Walter M. Miller, a devout Catholic, wrote A Canticle for Leibowitz. Ever since its release it has been hailed as a masterpiece next to works such as Brave New World and 1984. Hugh Rank described it as "A curious book, which defies narrow categories….[it] contains elements of satire, science-fiction, fantasy, humor, sectarian religious propaganda, and an apocalyptic ‘utopian’ vision" (257-258). It is a tale about a post nuclear-destroyed world where those who have survived the fallout find themselves in another dark age. The perspective of the story is told from members of the Catholic Church. Miller’s knowledge of the church is extensive and he creates characters with incredible depth and builds a future world with a rich, believable culture.

One of the amazing things about the book is that it is told from a Christian perspective and yet is widely read by non-Christians. The reason for this is in the way Miller writes the story. David Samuelson discusses Miller’s growth as a writer and how the critical difference is in Miller’s ability to show it instead of preach it: "…Miller was learning how to illustrate a pint more and to preach it less, learning how to avoid the most clichéd stereotypes and conventions, learning how to concentrate the reader’s interest on a single character immersed in an action the meaning of which transcends the individual" (pg 262). It can be hard to stomach a story that feels preachy and seems contrived solely to convince by words instead of action. In A Canticle for Leibowitz, Miller is able to bring the reader into the inner workings of the Catholic church, stay faithful to their absolute moral convictions, and show the reader, through conflict and dialogue, what many try to do by preaching.

A Canticle for Leibowitz is divided up into three parts: Fiat Homo (Let There Be Man), Fiat Lux (Let There Be Light), and Fiat Voluntas Tua (Thy Will Be Done). Miller uses Latin throughout the story, giving little bits and pieces of it here and there in the speech of his Catholic characters. Miller’s use of biblical names, vocabulary, and references also add to the richness of the novel. The entire story brings the reader into contact with Christian doctrines, morals, and beliefs by inundating the reader in this distant Earth where a faithful number of believers carry on the church.

An excellent example of how Miller takes us unobtrusively into the mind of a Catholic believer is in a scene which deals with the subject of euthanasia—a controversial topic indeed. In Fiat Voluntas Tua, the civilization has again risen out of the dark ages caused by the previous nuclear fallout and has again made new nuclear weapons. Abbot Zerchi is the head of the Leibowitz Abbey and those who have been injured by the nuclear bombs have sought refuge and food in the abbey’s courts. A Green Star relief worker has a medical team posed to enter the abbey and treat the injured, but Abbot Zerchi and the relief worker’s convictions collide; Zerchi’s belief in God’s law and the doctor’s belief in man’s law. The head of the Green Star relief wishes to alleviate the pain of those beyond hope—those undergoing horrible suffering from the radiation—but Zerchi informs the relief doctor he and his team that they will only be allowed in the abbey if they promise not to inform patients of the choice to die. The two men become embroiled in a passionate argument. The doctor concludes, "If I thought I had such a thing as a soul, and that there was an angry God in Heaven, I might agree with you" (295). The abbot responds by saying, "You don’t have a soul, Doctor. You are a soul. You have a body, temporarily" (295). Here Miller candidly puts in Christian theology while remaining true to his characters.

As the abbot and the doctor continue the euthanasia discussion, the doctor tells the abbot that the sickest people should be able to have the choice. Then, the abbot narrows in on the crucial aspect that will determine whether or not the relief team can work on the abbey premises. "Do you, as a physician, advise hopeless cases to go to a mercy [euthanasia] camp?" (297). The doctor stammers, "‘I—’ The medic stopped and closed his eyes…‘of course I do,’ he said finally. ‘if you’d seen what I’ve seen you would too. Of course I do’" (297). The abbot replies, "‘You’ll not do it here’" (297). Miller makes the doctor a very caring and genuine person and one who honestly represents the secular view point. He could have made the man mean or short tempered, but by showing secular intentions at their best, he engages the reader in an honest debate. No matter which stance the reader takes on the issue, he is given a genuine view of the other position. This serves to clarify where the actual disagreement lies.

Abbot Zerchi tells the doctor he can only use the premises if he promises not to "‘advise anyone to go to a ‘mercy camp’" (298). The doctor says he could promise that to those who practiced the abbot’s faith. And Abbot Zerchi responds, "‘I am sorry…but that is not enough’" (298). Abbot Zerchi explains to the doctor that since he, understanding God’s will, knows it is wrong, then he would incur guilt even if the dying individual is ignorant of the fact. The doctor responds to this saying, "‘Listen, Father. They sit there and they look at you. Some scream. Some cry…all of them say, ‘Doctor, what can I do?’ And what am I supposed to answer? Say nothing? Say, ‘You can die, that’s all.’ What would you say?’" (298). The doctor passionately turns this difficult question to the abbot and the dialogue that follows clarifies even more the two individuals world views. Abbot Zerchi responds to the doctor’s question of what to tell the dying patient, saying, "‘Pray.’" The doctor says, "‘Yes, you would, wouldn’t you? Listen, pain is the only evil I know about. It’s the only one I can fight’" (298). The abbot responds, "‘Then God help you’" (299). The relief doctor’s focus on man’s pain and on man’s law is easy to sympathize with and so too is the abbot’s focus on a pain worth suffering, and on God’s law. The doctor does finally agree not to advise them about going to the "mercy camps" and the matter is settled.

