A Pietist’s Bookshelf

by John E. Phelan Jr.

The Sparrow, 1996

and

Children of God, 1998

Mary Doria Russell

As a boy I was a voracious reader—this will come as no surprise to those who know me. In my upper elementary years I particularly loved science fiction. I scoured the shelves of my grammar school’s meager library for the latest space adventures. Some of my earliest book purchases were cheap paperback reissues of Edgar Rice Boroughs’ “John Carter from Mars” series. For some years I even subscribed to a monthly science fiction magazine filled with short stories by both famous and obscure writers. As I moved into my teen years my love of science fiction was transferred to the fantasy of J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis. Outside of the latter’s science fiction trilogy I have read very little science fiction since. The Sparrow and Children of God are clearly in that genre. But that doesn’t do them justice. It is rather like calling the aforementioned “Lord of the Rings” trilogy a fairy tale. These are at once deeply theological, even missiological, and moral tales of the tragedy and ambiguity of best intentions.

It is 21st century America and scientists have determined through tracking inter-stellar music that there is a planet with intelligent life—a planet we later hear is called Rakhat. The Roman Catholic Church selects a party of Jesuits including Father Emilio Sandoz to lead a mission to Rakhat. We learn early on that something disastrous occurred on that mission. Only Father Sandoz returns, shattered, bitter, in revolt against his church and his faith. He is also accused of horrendous crimes against Rakhat and its population. Russell unfolds her story slowly and carefully, letting both Sandoz and the reader struggle with his anger, grief and confusion. Russell beautifully realizes the planet and its inhabitants. The reader shares the confusion of the members of the mission as they try to figure out the language, culture and society of the planet. The mission means well. They only want to do good, to help. But, as is clear from Sandoz’s condition when he returns, something has gone terribly wrong.

This past year, the United States faced the ethical dilemma of whether or not it should bomb Syria in order to prevent further civilian suffering from ghastly chemical weapons attacks. The impulse to do good, to alleviate human misery, to intervene for the sake of the greater good is deeply embedded in our national psyche. We understand ourselves as the “redeemer nation” that acts for freedom and justice. But this is a terribly complicated world. We rightly worry that our interventions will not save lives but only make things worse and even cost more lives. At the same time we remember the railways leading to the death camps of World War II—railways that were never bombed. We remember the genocide in Rwanda while the world watched, wringing its hands—and doing nothing. Should we have intervened? Would our interventions have made a difference? Unintended consequences can sometimes be horrendous. Yes, we got rid of Saddam Hussein in Iraq, at the cost perhaps of one of the world’s most venerable Christian communities and the suffering of many millions to this day. Was that justified by the outcome?

The real questions raised by these books are missiological. The Jesuits studied and prepared for years to introduce Christian faith and morality, new agricultural techniques, and democratic social practices to the denizens of Rakhat. The missionaries were good people, thoroughly prepared, compassionate and humane. But they disastrously misunderstood the situation on the ground. Russell is asking a painful question. Are we capable of avoiding the imperialistic impulse present in both western religion and western culture, or is that imperialistic impulse inherent in our traditions? The people on the mission to Rakhat were fully aware of the dangers and failures of imperialistic culture and imperialistic religion. Some of them had been victims of it. And yet, when push came to shove they seemed incapable of avoiding some of the same mistakes. Our missional and cultural impulses, whether religious, political, or both, continue to raise the same questions and frequently make the same mistakes. In the end the “missionaries” acted without listening and learning sufficiently. This is not to condemn their compassion, their message or their hope for something better for Rakhat. It is rather to suggest that not only is a little knowledge a dangerous thing; it can lead to unimaginable suffering.

The second volume Children of God takes Emilio Sandoz (quite unwillingly) back to Rakhat. It has been some decades after the first trip. The book chronicles the developments, including a rebellion against the oppression of the ruling class of Rakhat. Was this rebellion a good thing or not? Was it the best thing for the planet? The visit of the Jesuit mission, not surprisingly, tossed a monkey wrench into the stable planetary social, economic and political systems. These were oppressive systems, no doubt. Their injustice needed to be addressed, no doubt. But what are we to make of the outcome of the rebellion, the bloodshed and chaos that came in its wake? And what are we to make of the role (both witting and unwitting) of the “missionaries” in bringing it to pass? On the whole was it a good thing, or not? Russell makes sure these questions are clear and inescapable.

Russell is an interesting person. Raised a Roman Catholic she converted to Judaism as an adult. In an interview she said,

“When you convert to Judaism in a post-Holocaust world, you know two things for sure: one is that being Jewish can get you killed; the other is that God won’t rescue you. That was the theology I was dealing with at the time. Writing The Sparrow allowed me to look at the place of religion in the lives of many people and to weigh the risks and the beauties of religious belief.”

She demonstrates a critical sensitivity to the religious convictions of Sandoz and the Jesuits. She clearly wants to acknowledge the beauty and power and potential for good in religious belief. She also wants to make clear that such belief and moral conviction will not by themselves save believers from perpetrating enormous evil.

The Sparrow begins slowly. I encourage you to persevere! Once Russell hooks you into her story it is very difficult to put down. These books will haunt and trouble you. I highly recommend them.