Terry Pratchett is an interesting author. I've read quite a lot of his books over the last ten years or so, and one thing that strikes me is that all his characters are essentially likeable. As a big generalisation, this obviously comes with exceptions; every so often he produces an out-an-out evil person (Carcer in Night Watch, for example), but essentially his evil characters never get very much space and barely, if ever, get past 2-dimensionality. Even fairly outrageous behaviour is generally portrayed with a kind of cheeky grin; evil behaviour is only held up as evil and abhorrent if the evil character is allowed no redeeming characteristics whatsoever. Redemption for those who have been bad, if they decide to change, is either cheap or unnecessary.
In short, Pratchett consistently portrays a view of humanity which is non-Christian to the core.
So the following passage from Guards! Guards! is very striking.
"
The Patrician steepled his hands and looked at Vimes over the top of them.
‘Let me give you some advice, Captain,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘It may help you make some sense of the world.’
‘Sir.’
‘I believe you find life such a problem because you think there are the good people and the bad people,’ said the man. ‘You’re wrong, of course. There are, always and only, the bad people, but some of them are on opposite sides.’
He waved his thin hand towards the city and walked over to the window.
‘A great rolling sea of evil,’ he said, almost proprietorially. ‘Shallower in some places, of course, but deeper, oh, so much deeper in others. But people like you put together little rafts of rules and vaguely good intentions and say, this is the opposite, this will triumph in the end. Amazing!’ He slapped Vimes good-naturedly on the back.
‘Down there,’ he said, ‘are people who will follow any dragon, worship any god, ignore any iniquity. All out of a kind of humdrum, everyday badness. Not really the high, creative loathsomeness of the great sinners, but a sort of mass-produced darkness of the soul. Sin, you might say, without a trace of originality. They accept evil not because they say yes, but because they don’t say no.’
…
‘But you’re wrong about the rest!’ said Vimes. ‘It’s just because people are afraid, and alone–’ He paused. It sounded pretty hollow, even to him.
He shrugged. ‘They’re just people,’ he said. ‘They’re just doing what people do. Sir.’
Lord Vetinari gave him a friendly smile.
‘Of course, of course,’ he said. ‘You have to believe that, I appreciate. Otherwise you’d go quite mad. Otherwise you’d think you’re standing on a feather-thin bridge over the vaults of Hell. Otherwise existence would be dark agony and the only hope would be that there is no life after death. I quite understand.’ He looked at his desk, and sighed.
"
A Christian can hardly help noticing how incredibly much sounds like the Christian doctrine that "there is no one who does good, not even one." And the part about the little rafts of rules and good intentions is devastatingly accurate. It is not quite Christian; we believe, for example, that though much sin is indeed the result of simply 'not saying no', at its heart there is an active rebellion going on in every person. But it's still very much closer to a Christian perspective than one would expect from such a writer.
The logical outworking of this truth - without the prospect of outside redemption - is also made far more clear than one would expect. Existence is dark agony and the only hope is extinction; this is the sort of thing one would expect the Teacher to say, were he an atheist. Once again, we have to nod in (limited) agreement; given the truth that Pratchett has outlined about the state of men, if that's where it ends, hopelessness is the only rational response. Of course, we don't think it's where it ends - but to expect a Christian doctrine of salvation is perhaps a bit much.
Indeed, the conclusion of the passage, probably deliberately, makes one wonder what exactly Pratchett himself is thinking behind his characters:
"
Vimes paused at the
door.
‘Do you believe all
that, sir?’ he said. ‘About endless evil and the sheer
blackness?’
‘Indeed, indeed,’
said the Patrician, turning over the page. ‘It is the only logical
conclusion.’
‘But you get out of
bed every morning, sir?’
‘Hmm? Yes? What is
your point?’
‘I’d just like to
know why, sir.’
‘Oh, do go away,
Vimes. There’s a good fellow.’
"
This is fascinating. Pratchett has given a character who sees the truth about humanity, essentially. It's a horrible truth, and he states it with admirable clarity and resolution. But in the end, Pratchett does not let his character follow through logically. There is a gap between what he believes and the fact that he gets out of bed every morning.
It might be that Pratchett is having a subtle dig here at those who hold Vetinari's position; it's unlivable, he's saying. Yet there is no force given to the countersuggestion at all. I rather suspect that Pratchett is himself exploring Vetinari's position through Vetinari; but, unable to see how this position is a livable one, he offloads the contradiction onto his character and moves on.
In fact, of course, believing the truth about the evil of humanity is much, much better than constructing rafts; but only if there is an external salvation. Then we do not have to blind ourselves to the truth about people, and can go about the business of living properly and saving those stumbling towards destruction. If we only see the condition and have no sight of the salvation, though, the result is exactly the 'dark agony' which Vetinari describes.
