The Heart of the Matter

Abstract

Greene, it has often been remarked, reveals a more tender concern for his sinners than for his saints, for those contravening the doctrines of the church than for those faithful to its tenets. It has been charged that he had, as an advocate of Catholicism, become restless and subversive, lapsing into theological unorthodoxy as his allegiance to the church weakened. The ‘pious’ in his novels — a woman with no more to confess than the abbreviation of her prayers one evening, or proud of her arrest for having possessed a religious painting — do indeed emerge as anathema to his protagonists, who are generally appalled at the frequent concern of the devout with trivia instead of the cultivation of charity and love. As the priest remarked: ‘it sometimes seemed to him that venial sins — impatience, an unimportant lie, pride, a neglected opportunity — cut you off from grace more completely than the worst sins of all.’¹ Conversely, those characters who have offended against the church and are aware of some grave misdemeanour weighing upon their conscience arouse the author’s sympathy, even his admiration, with the implication that it is only after one has transgressed and repented that true faith can be achieved — a principle of which the church could scarcely approve since it implied an encouragement to sin. Frank Kermode put the case in its strongest form, applying to Greene the wry comment offered by Blake, that Milton was ‘of the devil’s party without knowing it’.