The Perception of Father Brown

Walter Reinsdorf

lives in Athens, New York. His article was read

W A L T E R REINSDORF
as a paper at the Chesterton Conference held in connection with
the Annual Meeting of the Modem Languages Association in New
York City, December, 1981.

Gavin Lambert's criticism typifies the muddled approaches to

understanding Chesterton's concerns in the Father Brown stories.
We are told that Father Brown derives a knowledge of crime
"from the secrets of the confessional." Lambert, and other critics,
assert that Father Brown solves his cases by "intuition rather than
deduction.Indeed, again according to Lambert, Father Brown
relies on "animal senses that enable him to smell evil as a dog
smells rats." I will not deny that Father Brown does occasionally
sense the presence of evil as he does in "The Queer Feet"; how-
ever, I think he bases his method on observation far more than
is commonly allowed for. That is far from the whole story.
Although accusing Father Brown of ignoring "scientific evidence
in a way that would appall Holmes," Lambert does comprehend
Father Brown's aim, if not his methods. Father Brown, he declares,
is an "apostle of reason" who, insisting that reason is good the-
ology, de-mystifies pseudo-mystery. "Father Brown's most impor-
tant function is to dissolve the apparently insoluble in a clear and
sacred light: the same light, Chesterton believes, that was his
own deliverance." But such deliverance Lambert will not forgive
Chesterton. Dwelling on the circumstances leading to Chesterton's
anguish, he implicates Chesterton's father, mother, and wife.
Chesterton's "miracle cure" substitutes one "bondage" for the
other.

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Better intentioned critics than Lambert have similar notions.

E.M. Wrong calls Father Brown an "intuitionist detective" who
needs no method "for he conquers the secret of crime from his
wide knowledge of sin."2 And W.H. Wright describes Father
Brown as "an intellectual sleuth" whose analyses depend on "a
kind of spiritual intuition" deriving from "his wide experience
of sin" which is "at times . . . mystical . . . ."^ Dorothy Sayers
finds Father Brown looking "at sin and crime from the religious
point of view."-* Another critic, A.E. Murch, notices both Father
Brown's "profound insight into human nature . . . his acquain-
tance with the ways of evil-doers which is gained by a churchman
rather than a policeman," and "intuition which served Father
Brown so well."5 No one of these critics either explains Father
Brown's "religious point of view," or defines his "intuitive method."
What then is Father Brown's religious point of view, his intuitive
method? How can his point of view, together with his method,
be at once intuitive and rational?

Another critic of the genre, Stephen Knight, author of Form

and Ideology in Crime Fiction, suggests that Holmes is a pseudo-
scientist, and Miss Marple unintelligent, e In contrast, is Father
Brown more or less scientific than Sherlock Holmes, or less intelli-
gent than Miss Marple? Father Brown's respondents in the stories
are continually amazed and confused by the insight of this un-
assuming little man. Within him the seemingly divided and dis-
tinguished worlds of science and religion are resolved. Father
Brown's acute observations do not exclude the mystical. Paradoxi-
cally, one reinforces the other. Somehow, characters and critics
assume that this priest, removed from the common life, must be
magical, mysterious and foreign. Can a priest, a mystic, possibly
perceive the real world as well as those trained perceivers of the
material^psychologist, businessman, or detectivewith whom he
contends? That attitude shows in this exchange from "The Dagger
with Wings": " *I'm afraid I'm a practical man,' said the doctor
with a gruff humour, 'and I don't bother much about religion
and philosophy.' 'You'll never be a practical man until you do,'
said Father Brown." Contrary to the general opinion, the mystic
is not mysterious. Indeed, the mystic perceives reality, not less.

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but more accurately than the trained perceiver of that reality

the scientific materialist.

Perceptions clash in William Blake's "Vision of the Last

Judgment." He asks, "When the Sun rises do you see a round
Disk of fire somewhat like a Guinea? O no no. I see an innumer-
able company of the Heavenly Host crying *Holy Holy Holy is
the Lord God Almighty.'" Blake sees more, not less, of the
sun, more not less of reality. I n addition to his famed "Guinea
Sun," he also sees a host of angels dancing around it. The scientific
materialist, who sees only the Disk of fire, believes, at the same
time, that the poet-mystic Blake must be crazy for seeing the
angels. Blake actually sees more, not less of the "real" sun. Seeing
the angels enhances his sensibility. To put it another way: a
visionary imagination enhances sensory perception. The materialist
thinks that in eliminating the visionary, he enhances the sensible.
That is not so.

