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No Alienated Man 1

Grizzlebeard: History From Within 49

The Future Place of Hilaire Belloc in English Letters 101

List of Editions Cited 106

NO ALIENATED MAN

The ancient Arabs spoke of a creature having life in two worlds: his body was rooted in the earth, but his soul swept out across the horizons to a world beyond. Let us call him by his name: Man. This balance which is Man is a tension rarely maintained in the course of human existence.

Let us call the one who situates his destiny in this world, and who habituates his gaze to the things this side of the horizon, Aristotelian Man. Let us call the one who despises the limits of the horizons, and who contemplates the world beyond, Platonic Man.

Rimbaud was to wreak his vengeance on this Other he could not find by denouncing poetry, and by turning to what consolations the sands of Africa and the keel of a slave ship could offer an alienated man. He was a forerunner of what has become the dominant motif of the Western soul as expressed in its literature: the Man of Guilt.

Guilt is the effect of estrangement; it follows on a renunciation, explicit or implicit, of some dimension of the human spirit which is essential to the integral perfection of man. This renunciation has nothing to do with asceticism, which is a discipline sanctified and defined by the Christian tradition, having as its goal the flowering of human existence. The ascetic is an artist who prunes away the irrelevant so that the end may be achieved. Alienation is altogether different. It is the renunciation of something without which the end cannot be. Hence, wherever you find this sense of guilt so preoccupying modern man, you find a rupturing of the human heart, a positive surrender of some value which is consubstantial with achieved, completed, personal perfection. Being cannot be mocked with impunity.

A whole body of literature has grown up within the last seventy-five years devoted to exploring and understanding the estrangement of contemporary civilized man. That this body of art, chiefly found in the novel, should deal with the expatriate seems extremely significant of the crisis facing man today. One need only recall the world of Henry James to find an apt symbol for the modern dilemma. This New Englander left his American home to find himself in a Europe that existed chiefly in his imagination. Some of his best work is an attempt at penetrating into the restlessness and homelessness of the Western soul. James is full of trans-Atlantic crossings.

His short story "Four Meetings" brings out the paradox of alienation. It concerns a young New England school teacher who yearns for the day when she can see the Europe of her dreams. She succeeds after years of work and saving, but is tricked, when her boat docks in the Port of Le Havre, into turning over her money to a young man who claims to be a distant cousin. She returns to New England by the next ship. James ends the story on a note of delicate savagery: the wife of the cousin, a bogus countess from the streets of Paris, comes to America to live with and off the young school teacher, now disillusioned, alienated, but desperately maintaining the situation out of a sense of decency, and out of the need to hang onto the frame of an illusion, rather than face the irony of the complete nothingness of her existence.

The irony is deepened in that this aging school mistress of Boston Puritan antecedents symbolizes James himself in his relationship to the older culture that he sought to know, and yet never penetrated to its depths. James remained an alienated man. All of this suggests the true story, so heavy with possibilities, that G. K. Chesterton recounted about James. Chesterton had taken a summer house in Rye, and James, "after exactly the correct interval," made a formal call, accompanied by his brother William. Everyone talked politely of one thing and another, mostly letters, until a roar went up from the garden; two bearded, unkempt tramps burst in on the delicately poised teacups, and sang out boldly for beer and bacon. It was the introduction of Henry James to Hilaire Belloc, and to the reality of that European tradition that ever remained a stranger to the New Englander. Chesterton suggests that the profound significance of this encounter eluded Mr. James, whose subtle mind seemed incapable of coping with anything beyond the shadow of a reality. Belloc bulked too big for him.

He continues to bulk too big for the generation that has carried the estrangement of James to its preordained and lonely end. Belloc incarnated a sanity and a vigour that reached back to Chaucerian England and the Paris of Fran?ois Villon for roots. For this reason he has always irritated the advance guard of spiritual decay. He seems too confident of himself, too dogmatic. There is a healthy earthiness sustaining all his work that is too solid, too full of substance for the intellectual attuned only to broken men. Belloc has fed himself on reality, and he has tasted its bitterness and its salt. He has affirmed being. In so doing, Belloc has accepted whatever can genuinely nourish and sustain the fabric of human existence. He is not starved.

There is to be found in his work no trace of that sense of guilt in simply being a man that so defines the modern spirit. Belloc's Christian conscience is keenly aware of the limitations of human perfection, and his soul is soaked in a healthy conviction of the fact that sin has rendered us all more or less ugly in the sight of God. Belloc wrote once that "man, being man, has a worm in his heart." He penetrated into the reality of evil and his healthy realism and high integrity prevented him from surrounding sin with the glamour of a "mystique." Guilt, for Belloc, was the result of a failure in human nature; it was not rooted, as it is for the contemporary mind, in the very fabric of human existence. It is because of this that Belloc parts company with the contemporary mind, which is almost ashamed to be. Every other emotion, every shade of feeling and nuance of thought can be found within his vast literary output: irony, humour, a deep pathos that never degenerates into sentimentality, hate, piety, rigorous logic, a profound gravity that at times only Christian hope rescues from despair, tenderness, love; all these in abundance, but guilt--guilt in the mere fact of existence--is nowhere to be found, because Hilaire Belloc is, in every sense of the term, an unalienated man.

