First published in the year 1907, famous English fiction writer Robert Hugh Benson's present book 'Lord of the World' is a dyatopian science fiction novel.
I advise you to read it."--Pope Francis on Lord of the World In an airplane news conference on his return from the Philippines in January 2015, Pope Francis mentioned Robert Hugh Benson's Lord of the World. It wasn't the first time the Holy Father praised the book. This 1907 futuristic narrative has been hailed as the finest work of this unsung, but influential author and son of the Archbishop of Canterbury whose conversion to Catholicism rocked the Church of England in 1903. The compelling book includes a new introduction, a biography of Benson, and a theological reflection. Popular young adult books such as The Hunger Games and Divergent, as well as literary classics such as Walker Percy's Love in the Ruins and Cormac McCarthy's The Road, have created a growing interest in dystopian novels. In one of the first such novels of the twentieth century, Robert Hugh Benson imagines a world where belief in God has been replaced by secular humanism. Lord of the World describes a world where Catholics are falling away and priests and bishops are defecting. Only a small remnant of the faithful remains. Julian Felsenburgh, a mysterious and compelling figure arises, promising peace in exchange for blind obedience. Those who resist are subjected to torture and execution. Soon the masses are in Felsenburgh's thrall and he becomes leader of the world. Into this melee steps the novel's protagonist, Fr. Percy Franklin. Dauntless and clear-sighted, Franklin is a bastion of stability as the Catholic Church in England disintegrates around him. Benson's harrowing plot soon brings these two charismatic men into a final apocalyptic conflict. With an imagination to rival H. G. Wells and theological insight akin to G. K. Chesterton, Benson's astute novel has captured the attention of many today, including Popes Benedict and Francis. This new edition makes it easily available and features an insightful introduction by Rev. Mark Bosco, S.J., a brief biography of Benson by Martyn Sampson, and a theological reflection by Rev. Michael Murphy, S.J.
He was seated on some kind of raised chair beneath a canopy. A carpet ran down over a couple of steps beneath his feet, and beyond stood the backs of a company of ecclesiastics—secular priests in cotta, cassock, and biretta, with three or four bare-footed Franciscans and a couple of Benedictines. Ten yards away there rose a temporary pulpit with a back and a sounding-board beneath the open sky; and in it was the tall figure of a young friar, preaching, it seemed, with extraordinary fervour. Around the pulpit, beyond it, and on all sides to an immense distance, so far as he could see, stretched the heads of an incalculable multitude, dead silent, and beyond them again trees, green against a blue summer sky.
These two young men were sitting in one of the most pleasant places in all the world in which to sit on a summer evening—in a ground-floor room looking out upon the Great Court of Trinity College, Cambridge. It was in that short space of time, between six and seven, during which the Great Court is largely deserted. The athletes and the dawdlers have not yet returned from field and river; and Fellows and other persons, young enough to know better, who think that a summer evening was created for the reading of books, have not yet emerged from their retreats. A white-aproned cook or two moves across the cobbled spaces with trays upon their heads; a tradesman's boy comes out of the corner entrance from the hostel; a cat or two stretches himself on the grass; but, for the rest, the court lies in broad sunshine; the shadows slope eastwards, and the fitful splash and trickle of the fountain asserts itself clearly above the gentle rumble of Trinity Street.
Frank Guiseley was a student at Cambridge when he decided to enter the priesthood. When he heard of that, his father disowned him, leaving without much more than the clothes on his back. Note even his best friend -- Jack Kirby -- could dissuade Frank from this madness. In the middle of the night, Frank left the confines of college and set off to join the clergy with only a handful of currency in his pocket. Lord Talgarth -- Frank's father -- wrote the letter to disown his son certain that it would cause his son to change his plans. Frank was supposed to have been devastated -- and returned a submissive letter stating that he would not join clergy. But that didn't happen, and Frank has run away. Lord Talgarth has grown ill with worry. Jenny Launton was Frank Guiseley's fiance. "She" seems unperturbed by Frank's decision and even tells her cousins that she has a plan. A clever and wonderful plan that will bring everything back together again and make everything right as rain. . . . * Robert Hugh Benson was an English author and a clergyman. He was the son of Archbishop Benson. Robert Hugh Benson eventually became a Monsignor and served as an assistant to Pope Pius X. In the course of his life, he wrote a large number of books -- children's books, science fiction, religious novels and nonfiction on religion.
In a former book, called "Lord of the World, " I attempted to sketch the kind of developments a hundred years hence which, I thought, might reasonably be expected if the present lines of what is called "modern thought" were only prolonged far enough; and I was informed repeatedly that the effect of the book was exceedingly depressing and discouraging to optimistic Christians. In the present book I am attempting -- also in parable form -- not in the least to withdraw anything that I said in the former, but to follow up the other lines instead, and to sketch -- again in parable -- the kind of developments, about sixty years hence which, I think, may reasonably be expected should the opposite process begin, and ancient thought (which has stood the test of centuries, and is, in a very remarkable manner, being "rediscovered" by persons even more modern than modernists) be prolonged instead. We are told occasionally by moralists that we live in very critical times, by which they mean that they are not sure whether their own side will win or not. In that sense no times can ever be critical to Catholics, since Catholics are never in any kind of doubt as to whether or no their side will win. But from another point of view every period is a critical period, since every period has within itself the conflict of two irreconcilable forces. It has been for the sake of tracing out the kind of effects that, it seemed to me, each side would experience in turn, should the other, at any rate for a while, become dominant, that I have written these two books.
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