In alphabetical order, Chesterton is the next English Catholic influence on Sigrid Undset in our Son Rise Morning Show series, which we'll (Anna Mitchell or Matt Swaim and I) talk about on Monday, November 9, focusing on The Everlasting Man, which Undset translated in 1931, not without some difficulty. As she noted (in Norwegian, of course):
About Chesterton translations, what some Frenchman has said about all translations applies in particular, namely that they are like women – they are either beautiful or faithful. I myself have time and again been at a loss as to how faithfully I should follow Chesterton’s text, which is English for Englishmen. He never seems to offer potential translators a sympathetic thought.We read The Everlasting Man in the annotated edition with commentary by Dale Ahlquist of the American Chesterton Society for Word on Fire Publishing in our Chesterton reading group here in Wichita a couple of years ago. Since we're not Englishmen or women, but Americans, we've had some trouble translating his works for ourselves in our discussions. He obviously gave no sympathetic thought to us either.
Notwithstanding Undset's concerns about the difficulty of translating Chesterton's English into Norwegian, she thought it important to do. Why? He helped her see that Catholicism explained how the reality of the human person and the Person of the Incarnation fit together in history and her own life. Chesterton, reacting against H.G. Wells in The Outline of History, put both the reality of man and of Jesus back into the story; he filled in the gaps Wells left by looking at the facts of the artwork in the caves, the history of human culture, and the uniqueness of Jesus Christ. Chesterton always looks at these things to make the reader look at what he or she thinks has already been determined only find out that those conclusions are wrong.
As Chesterton states in his plan for the book:
. . . I shall try to show in these pages that when we do make this imaginative effort to see the whole thing from the outside, we find that it really looks like what is traditionally said about it inside. It is exactly when the boy gets far enough off to see the giant that he sees that he really is a giant. It is exactly when we do at last see the Christian Church afar under those clear and level eastern skies that we see that it is really the Church of Christ. To put it shortly, the moment we are really impartial about it we know why people are partial to it. . .
This outside looking in and inside looking inside is an image our group read often while exploring Chesterton's works about the Catholic and conversion (in the Ignatius Press volume of those works). I think Undset appreciated it as a point of view, a perspective that describes the experience of being in the Church, from the evidence of our Chesterton group made up of "cradles" and converts. It's kind of like his words from Why I Am a Catholic: “It is impossible to be just to the Catholic Church. The moment men cease to pull against it, they feel a tug toward it. The moment they cease to shout it down, they begin to listen to it with pleasure. The moment they try to be fair to it, they begin to be fond of it.”
But since the essence of Chesterton's The Everlasting Man is his effort to restore the Incarnation and the presence of Jesus Christ in the Church through history to the center of human accounts of history (contrary to Wells), that's my focus in this post.He wants to restore a full view of "The Strangest Story in the World" (Chapter 3 of Part II: "On the Man Called Christ")
The purpose of these pages is to fix the falsity of certain vague and vulgar assumptions; and we have here one of the most false. There is a sort of notion in the air everywhere that all the religions are equal because all the religious founders were rivals; that they are all fighting for the same starry crown. It is quite false. The claim to that crown, or anything like that crown, is really so rare as to be unique. Mahomet did not make it any more than Micah or Malachi. Confucius did not make it any more than Plato or Marcus Aurelius. Buddha never said he was Bramah. Zoroaster no more claimed to be Ormuz than to be Ahriman. The truth is that, in the common run of cases, it is just as we should expect it to be, in common sense and certainly in Christian philosophy. It is exactly the other way. Normally speaking, the greater a man is, the less likely he is to make the very greatest claim. Outside the unique case we are considering, the only kind of man who ever does make that kind of claim is a very small man; a secretive or self-centred monomaniac. Nobody can imagine Aristotle claiming to be the father of gods and men, come down from the sky; though we might imagine some insane Roman Emperor like Caligula claiming it for him, or more probably for himself. Nobody can imagine Shakespeare talking as if he were literally divine; though we might imagine some crazy American crank finding it as a cryptogram in Shakespeare’s works, or preferably in his own works. It is possible to find here and there human beings who make this supremely{232} superhuman claim. It is possible to find them in lunatic asylums; in padded cells; possibly in strait waistcoats. But what is much more important than their mere materialistic fate in our very materialistic society, under very crude and clumsy laws about lunacy, the type we know as tinged with this, or tending towards it, is a diseased and disproportionate type; narrow yet swollen and morbid to monstrosity. It is by rather an unlucky metaphor that we talk of a madman as cracked; for in a sense he is not cracked enough. He is cramped rather than cracked; there are not enough holes in his head to ventilate it. This impossibility of letting in daylight on a delusion does sometimes cover and conceal a delusion of divinity. It can be found, not among prophets and sages and founders of religions, but only among a low set of lunatics. But this is exactly where the argument becomes intensely interesting; because the argument proves too much. For nobody supposes that Jesus of Nazareth was that sort of person. No modern critic in his five wits thinks that the preacher of the Sermon on the Mount was a horrible half-witted imbecile that might be scrawling stars on the walls of a cell. No atheist or blasphemer believes that the author of the Parable of the Prodigal Son was a monster with one mad idea like a cyclops with one eye. Upon any possible historical criticism he must be put higher in the scale of human beings than that. Yet by all analogy we have really to put him there or else in the highest place of all.
That's a long quote I know but Chesterton makes his point clear by the juxtaposition of what Our Lord said of Himself in contrast to how we might try to diminish Him by saying He was a good moral teacher, etc, because we simply can't compare Him with those other claimants.
Here's another long quotation, from Undset. Hear how she explained the difference between Our Lord and any other religious founders (this is translated from a 1927 speech she gave students in Oslo):
Christianity teaches that God became man and entered into the history of the world as a historical person. Founders of other religions say: “I know the way; I have found the revelation of truth”, or “I have meditated my way to it”. The founder of Christianity says: “Believe in me”, while others say: “Believe what I teach you”. The founder of Christianity says, “I am the way, the truth and the life”. Most pagan mythologies have a tradition that there was a time when the creator or creators walked the earth alongside the creature; that the higher gods accomplished great deeds, battled with ancient giants and calmed the chaos. Since then, however, the gods dwell upon the earth no longer, even if they reveal themselves from time to time while in disguise on an adventure. Christianity teaches the exact opposite: creation is a work of an invisible God who is pure spirit. Everything is brought into being by an act of thought that we cannot begin to comprehend, even if we can form an analogical idea of it by observing our own will in action. Moreover, Christianity teaches that the creator never withdraws from his creation but remains in it, permeating it in such fashion that were he to withdraw even for a moment, it would return to the nothingness from which he willed it into being. . . .
Not just from Chesterton of course, did Undset come to believe this, but he helped her see Whom she was missing and what He'd mean to her life and the view of the world.








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