In time, Belloc encompasses not merely three generations, but two ages. To a youth maturing into manhood in the second half of the twentieth century, his name may mean an era that never was. Born in the year of the fall of the third Napoleon and the proclamation of the German Empire in the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, Belloc marched in the dust of the caissons of the Third Republic when the return of the white flag of Bourbon still hung like a threat and a promise over the fields of France. His first book was minted in the presses while Victoria was still Queen of England. In him the Oxford Movement of Newman yielded its finest harvest, and Edwardian London was filled with the sound of his laughter, the vigour of his person, and the early splendour of his prose. He belongs to an age now dead.

The total significance of the man cannot be grasped by isolating him within his time, nor by analyzing separately his accomplishments in the dozen and more disciplines in which he laboured. The specific Bellocian theses--his espousal of both French Republicanism and the monarchical principle, his distributist economics, his defence of the Western continuity with Rome, his doctrine on the relationship between Catholicism and Europe, his contempt and his arrogance before all the literal translation of the last two lines is:

ANGEL OF DEATH.

Ye children, Adam's, of earth begotten, Who unto earth shall again return! You are my own: Be it not forgotten, I am the penalty sin did earn!... O man, time's guest! With my grasp, I reach thee, From east to west, And by voices, teach thee With scripture's word in the Master's name, From air and water and earth and flame.

You build and dwell like the sparrows, building, In sunny summer, their fragile nest: Securely feeling, in shady shielding, They sing so joyful in happy rest; But sudden gust Of the tempest shatters The tiny crust Of their nest in tatters-- The merry song, heard so short before, With grief is silenced forevermore.

Like pigeons, cooing in anxious calling, You sigh for morn, with to-day not through, When, unbethought, like a trap-door falling, The earth unlocketh itself for you-- You disappear Where no light is nearing-- Soon mem'ry dear Is no more endearing-- And new-lit moon, from its silvered sky, Again, sees others arrive and fly.

In circling dances so lightly swinging You follow wildly amusement's thread, With myrtle blooming and music ringing ... But solemn I on the threshold tread:-- The dance is checked And the clang is wailing, The wreath is wrecked And the bride is paling: The end of splendor and joy and might Is only sorrow and tears and blight.

I am the mighty, who has the power, Till yet a mightier shall appear. In deepest pit, on the highest tower, My chilling spirit is ever near: Those plagues of night And of desolation, Whose breath of blight May annul a nation, They slay the victims, which I select, Whom shield and armor can not protect.

I wrap the wing round the polar tempest And calm the waves ere they reach the strand. I crush the schemes of dynastic conquest, And wrench the club from the tyrant's hand. I eras chase, Like the hour just passing; And race on race, With their works amassing, Like heaving waves, in my footsteps flow, Till, last, no ripples their murmur show.

'Gainst me in vain are your wit and letters, 'Gainst me nor weapons nor arts prevail. I freedom give to the slave in fetters,-- His ruler's will I in irons nail. I lead the battle-- And armies tumble, Like slaughtered cattle, While cannons rumble, And never rise from their sudden fall Until alarmed by the judgment-call.

I wave my hand--and, with whirlwinds' sweeping All life on earth to that place doth fly, Where not a sound to the ear is creeping, Where not a tongue moves to make reply. My foot meanders-- And kings and heroes, And Alexanders, And wicked Neros, And princes, lofty in might and lust, Are all transformed to--a handful dust.

In lowly earth, upon which they bother And beg and wrangle for rank and gift, I mix the races among each other, I lay the centuries, drift on drift. Forlorn and friendless Exists no pleasure; In shadows endless No pomp, or treasure. Their owners left them when on came night-- Now others claim them, with lawful right.

There is no stronghold on earth erected, No guarded fort, that can save you, known. Though by recorded transfer protected, Your gained possession is not your own: The purple hems Of your silk-robed neighbor, The crape, the gems, And the yoke of labor, Lo, other mortals their folds adorn, On other shoulders their loads are borne!

You have arrived, you shall part in pity; You have not here either house or home. You soon shall dwell in that narrow city, Where sun and moon never lit the dome; Where crest and foil At the gate shall crumble-- And, from his toil, Be released the humble; Where captives' fetters, and love's sweet band, Shall, fragile, break by the same strong hand.

For you it waits, you, whose greed is preying On mishap's victims, on joy forlorn; Who, faith and country alike betraying, The good deride and the sacred scorn; Who, laws repressing And hearts decoying, Are virtue's blessing, For fun, destroying-- And woe is fun's and derision's prize, When, pale, the phantoms of vengeance rise.

What God requires of man, He told thee; He meted out, for your life's career, What griefs should bend, and what cheers uphold thee And what you had to accomplish here. His power wrought you What you transacted, And wisdom taught you That right you acted, If but you heard, from submissive choice, The great celestial spirit's voice.

Attend the voice of the spirit sounder, With upright steps, in His errand walk; And, then, not question if you shall founder, Nor care for grateful, or thankless, talk! Fulfill your calling With courage peerless! If even falling, Look upward fearless! Then there shall clasp thee an angel's hand And gently lead to thy promised land.