How can these notions be explained to the materialist? Could

the materialist understand that Father Brown's "intuition" is not
revealed to him in the magical depths of the confessional? To
cover up his own deficiency, the materialist has only to dismiss
Father Brown's success as incomprehensibly occult. Can the materi-
alist be brought to understand that intuition is not some frailty
possessed by women, but intelligence, will and imagination of the
highest order? Beyond that, can he ever understand that imagina-
tion, will and vision, are intelligence, higher forms of intelligence
than scientific logic which orders sense data. Finally, can the
materialist believe that the mystic might, in the end, be a better
materialist than he is? To bring off these insights might be akin
to proving to a pornographer that the Puritan delights more in
sexuality than he does. But I do not doubt the Puritan's delight.
Only the Puritan can save sexuality from the cold comfort of
the pornographer who despises and destroys sexuality. Only the
mystic can save matter from the materialist who does not see it,
does not understand it, and might destroy it.

"Real mystics don't hide mysteries; they reveal them," Father

Brown says in "The Arrow of Heaven." Throughout the stories,

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Father Brown deals with disappearance, disguise and deception

in the form of wigs, masks, mirrors and other devices. In the
end, these mysteries, as revealed by Father Brown, turn out to
be no mysteries at all. Father Brown acutely perceives physical
reality^^his only method. Other characters, as I have mentioned,
together with the critics, think that his methods are intuitive,
secret. In short, they prefer to think that there is something mys-
terious about the little man, when there is nothing mysterious
about him at all. A mystic does not evade, or obscure reality;
a mystic reveals physical reality, itself frequently deceptive, be-
cause he or she sees more, not less of it. The Father Brown stories
illustrate opposing views of reality which I would categorise,
generally, as idealist versus materialist, or, in a philosophical
sense, realist versus nominalist. In his discussion of Chesterton,
Jorge Luis Borges adopts the latter categories:

Coleridge observes that all men are born Aristotelian or

Platonist. The latter know by intuition that ideas are reali-
ties; the former, that they are generalisations; for the
latter, language is nothing but a system of arbitrary sym-
bols; for the former, it is a map of the universe. The
Platonist knows that the universe is somehow a cosmos,
an order, which, for the Aristotelian, may be an error,
or a figment of our partial knowledge . . . the nominalists
are Aristotle; the realists, Plato.7

Nevertheless, I am not approaching the issue from a philo-

sophical category. Instead, I oppose different conceptions of mental
operation whatever the philosophical distinctions. A modern be-
haviourist, for example, conceives of mind as a processor of sense
data, motivated by positive and negative stimuli. I believe that
this position derives from Enlightenment views of the mind which,
in an attempt to be more rational, decapitated an earlier psycho-
logy here summarised by St. Bonaventure: "there are six graduated
powers of the soul [and mind], whereby we ascend from lowest
to highest, from external things to those that are within. These
six powers are the senses, the imagination, the reason, the under-
standing, the intelligence, and the summit of the mind or the
spark of synderesis."8

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Now perception ends where it once began: with a mind strip-

ped of its visionary powers, a mind which rises to ideas still closely
associated with and limited by sense data. Mind passively operates in
a "dark closet," to use John Locke's famous phrase. This brief com-
parison illustrates how empiricism stripped an earlier visionary mind
down to its barest essentials. Today our culture generally accepts an
external, materialistic world perceived by senses inhabiting a mind
passively recording the data of consciousness. That mind, stimu-
lated positively or negatively from without, has difficulty imposing
form on inchoate matter. Having decided to concentrate on the
material because it can be "rationally" perceived, our culture has
limited mind to a mechanism for that purpose. Only the senses,
and the mediaeval "plodding logic" remain from St. Bonaventure's
rising hierarchy of faculties from whose apex God himself could
be glimpsed.

Immanuel Kant has powerfully influenced our concepts of

mental function. Although as a philosophical idealist he differs
from John Locke, they do share a fondness for the material
wherever its locus in the scheme of things. In general, Kant held
that empirical data remain in being through intuitions of the
mind, time and space. I do not wish to become involved in philo-
sophical dispute. Whether or not he analyses correctly, he can
help us understand the nature of the reality which he helped to
shape.

In Kant's thought, the infinite must remain unapprehended

by the senses because apprehension of the infinite could destroy
the finite. Both finite and infinite cannot be contained within the
same mind; whereas. Mediaeval man confronted the finite and
infinite as one piece. Unlike Locke, Kant sees the material world
held in being by the mind's intuitional capacity. As he states it
in the Critique of Pure Reason:

Transcendental idealism [Kant's view] teaches that all

phenomena are representations only, not things by them-
selves, and that space and time therefore are only sensuous
forms of our intuition, not determinations given independ-
ently by themselves or conditions of objects, as things by
themselves. 9

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Kant opposes transcendental idealism to transcendental realism

"which considers space and time as something in itself," independ-
ent, that is, of human sensibility. On the same point, he writes:
Space itself . . . with all its phenomena . . . exists within
me only, but the real or material of all objects of intuition
is never-the-less given in that space, independent of all
fancy or imagination.