The abbot’s final remarks to a monk who overheard the conversation ends this powerful sequence with still more insight and depth that remains palpable to the reader because it stays true to the abbots character. "‘You heard him say it? ‘Pain’s the only evil I know about. ...And that society is the only thing which determines whether an act is wrong or not?’" (299-300). The monk tells him he did. The abbot continues, "‘Dearest God, how did those two heresies get back into the world after all this time? Hell has limited imagination down there. ‘the serpent deceived me, and I did eat.’ Brother Pat, you’d better get out of here, or I’ll start raving’" (300). Miller here has the abbot draw from Genesis 3:13 when Eve gave her excuse to God about eating the forbidden fruit. This use of Biblical speech often used by the Apostle Paul in his letters is used by Millers characters throughout the book.

The conflict in the book forces one to wrestle with difficult questions. Those who have not heard a well-constructed defense of the Christians reasons for the belief in absolute morals will actually hear them throughout the story, and likewise, the Christian hears a heartfelt explanation from a secularist point of view. They are always shown in the story and not preached. Stanley J. Rowland feels that,

[Miller] saves the book from being sermonic by testing the moral issues upon the hard rack of the imagination, which creates a radical situation in which Christian morality is opposed not by a chilling villain but by a compassionate and dedicated doctor who represents the best in secular humanism. (255)

This point that Rowland makes, that of Miller pitting his own beliefs against the "hard rack of the imagination," is taken even further in Abbot Zerchi’s ordeal. The abbot pleads with a particular mother and daughter not to go to the mercy camp. They are suffering terribly but his belief in God sets his determination to tell the mother that she must endure the pain. The woman, in the end, chooses to escape the pain. Very shortly after his passionate plea to the woman, another nuclear bomb hits. The building he is in collapses and the lower half of his body is buried under tons of debris. Abbot Zerchi’s legs begin to itch and then he goes unconscious. When he comes out of it he awakens to screaming. "Suddenly the priest knew that the screaming was his own. Zerchi was suddenly afraid. …[T]he screams had been those of raw terror, not of pain. There was agony now even in breathing" (329). This is a truly terrible and yet satisfying scene because the abbot is forced to face the same agony that he had told the others to bear. Stanley J. Rowland states that, "Finally, the abbot is made to bear the suffering that he counseled others to bear. It is precisely its artistic integrity, its insistence on testing values in radical human terms, that allows the novel to vindicate its viewpoint of uncompromising Christian morality" (255). Time after time in this story, Christian morals are pitted against secular beliefs and Miller’s honest characterizations allow secular readers to see the world through different eyes.

A Canticle for Leibowitz spans over a dozen centuries. From the first nuclear destruction to the slow rebuilding of technology and civilization and then to the final chapter when earth is destroyed again, the perspective of the story is from the small abbey in the Utah desert. The first time the earth is destroyed is called the Flame Deluge, alluding to The Flood in Genesis. The Genesis Flood was brought upon man because God saw the great evil in the world, and in Miller’s story, the Flame Deluge is brought about by man himself. But the earth is only temporarily rid of man’s inability to rule the earth. Man’s self destructive depravity only repeats itself because it is in man’s sinful nature. This message is a major theme in Miller’s story.

Miller has created an intriguing epic and focuses on the imbedded theological issues that surround it. By taking these deep theological questions into a distant future, and placing them in extreme situations, Miller allows readers to feel less threatened while having had them entertain deep philosophical questions and having had moving theological recourse to them. Clearly Miller’s tale, A Canticle for Leibowitz, is a powerful imaginative science fiction and fantasy story. It is overflowing with Biblical references, allusions, morals, and theology and by taking it out of the immediate context of history (although it speaks directly to the present times), it gives readers the chance explore the ideas with a fresh sense of wonder.

Miller ends the entire book with a group of Catholics escaping in a rocket ship to another planet in allusion to Noah’s escape from the flood: "The last monk, upon entering, paused in the lock. He…took off his sandals. ‘Sic transit mundus,’ he murmured, looking back at the glow. He slapped the soles of his sandals together, beating the dirt of them" (336). The Latin translates, "thus passes the world" and the shaking off of the dirt from the monk’s sandals is a Biblical allusion to the passage in Mark where it says, "And if any place will not welcome you or listen to you, shake the dust off your feet when you leave, as a testimony against them" (6:11). Miller concludes the story brilliantly.

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