Orthodoxy

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Check out the preface below!

Preface to Orthodoxy: A Modern Translation, by Peter Northcutt

If you were to travel back in time one hundred years to observe an ordinary day on London’s famous Fleet Street, your eye would soon be caught by a particularly jolly journalist named G.K. Chesterton. At first, you wouldn’t fully appreciate the object of your observation. You wouldn’t think this man would one day be called a saint too good for this world, or a prophet of common sense calling out from the intellectual wilderness, or a happy-hearted boy who got stuck in the body of a giant genius. You wouldn’t assume his writing would be praised by the likes of Ernest Hemingway, Neil Gaiman, and Orson Welles. You would, however, quickly see that this man was simply larger than life–in more ways than one.

The first thing you would notice about this giant would be his literal largeness. Standing six foot four and weighing nearly three hundred pounds, his enormous figure stood out among the London crowds. In fact, he often bragged about being the most polite man in England, because on a bus he could offer his seat to not just one but three ladies at once.

After noticing his considerable size, you would then notice his dress. With a cigar poking through his mustache and glasses on the end of his nose, he paraded the streets donning a cape on his back, a swordstick in his hand, and a crumpled hat fit snugly over his disheveled hair. It would seem to you as if he had just jaunted out of one of his own whimsical story books.

Chesterton was, indeed, famous for his gigantic imagination and for often getting lost in it. If, after spotting him in the street, you were to follow him to the train station, you might see him sit and watch as the trains rushed past each other, pretending they were knights in a joust, never realizing he missed the train he needed to catch. Chesterton relied on his wife to keep track of his appointments, and on one particular evening he sent a helpless message to her, writing, “Am at Market Harborough. Where ought I to be?” “Home,” she replied.

If you were to introduce yourself, however, Chesterton would become immensely present. Though he quickly became an English celebrity, he never lacked time for people, especially children. Once, after a child returned home from a birthday party at the Chesterton house, her parents asked if G.K. said anything profound or witty. The child replied, “I don’t know about that, but you should see Mr. Chesterton catch buns in his mouth!”

The largest thing about him, however, may have been his profound and witty words. Chesterton was, first and foremost, a writer. Marked by wonder, wit, joy, and paradox, his words immerse you in an experience difficult to describe. As Chesterton himself often uses illustrations to make his points, I will do the same.

When you read his words, it feels as if you’ve stepped into a roller coaster. (I would apologize for the juvenile nature of the illustration, but Chesterton wouldn’t consider “juvenile” a pejorative.) In Orthodoxy, for example, he bursts out the gate with an imaginative illustration, knocking your head back in astonishment from the force of it. He then uses that illustration to make a point you’ve never considered but seems so obvious. This sensation feels as if he has turned you upside down. He shows you the world you’ve always known, but from a new angle.

He then whips you around corners, shifting violently from topic to topic. He jerks you one way, then the other–then, just when you question where he’s taking you, he whips you back to the center, tying everything together. It’s only then that you realize every inch of unpredictable track you traveled was necessary for the thrill he intended you to feel.

The most memorable parts of this ride, however, are when you chug along, gaining speed, getting faster and faster. You are getting comfortable, becoming acclimated to the twists and turns, when you find yourself flying face first into the seat in front of you. The car comes to a screeching halt in the middle of the track as you take out your highlighter and circle a one-liner you never saw coming, one that you vow to remember forever. 

This mind-bending style of writing led Chesterton to become one of the most beloved and prolific writers of the twentieth century. He wrote over a hundred books, one of which, called The Everlasting Man, helped lead a young C.S. Lewis to Christianity. He wrote roughly two hundred short stories, including a detective series about a charming, crime-fighting priest called Father Brown, which can now be found on Netflix. He wrote five novels, including The Napoleon of Notting Hill, which inspired Michael Collins to lead a movement for Irish Independence and, perhaps, inspired George Orwell’s 1984. He penned hundreds of poems, moving T.S. Eliot to assert that Chesterton “deserves a permanent claim on our loyalty.” What Chesterton loved most, however, was the essay. He wrote over four thousand newspaper essays for London publishers about anything and everything–from religion and politics to cheese and the contents of his own overstuffed pockets. And, to top it off, one of these essays written in the Illustrated London News inspired Mahatma Gandhi to lead the movement for Indian independence.

I have yet to mention, however, what you hold in your hands now. Orthodoxy–a book that author Philip Yancey said “had as much influence on (his) spiritual direction as any single book”–could be his most important work. This top-ten Christian classic recounts the process of how Chesterton himself grew from an atheist to a Christian and of how the ancient faith can cure a modern world gone mad. Orthodoxy is no ordinary book of apologetics, however, because it primarily focuses not on whether Christianity is objectively true, but whether it is the most adventurous and healthy way to live. Chesterton compares the faith to other popular trends of thought, then shows that, of all the religions and philosophies available, Christianity best satisfies our deepest spiritual need–the need for a life of romance. 

This book isn’t a prosaic theological treatise so much as poetic pop-philosophy. It doesn’t try to build the most fool-proof arguments, but instead tries to paint the most beautiful pictures. For the non-Christian, Orthodoxy may paint the first attractive picture of Christianity you have seen, opening the door for further spiritual exploration. For the Christian, it will help you make sense of the modern world, restore the fun in your faith, and remind you that the story of Jesus is not only true, but something you want to be true, which, on your days of doubt, may draw you back to God better than any logical argument.

Chesterton didn’t predict that Orthodoxy would have the impact it did (which, ironically, turned out to be one of the only things he didn’t predict correctly). In his elephantine humility, he sold the book to his publisher for a hundred pounds. He did not know readers would devour it for centuries to come and that it would serve as almost a prophecy of our current, postmodern society. But this humility which makes Orthodoxy such a wonderful read is also what makes it so difficult.

Chesterton didn’t predict the longevity of his work, so the book is filled to the brim with references only twentieth-century Londoners would understand. To his credit, the masses loved this because he often connected his points to popular people or places. He did not consider, however, that no one would know these people and places a hundred years later. These antiquated references combined with an outdated vocabulary and verbiage leave modern readers feeling it isn’t worth it to wade through the book with an encyclopedia in one hand and a dictionary in the other.

This modern translation was written to break down those unnecessary walls between us and Chesterton. Here are the four basic ways in which this book was adapted:

• Obscure references were either explained within the text or else removed entirely if not integral to the argument,

• Sentence structures and vocabulary were altered to better suit modern readers, 

• Sub-headings were added to help readers follow the flow of Chesterton’s unique arguments,

• And, paragraphs were broken into smaller chunks for ease of reading.

The result of these adaptations is a fun and fresh reading experience void of needless struggle–both fully Chesterton and fully enjoyable.

So, I look forward to the many emails from newcomers to the Chesterton fan club. I will read about how you now feel the world is enchanted and full of meaning, or about how you now see the madness of materialism, or about how you are no longer an optimist or a pessimist but instead a cosmic patriot. There are a thousand lessons to be learned and a thousand more puns to be enjoyed, but whatever you gain, I hope you share it with me and with others.

I will add one more note here. Chesterton calls chapters two and three “the most boring business of this book.” These chapters focus not on his own ideas but on those of his peers. My suggestion, if you happen to agree with his opinion, is to skip to chapter four, “The Ethics of Elfland.” Here Chesterton begins painting his own view of the world and it is as enchanting as it sounds. Without exaggeration, it may change the way you see everything.

Happy reading, and may your faith be refreshed.

Itching to read on? Check out our translation of Orthodoxy on Amazon!