Here Kant is contradictory, not paradoxical. He attempts to pro-

vide for the existence of matter within the apprehension of the
beholder in whose mind it finds its only existence. One last quota-
tion will perhaps clarify the issue:
The world of sense . . . lies necessarily v^thin the infinite
void. If we ignore this, and with it, space in general, as
an a priori condition of the possibility of phenomenon,
the whole world of sense vanishes.
As an intuitive product of mind, nevertheless "real," the
sensible suspends tenuously in the infinite void of the human mind.
Even there it is not clearly perceived. Kant's view imperils the
existence of that sensible world which he wishes to maintain as
the basic "floor" of reality. St. Bonaventure, on the other hand,
viewing the finite embedded within an infinite not a void, rein-
forces the finite by making it more, not less real. Unfortunately,
whether philosophers invent conceptions, or whether they describe
functions as they are (which I doubt), they do tend to influence
people into thinking that that is the way it is. I f Kant's perception
is correct, or believed in, if the infinite is a void within the human
mind filled by a sleeve of sense data, then mind precariously con-
tains a flux of sense data on which it also depends for survival,
a peculiar situation, most appalling i f true. I f data suspends in
and depends on mind, then mind, in turn, depends on that same
data, for without it there is nothing. Transcendental realism resem-
bles a man climbing a ladder perched, not so much on nothing,
but imagined in his own mind. I f the intuitive perceptions of time
and space were to disappear, or become disjointed, then every-
thing else goes too. Philosophically and psychologically the materi-
alists are hard put to hang onto material reality, in imminent
danger of slipping away, as it finally does in schizophrenia. Again,

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these are not abstract propositions to be taken lightly. Our culture

does accept the materialistic model of mind. I f a culture believes
that something is true, then it is true whatever the facts of psycho-
logical reality are. Mind can be likened to a locked box. No one
knows what lies inside. Everyone guesses what might be inside,
assuming that the box does contain a true, or real operation, not
yet known. Until that true operation becomes known, if it exists
in the first place (the box might be empty), that which everyone
believes to be locked inside the box becomes important.

Mind begins to perceive through data processing. I think

everyone would agree with that. But the effort required for endless
data processing can become too much. The senses clot by the very
data which the mind must process to survive. Lacking any sort
of transcendental foothold, lacking any higher reality to perceive,
the faculties of mind fix hypnotically on the limited perceptions
offered by sense data. Mind and data devour each other. Mind,
overwhelmed by the flux of data, no longer able to transcend that
data, plunges into the grip of matter.

By assigning words, the sense data of the intellect, to sense

impressions, mind digests matter. When the senses clot, words
can no longer function to mediate realityto verbally distance
mind from matter. Identity locks into sense, becoming one with it.
As another consequence of this problem, identity, too, becomes
part of the flux of data lacking any permanence. Our little lives,
no longer bounded by the infinite, become lost in passing "time
frames." Truth, being, meaning, no longer constants, become
operative or inoperative according to the whims of the passing
moment. Eventually, mind, matter and word fuse, breaking down
against the impossible task of endless data processing. Matter,
no longer distanced by the mediating function of language, rushes
into consciousness overwhelming and blotting identity. A l l com-
munication, internal and external, becomes impossible. Schizo-
phrenia is epidemic.
Chesterton's sharp sense-images, however, outline distinctly
finite reality beheld from a point of view which enhances material
reality. Although, Gavin Lambert for one, finds these images

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"theatrical," even "ominous," they represent reality heightened,

intensified, very much like Hopkins's treatment of it. Father
Brown's transcendental vision permits him to associate things into
a context of meaning. He has the breadth to do that. When
things are dissociated from context, they become meaningless.
True, the scientist does try to place his "facts" into a theoretical
matrix. Nevertheless, that matrix, like Kant's, can never rise
above the material cloth from which it is cut. The scientific
materialist must ignore the manifold aspects of reality which he
cannot permit himself to perceive. I f he can't perceive it, it's
just not there. Father Brown's solutions depend on a super-
natural context which enables him to see more, not less. The facts
of the crime are similar to the dissociated facts of material reality,
floating around until anchored in a context.