Stand firm, with conscience of pure intention, Through times of trial, of toil and pain! Then may your happiness meet prevention, But mind and virtue can peace retain; Then, in the sod Though your corpse be buried, These words of God On the soul are veried: "Thou true hast labored till payments' day, Now, faithful servant, receive thy pay!"

To all do justice, and help the needy, And comfort sorrow, where e'er you can! For truth's defence unto death be speedy, And win, as christian, and fall, as man! No worldly samples Of honors jading Shall wreath your temples With laurels fading; But bright, eternal, shall thee entrance The blessed holies' inheritance.

What worth had faith, if it lay not resting, A bright-eyed pearl, in the heart enclosed, In heav'nward gazes its sparkle vesting, When crumbling shell leaves the core exposed? Sweet slumber follows When pain expires.... And creak the gallows, And flame the fires, Lo, martyr! heaven shall open thence, And your Redeemer shall recompense!

What worth had happiness, joy and gladness, Those links of love in its purest scope, If, when they sever, in gloomy sadness, You could not join them by rays of hope? What then were life? But a mental stigma, An empty strife, An unsolved enigma! A heartless, cruel, Uriah note, Which God, in anger, for mankind wrote.

A hoary Jacob his Joseph loses, And Jonathan from his David parts, And woe-filled bosom a grief discloses, To which no solace the world imparts! And Rachel, weeping, Her children mourneth; Her sorrow keeping She comfort scorneth! For, gone forever is all she prized Which mother's heart could have idolized.

But, God is love--so, with hope, look thither, Ye hearts despondent, and take relief! The grain, you laid in the ground to wither, Shall rise to harvests of golden sheaf. O! what was born For your hearts to cherish-- And left forlorn In the grave to perish, It is not gone; though it is not there-- The One Eternal of it takes care.

In Him there liveth all life; He proveth All force, and kindleth so clear all light. His love embraceth, too, what He moveth To other homes in His house, so bright. Let fogs not blind thee, Thou spirit childly! Once shall find thee That hour, when mildly The Father calls thee. But, in the mean, Endure and labor, with faith serene!

Like Mary, linger, with holy feeling, And pray and listen, at Jesu feet! Like Magdalene, at the cross appealing, See looks of mercy repentance meet! Like John, so cling thee To friend ne'er failing! His love shall bring thee, From stress and ailing, To bliss and freedom, forever nigh, Within His heavenly realm on high.

They did adhere to their foremost duty, To fear the Lord, with a fervent heart; They cleansed their garments, to stainless beauty, In blood, that innocence doth impart. All grief is banished, All sin remitted, All anguish vanished, All weeping quitted-- Their names are kept in their Father's grace, And weary sink they in His embrace.

They go so peaceful in God to slumber, They greet so joyful the final day: No tribulations their rest encumber, No visitations of fortune's sway. No longer thwarted, As earth compels us, They have departed, The spirit tells us, Exchanging thralldom for freedom's gem, And their achievements shall follow them.

A noble feeling each step impelling, They gained the home of their Father soon. That ample city shall be their dwelling, Whose light depends not on sun and moon: For greater light, Than the sun containeth, Has He, whose might From the throne there reigneth, With grace to all in that city stay; And life and bliss doth His glance convey!

When day be cooling, and shadows cover, With sombre curtains, your hills and dales, Then, to release you, He near shall hover, Whose power, great as his love, prevails. The eye-lids, laded, A while are closing, ... The work-tools, jaded, Benumbed reposing, ... Another while--and a new career, In splendor, shall to your view appear!

BRIEF EXPLANATORY NOTES.

PAGE 27, "CREST AND FOIL;" emblematic of Knighthood or Nobility.

PAGE 39, lines 3 and 4; see Swedish and General History; Three champions of political and religious liberty; prominent in removing excessive taxation, extending the rights, guarantees and educational facilities of the people and undermining and finally crushing the pernicious and immense power, wealth and influence of a corrupt and arbitrary hierarchy.--

ENGELBREKT, an influential private citizen, went, on his own responsibility, to demand of the then king amelioration in the condition of the utterly enslaved, tax-ridden and tyranized people. This being refused, he induced the people, under his leadership, to rise in arms and, during three years of successive victories, drove out of the country all foreign oppressors and their adherents, put other men in their places, and enforced changes in the government, and a reduction everywhere of 33 per cent. in the taxes. He was murdered April 27th, 1436.

GUSTAVUS 1st, savior of the independence of Sweden, who gave it new Constitution, new Laws, new Church-government, and was the first to institute general education, by establishing public schools throughout the country. He was born in 1496, and reigned from 1521 to his death, 1560.

GUSTAVUS II, ADOLPHUS, born in 1592, Grandson of Gustavus 1st, was king of Sweden from 1611 to his death 1632, when he fell in the famous battle at L?tzen, Germany, in the "thirty years war," while fighting for the grand cause of liberty of conscience.

PAGE 45, 1st line; see Bible, Gospel of St. Luke, XX, 39.

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