A curious book, which defies narrow categories, [A Canticle for Leibowitz] contains elements of satire, science-fiction, fantasy, humor, sectarian religious propaganda, and an apocalyptic "utopian" vision. Although much of its meaning can be discerned by any perceptive reader, it can be better understood with a few footnotes which place it in the context of recent "Catholic" writing. (pp. 213-14)

Because characterization in satire does not present a particular person so much as it illustrates a type, the satirist must not only avoid a trite repetition of commonplace stereotypes, but must also avoid the other extreme of obscuring the type by a fuller development of character. The essential characteristics of the type must be presented in clear terms. By this criterion, A Canticle for Leibowitz is uneven. Many standard stereotypes of "Catholic" writing appear in the book, but some passages do develop unique presentations of types.

In the first section, for example, Brother Francis is recognizable as the naive, humble, unworldly monk; everything about him suggests the traditional, romanticized legends about Saint Francis of Assisi. Brother Fingo plays the standard role of "Brother Cook"—the happy-go-lucky bumpkin of the monastery. But, in Father Cheroki, who represents the stern absolutist and legalistic mentality, and in Abbot Arkos, who represents the pragmatic mentality, the author transcends the commonplace stereotypes. (p. 215)

The dominant character of the second section is Thon Thaddeo, the secular scholar who is the very model of the Renaissance gentleman-scientist. Although his apparent function is to serve as a foil to the arguments of the Abbot Dom Paulo, the actual development of Thon overshadows the presentation of the Abbot. Dom Paulo, as the "wise old man" and "patient sufferer," liberally dispenses his advice and heroically conceals his personal agonies. Other recognizable stereotypes form the background for the Thon-Dom arguments: Brother Kornhoer is the "humble monk" whose humble work in scientific experiments outshines the publicized brilliance of the famous Thon; Brother Armbruster is the cranky conservative protesting against progress, and, as librarian, defending the carefully-preserved books from any use; the Poet is the effeminate parasite, the worldly fop being sheltered by the charitable monks; Marcus Apollo, the Papal Nuncio to Hannegan's court, is the suave diplomat, deeply involved in the intrigues of that court.

The characters in the final section continue the secular-religious argument started by the Thon and Dom Paulo. In the modern era, Abbot Zerchi exhibits many aspects of the American Catholic community's stereotype of the priest; although Zerchi leads a group of contemplatives, he remains the "man of action," the gruff man-of-God who has the proverbial "heart of gold and fist of iron." His opponent, Doctor Cors, heads a government medical team which aids the survivors of the nuclear attack and provides humane mercy-killing for the most hopeless of the radiation victims. Doctor Cors, like Thon Thaddeo, functions as the "village atheist" (an indispensable figure in t9e Catholic romance), acting as the intellectual foil for the dogmatic arguments of the priest. Predictably, the priest loses his temper in a moment of "just anger" and hits the doctor; the doctor, predictably, continues to admire the holy dedication of the priest. The young monk chosen as the new abbot of the interplanetary mission is a "space veteran" with technical ability and an aggressive "take charge" attitude, an image suggested by the actual influx of World War II veterans into the American Trappist monasteries.

Such a collection of characters might suggest that the book is nothing more than a piece of pious science-fiction. But the interesting aspect of the book comes from the mixture of attitudes reflecting the ambiguity within the Catholic Church in the period immediately before the Second Vatican Council. The extensive satire of religious practices, as found in the book, could not have been written a generation earlier; the extensive moralizing and firm certitude in doctrinal matters could not have been written a generation later.

Much of the humor within Canticle comes from the deliberate anachronisms in which known things from one era are placed in the strange context of another. The discovery of the twentieth century relics in the "medieval age" after the Flame Deluge suggests [Mark Twain's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court]; in both cases, the audience is aware of the incongruities which the characters do not understand…. But the ingenuity [of] this humor remains secondary to the satire which playfully chides some of the past practices of the Catholic Church.

The medieval monks, for instance, live in a world of pious myths and superstitions. (pp. 215-17)

The urge to glorify the humble, an attitude common to many Christians who have erected elaborate structures in honor of the poor man of Galilee, is satirized several times in the opening chapters. When Brother Francis realizes that the Fallout Shelter contains relics of the saint, he tries "to visualize a towering basilica rising from the site…. If not a basilica, then a smaller church—The Church of Saint Leibowitz of the Wilderness—surrounded by a garden and a wall, with a shrine of the saint attracting rivers of pilgrims with girded loins out of the north." His desire to be a "builder" is frustrated by his assignment to the monastery copying room where he is supposed to produce exact duplicates of the ancient blueprints. But the impulse to glorify the humble does not decrease: "The stark copy was not enough: it was coldly unimaginative and did not commemorate the saintly qualities of the Beatus in any visible way." Thus, the meaningless geometric lines of the diagram become embellished with a colorful filigree of decorations added by the pious Francis.

