A Canticle For Leibowitz – A Message For Our Time?
Is A Canticle for Leibowitz simply an amusing story about a post-apocalyptic future? Or does it actually convey relevant wisdom about being better custodians over groundbreaking technologies?
I recently re-read Walter M. Miller Jr.'s 1959 post-apocalyptic novel A Canticle for Leibowitz. It was no surprise to find that this novel has proven to be one of the most prophetic and enduring works of 20th century American literature. While thoroughly steeped in the author's Catholicism and the nuclear paranoia of the Cold War era, the book's timeless exploration of the cyclical nature of humanity's advancement definitely speaks to our modern age of accelerating technological progress.
The novel is divided into three distinct parts, each separated by centuries of time. In the first part, ‘Fiat Homo’ (Let There Be Man), a new monastic order laboriously preserves what fragmented remains of science and knowledge they can find in the radioactive aftermath of the ‘Flame Deluge’ – a nuclear war so devastating that civilisation was returned to a primitive state. The monks worship the newly-sainted Leibowitz, an electrical engineer from before the war who was martyred for preserving blueprints in his basement fallout shelter.
We are introduced to the essential mystery of the blueprints right from the first two paragraphs of the book:
Brother Francis Gerard of Utah might never have discovered the blessed documents had it not been for the pilgrim with girded loins who appeared during that young novice’s Lenten fast in the desert. Never before had Brother Francis actually seen a pilgrim with girded loins, but that this one was the bona fide article he was convinced as soon as he had recovered from the spine-chilling effect of the pilgrim’s advent on the far horizon, as a wiggling iota of black caught in a shimmering haze of heat.
The sight of this wiggling iota causes the young monk to clutch at his rosary and mutter an ave or two, but as a direct result of this appearance he goes on to discover a cache of ancient documents, including the memoirs of the founder of the order, Leibowitz.
We are then left to ponder whether or not the pilgrim was in fact some sort of divine messenger, sent to bring the missing documents to light through the agency of the rather goofy and heat-addled young monk. I’m still pondering that one.
In the second part, ‘Fiat Lux’ (Let There Be Light) hundreds of years have passed. The monastery has become the centre of a Renaissance of knowledge as the horrors of the past are mostly forgotten and scholars arrogantly pursue technological advancement without ethical constraint. This hubris leads to another global catastrophe. The third act, ‘Fiat Voluntas Tua’ (Let Thy Will Be Done), stretches to the far future, where the cycle seems doomed to repeat, with disparate monastic custodians scattered among the stars safeguarding fragments of what's been lost.
On the surface, A Canticle is an entertaining and imaginative exploration of post-apocalyptic monastic science fiction merged with deep theological symbolism. But the book's real power is its allegorical insight into the cyclical march of human innovation, folly, and civilisational unravelling that repeats across centuries.
Each rebirth of progress grows from the rediscovered knowledge preserved from the previous fallen age's ashes. But without wisdom and humility to constrain mankind's ambition, unrestrained advancement inevitably breeds deadly new technologies and social instability that drives humanity into a new Dark Age. As the cycles spin on, the monks' patient, principled work in protecting and properly applying discovered blueprints is the lone voice of reason.
In our present era of rampant growth across fields such as artificial intelligence, genetic engineering, automation and more, Miller's opus is a stark warning that parallels are urgently needed between blazing scientific progress and ethical development of wisdom to ensure survival.
The book poignantly argues that without some stoic, saintly order devoted to curating and sensibly governing the application of revolutionary discoveries, our great civilisational and technological accomplishments may one day inevitably be ground to irradiated rubble beneath humanity's self-inflicted hubris.
While A Canticle paints a grim portrait, its truths about the need to pair innovation with wisdom are a canticle for our time. For the monks know all too well that such great heights reached too hastily come before the lamentable fall.
So is A Canticle for Leibowitz simply an amusing story about a post-apocalyptic future? Or does it actually convey relevant wisdom about being better custodians over groundbreaking technologies that run the risk of apocalypse themselves if our ambition outraces our maturity?
For my regular readers
My latest novel A Perfect Witchcraft is almost done! I’m considering serialising it here on Substack. I just have to figure out how that would work. I serialised my novella Almost A Lady here. It’s there under the Free Story tab, but I have still to work out how it was received.
I’ve had many thoughts about the cover of my new book. I like this one … but we’ll see.
Easter holidays are coming. Happy reading all.
‘Till next time …
Lily