Jacques Barzun points out that the detective story searches

"for history in things" reflecting "the way our civilization thinks
about law, evidence, nature and k n o w l e d g e . " I agree. I f history
gives meaning, then search for the meaning of things in things.
But, the meaning of things is not in things. History reflects an
order, a story, a context which can be interpreted. The history is
not in the things themselves. Rather, the things are in the history,
or they are not at all. Clues reveal a murderer only when "solved"
by a perceiver who places the clues into a context which gives
meaning. The solution then sheds meaning back onto those previ-
ously dissociated clues. In that sense, Ross Macdonald sees "plot
as a vehicle of meaning." "The surprise with which the detective
novel concludes should set up tragic vibrations which run back-
ward through the entire structure."So, too, should the data of
life vibrate with meaning. Material reality beheld exceeds material
reahty processed.
Characters in detective and spy fiction also reflect meaning-
lessness. Double agents and detective-criminals are confused men
searching for themselves. The double agent, a man divided, cannot
see or know himself. He bears no identity, binds to no side. Many
of Chesterton's characters disguise their identities to commit
crimes, such characters as a lawyer who kills a colleague, a son
who kills his father. In doing evil they were not themselves.

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Unmasked, they are driven from that false self. A character can-
not recognise his image in a mirror. They must solve the mystery
of self.
The mystery of self and the mystery of life correspond.
According to Dorothy Sayers, "The mystery is made only to be
solved, these horrors which he [the reader] knows only to be mere
figments of the creative brain, comfort him by subtly persuading
that life is a mystery which death will solve." 12 i f her statement
were rearranged, "Death is a mystery which life will solve,"
then I think Father Brown would agree. Life, not death, is the
unknown. From Father Brown's view, life, the perceivable and
natural, foreshadows and is one with the imperceivable and the
supernatural as in mediaeval allegory. Sayers believes that life after
death will make this life clearwill provide the solution to the
mystery of life. Chesterton believes that life clarifies. The clues
are here. They can be understoodnow. The spiritual life does
not begin after death. To be entered into then, it must be under-
stood now.
Wholly rational solutions cannot satisfy. I f the detective is
the rational hero of the technological society; if Sherlock Holmes
separates light from darkness, then he failed. As Elliot Gilbert
states in "The Detective as Metaphor in the 19th Century":
If, then, the detective was a metaphor for the nineteenth
century's faith in man's problem-solving abilities, he was
just as importantly a symbol of growing nineteenth-century
disillusionment with reason as a meaningful response to
the human condition. 1 3

Gilbert continues, the "dark, satanic mills," the "guns of August"

shattered belief in reason forever. Conan Doyle retreated into
the occult. In the "Adventure of the Cardboard Box," Holmes,
the great rationalist, asks Dr. Watson, "What is the meaning of
it, Watson? What object is served by this circle of misery, violence
and fear? It must tend to some end, or else our universe is ruled
by chance, which is unthinkable." Gilbert admits that in the end
"human reason is as far from an answer as ever." True. I f human
reason is reason as we now know it. The "answer" can never be
known given the limitations of the "rational" mind which, because

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of those limitations, is not irrational, but sub-rational. The so-called

rational mind might well end by destroying the human race in
some macabre triumph of logic. We must hope that the world
will not be offered as another burnt offering to reason. Yes, Father
Brown does look at "sin and crime" and everything else from a
"religious point of view," a unified point of view which supercedes
the merely rational. The central symbol of Christianity does not
divide immaterial and material; it unites them. Christ does not
symbolically hover at the edge of things occasionally caught in
some emotional fit. United with matter. He is, in that sense,
matter itself. That truth finally makes more of matter, not less.

1 Gavin Lambert, "G.K. Chesterton," The Dangerous Edge (New York,

1976), pp. 63-79.
2 E.M. Wrong, "Crime and Detection," in Art of the Mystery Story,
ed. Howard Haycroft (New York, 1946), p. 23.
3 W.H. Wright, "The Great Detective Stories," m Haycroft, pp. 50-51.
4 Dorothy Sayers, "The Omnibus of Crime," in Haycroft, p. 102.
5 A.E. Murch, The Development of the Detective Novel (Westport, Conn.,
1968), p. 199.
Stephan Knight, Form and Ideology in Crime Fiction (Bloomington,
1980), passim.
J.L. Borges, "From Allegory to Novels," in OtJier Inquisitions, 1937-52
(Austin, Texas, 1964), p. 156.
8 St. Bonaventure, TJie Itinerary of the Mind vnto God, ed. P. Boehner
(St. Bonaventure, N.Y., 1956), p. 41.
9 Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, trans. F . Max Mller (Gar-
den City, N.Y.: Doubleday Anchor Books, 1966), p. 262. The two quotations
following are from pp. 266 and 311.
1 Jacques Barzun, "Detection and Literary Art," in The Mystery Writ-
er's Art, ed. Frances M. Nevins, Jr. (Bowling Green, Ohio, 1970), pp. 248-263.
11 Ross Macdonald, "The Writer as Detective Hero," in Nevins, pp. 295
306.
12 Dorothy Sayers, "The Omnibus of Crime," p. 102.
13 Elliot Gilbert, "The Detective as Metaphor in the 19th Century" in
The Mystery-Writer's Art, pp. 285-295

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