody minded. It wasn’t as if the Copernican system could be used for anything: its star charts were not as accurate as those drawn up according to the old Ptolemaic, earth-centered system, and it was centuries before they would surpass them. If you were navigating a ship and wanted precision, you stuck with common sense and Ptolemy.
11
scientia,
that is, knowledge, and wisdom. When Copernicus, a Catholic priest, dedicated his work on the revolution of the heavenly bodies to Pope Paul III, he intended no rift between science and religion. There is no evidence that he disturbed anyone’s faith. For one thing, the cardinal Nicholas of Cusa had already suggested that the Earth revolved about the sun, citing the ancient astronomer Aristarchus, and a disputed passage in Plato.
10
Nobody minded. It wasn’t as if the Copernican system could be used for anything: its star charts were not as accurate as those drawn up according to the old Ptolemaic, earth-centered system, and it was centuries before they would surpass them. If you were navigating a ship and wanted precision, you stuck with common sense and Ptolemy.
11
The Bard Speaks: Human NatureStudying the history of ideas, one is struck by how many of today’s bad ideas are not new. The mutability of human nature found a champion in the storyline of
King Lear
.“Men are as the time is,” says Edmund to the captain, urging him to go hang the innocent old king and his daughter Cordelia. (v.iii.31–32) Shakespeare had no patience for people who reduced the moral law to social convention, to be discarded for advantage. Professors who teach such a thing will find themselves well portrayed in Shakespeare: as villains all.
What drew people towards the Copernican system was its simplicity. It did away with most (not all!) of Ptolemy’s “epicycles,” little curlicue-making orbits around a point orbiting a second point orbiting a third, like wheels on wheels. Why was the simplicity appealing? Here we turn to the real revolutionary. William of Ockham, a Franciscan theologian and philosopher (c. 1285–1349) roughly contemporary with Dante, had asserted the principle now known as Ockham’s Razor. Given two explanations, the one with the fewer assumptions is to be preferred.
12
Copernicus’ system required fewer assumptions. Ockham also promoted a philosophical position called
nominalism,
which applied the Razor to universal nouns such as “man” and “dog” and “horse,” terms used to denote not
this man
but
man,
without individuation. Ockham denied that such terms had any meaning, except in a conventional sense. We cannot sensibly talk about man as man; we can only make loose generalizations about men, based upon our experiences with individuals. But if man as such does not exist, neither does human nature. Then moral laws cannot be based upon human nature. Instead, Ockham argued, they must be derived from the arbitrary will of God, as revealed in the Scriptures.
12
Copernicus’ system required fewer assumptions. Ockham also promoted a philosophical position called
nominalism,
which applied the Razor to universal nouns such as “man” and “dog” and “horse,” terms used to denote not
this man
but
man,
without individuation. Ockham denied that such terms had any meaning, except in a conventional sense. We cannot sensibly talk about man as man; we can only make loose generalizations about men, based upon our experiences with individuals. But if man as such does not exist, neither does human nature. Then moral laws cannot be based upon human nature. Instead, Ockham argued, they must be derived from the arbitrary will of God, as revealed in the Scriptures.
A Movie You’re Not Supposed to WatchA Man for All SeasonsAn absolute must see. It’s a brilliant portrayal of real-life faith, piety, duty, honor, and obedience. Certainly outdated, subservient virtues like these didn’t exist in the freewheeling Renaissance?
Note that the Razor
proves
nothing. It’s a handy intellectual device. It can advise you to make your premises few and simple, and if you’re looking for a single cause of disparate phenomena (as natural scientists usually are), it may be just the thing to use. But the Razor cannot tell you why you should prefer fewer premises, or whether your premises are true, or whether the truths you discover will be vast or paltry. Applied to what used to count as science—namely, all knowledge, including that revealed by God—the Razor severs discipline from discipline. So Francis Bacon will scoff at Aristotelian metaphysics, which he has little understanding of, because it does not assist him in his quest for dominion over nature.
13
Two centuries after Bacon, when Napoleon asked the mathematician Laplace why he did not begin his
Celestial Mechanics
with a discussion of God, the man took out the Razor: “My lord, I have no need of that hypothesis.”
14
Nominalism, argues Richard Weaver, was a poison leaking into the intellectual life of the West. It would alter and degrade what we mean by knowledge: not the possession or contemplation of the highest truths, but the wielding of facts in the service of power.
15
proves
nothing. It’s a handy intellectual device. It can advise you to make your premises few and simple, and if you’re looking for a single cause of disparate phenomena (as natural scientists usually are), it may be just the thing to use. But the Razor cannot tell you why you should prefer fewer premises, or whether your premises are true, or whether the truths you discover will be vast or paltry. Applied to what used to count as science—namely, all knowledge, including that revealed by God—the Razor severs discipline from discipline. So Francis Bacon will scoff at Aristotelian metaphysics, which he has little understanding of, because it does not assist him in his quest for dominion over nature.
13
Two centuries after Bacon, when Napoleon asked the mathematician Laplace why he did not begin his
Celestial Mechanics
with a discussion of God, the man took out the Razor: “My lord, I have no need of that hypothesis.”
14
Nominalism, argues Richard Weaver, was a poison leaking into the intellectual life of the West. It would alter and degrade what we mean by knowledge: not the possession or contemplation of the highest truths, but the wielding of facts in the service of power.
15
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