Parodies of scholastic philosophical arguments, of the bickering quarrels among various religious orders over obscure theological points, and of the legalistic forms of liturgical practices accompany the story set in the medieval age. Minor characters (the officious bureaucrats of the Curia in New Rome, the petty tyrant in the monastery workshop) and brief topical allusions (the crusades against the savage heathens, the inquisition against Catharism in the Pacific Coast region) all contribute to the composite picture of a medieval world presented by an author with his tongue in his cheek. (pp. 217-18)

Because satire tends to accompany, rather than dominate, the story, A Canticle for Leibowitz is a difficult book to place into a neat category; if the satire had been sustained throughout the work, the job of the critic would be much easier. Nor can the book be described as science-fiction because little attention is paid to the gadgetry or the scientific technicalities which appear occasionally in the story. However, many fantasy elements (in addition to the basic plot situation) appear: the Wandering Jew in his timeless search for the Messiah; the Poet whose glass eye is a "conscience"; and Mrs. Grales, the two-headed woman of the final section. Mrs. Grales spends most of her time begging aid, obsequiously, for her one lifeless head…. (p. 218)

Basically, the book combines a satire on contemporary society and religious practices with a "reverse utopia" presenting a grim vision of a possible future. As the publisher's advertisement on the paperback edition noted, it follows "in the great tradition of Brave New World and 1984." Here, in Miller's apocalyptic vision is the source of many objections by readers more accustomed to a secular-humanist nightmare vision (such as in Brave New World or 1984) than to that vision of a "conservative" Catholic. The presentation of certain absolutist attitudes in the book are likely to alienate not only the non-Catholic, but also the contemporary Catholic "liberal." Had the book been postulated on the "acceptable" ideas of the secular-humanist, it might have received more note than it did; but it seems that the average reader and critic, who is quite willing to grant the ideological premises of a Dante or a Milton, is less likely to be so neutral when dealing with contemporary writers who have not been safely approved. Yet the job of the critic is to understand, to analyze, and to illuminate the work in the context of its own philosophical assumptions.

In the case of A Canticle for Leibowitz, the book is a song out of season, a cry of a reformer on the eve of revolution. It reflects accurately some of the confused currents of thought within the Catholic Church in the period immediately before the second Vatican Council. At this time, the "liberal" movement had progressed far enough that it was possible to satirize certain ecclesiastical practices and past history; yet at the same, the firm certitude in doctrinal matters had not been disturbed.

The full impact of the Second Vatican Council (starting in 1962) still remains unknown, but one of the most immediate and obvious results was the weakening of certitude concerning beliefs which had been accepted within the Church for ages…. The Second Vatican Council acted as a catalyst for reform, but in doing so it also disturbed the complacent security of many Catholics. The seemingly innocuous debate on liturgical reform soon developed into a full scale argument over traditional practices and beliefs. The subsequent controversies over birth control, priestly celibacy, and ecclesiastical authority were the most highly publicized aspects of the new developments within the Church, but other arguments also penetrated widely and deeply into basic theological issues. This challenge of the traditional "verities" made certitude a rare commodity in the post-councilar Church.

A Canticle for Leibowitz presents a story of the future populated with priests [with] a pre-councilar mentality of certitude in their absolutist beliefs. For example, the euthanasia argument between Abbot Zerchi and Doctor Cors is a variation of the same dilemma found in scores of Catholic "ghetto" romances (c.f. the therapeutic abortion scene in Robinson's The Cardinal) in which the absolute law is rigidly defended. (pp. 219-20)

Other passages in the book reflect a certain defensive mentality found within pre-councilar Catholicism. The author finds need, for example, to justify the medieval Church as the preserver of culture in a barbaric world, to correct erroneous ideas about the reason for chaining Bibles, to point out the Augustinian evolutionary concepts, and to defend the Vatican's artistic treasures by emphasizing the threadbare clothes of the modern pope clad in the ancient splendor. But the major theme, the depiction of the Catholic Church as the ever-enduring institution, might prove a hurdle for the unsympathetic reader. However, one must admit the equal legitimacy of postulating a future world with a Church as that of presenting a churchless world; history and psychology may well be on the side of an enduring religious organization in one form or another. The actual liturgy and institutional practices as envisioned by Miller are outdated, of course, by the Second Vatican Council; but it is understandable that in 1959 such changes were totally unforeseen.

Though uneven, Miller's writing is perhaps at its best in the early section in which he truly captures the sense of the desert wilderness while carefully uncovering the basic plot situation in a series of artful revelations. In later sections, some heavy-handed apologetics in the dialogues detract from the smoothness of the writing. However, because of the genuine display of ingenuity, wit, and subtle humor, the book does survive a re-reading and is worthy of a wider audience. Neither as skillful as Powers' satire in Morte D'Urban, nor as savage as William Kelley's brand of churchly Black Humor in The God Hunters, [A Canticle for Leibowitz] deserves note for its own intrinsic merits and for its historical position in the relation of the modern satirist to the Catholic Church. This strange mixture of "liberal" and "conservative" attitudes reflects rather accurately the confused cross-currents of the era. If one understands the context of these ideas, the book can be enjoyed and appreciated by those who do not share the author's premises. (p. 220)