Graduate Work

American Modernism
By Scott Hays

Hemingway Instills a Sense of Religiosity
in a Book About the So-Called ‘Lost Generation’
Scott Hays

Reading Ernest Hemingway’s novel The Sun Also Rises, one quickly gets a sense that not only are these fictional characters definitely part of the so-called “Lost Generation,” but that in the process of seeking the bohemian lifestyle and rejecting the values of American materialism, they also have “lost” faith in God. Indeed, it could be argued that these expatriates drink excessively, spend money foolishly, and engage in unhealthy personal relationships in their futile search for meaning to their lives. To that end, Hemingway’s novel serves as an excellent example of literary modernism, for there appears to be no real sense of structure or plot, and we as readers are thrust into the middle of a story with no clear direction and no clear issues or resolutions. Yet I’m here to make the argument that, in fact, Hemingway offers resolutions to the moral aimlessness of these characters by instilling a sense of religiosity into his text through idyllic pastoral scenes that define specific Christian values, and through the referencing of church as some sort of pathway to a more fulfilling spiritual life.

Even before the novel opens, Hemingway quotes a passage from Ecclesiastes 1:4 that biblical scholars suggest was written either by a man of doubt who had wandered far from God, or by a man of faith who saw that mankind simply couldn’t put the whole of life together. Seems only appropriate that Hemingway used this quote to illustrate the purposelessness of a generation lost to the horrors of a war; a war that set new standards for death and destruction, leaving in its wake millions upon millions of shattered lives that could no longer rely on such Christian values as love and faith. The universe goes on and on, but man passeth into eternity with no remembrance.

“One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth forever. The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose. The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits. All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again.”

Consider then the opening chapters to The Sun Also Rises. Here we find several expatriates in Paris living an aimless existence; an existence devoid of any true emotion except for the interpersonal nastiness they heap upon one another. They move in packs from bar to bar, drinking heavily to fill their time with petty activities and petty quarrels. And though the narrator Jake Barnes does not perceive anything unhealthy about this existence of theirs, at least not in the beginning of the novel, we as readers get a sense that he understands the dilemma of the Lost Generation, even though he remains trapped by its excesses.

But the idea of God is not necessarily dead in Jake’s world. To the contrary, it appears as though religion is everywhere—in the cathedrals and churches he passes on his way to and from Paris, and in the Spanish countryside where peasants demonstrate Christian values in sharp contrast to the decadence of Paris and the expatriate set. In Chapter X, for example, Jake and his fellow expatriates arrive in the very clean Spanish town of Bayonne, where early one morning he and Robert Cohn, the Jewish non-veteran of the group, stop by the first of several cathedrals along their passage.

“We went out into the street again and took a look at the cathedral. Cohn made some remark about it being a very good example of something or other, I forget what. It seemed like a nice cathedral, nice and dim, like Spanish churches.” (96)

It’s this sense of longing for something far greater than himself that keeps leading Jake back to the issue of faith; either the faith he lost or the faith he never had. Later, Jake finds himself walking alone and passing the same cathedral, and decides to go inside where he prays and prays. Whether by accident or design, Hemingway changes his narrative style in this particular passage from simple, spare, and journalistic to overly descriptive, even poignant.

“I knelt and started to pray and prayed for everybody. . . then I prayed for myself again, and while I was praying for myself I found I was getting sleepy. . . and all the time I was kneeling with my forehead on the wood in front of me, and was thinking of myself as praying, I was a little ashamed, and regretted that I was such a rotten Catholic, but realized there was nothing I could do about it, at least for a while, and maybe never, but that anyway it was a grand religion, and I only wished I felt religious and maybe I would the next time.” (102-103)

In the Spanish countryside on their way to go fishing, Jake and Bill seem bothered by the Catholics on the train because they posses strong faith and a belief in God and in moral order. It’s here where we learn that Jake is himself a Catholic: “That’s what makes me so sore.” At one point, Bill even scolds Jake for being an expatriate living in Paris: “You’ve lost touch with the soil. You get precious. Fake European standards have ruined you. You drink yourself to death. You become obsessed by sex. You spend all your time talking, not working. You are an expatriate, see.” (120)

Clearly, Jake lacks a confident, secure faith. But this never prevents him from continuing to seek faith, either on the steps of some ancient cathedral or when fishing, where he can seek God in Nature. The beauty of his surroundings has a way of transcending the mundane concerns, shortcomings, and conflicts of his life. Consider, for example, Hemingway’s narrative style and his use of color to express a sense of oneness with nature. It’s almost as if Jake sees the face of God in the grass and the trees and the great fields of yellow worse; or he hears the voice of God in the woods and waterways and the wind while fishing.

“We walked on the road between the thick trunks of the old beeches and the sunlight came through the leaves in light patches on the grass. . . There was no undergrowth, only the smooth grass, very green and fresh, and the big gray trees well spaced as though it were a park. . . There were wild strawberries growing on the sunny side of the ridge in a little clearing in the trees. . . The hills ahead were not wooded, and there were great fields of yellow gorse.” (122)

However, Hemingway can only sustain this idyllic pastoral scene for a brief while, before the Spanish fiesta intrudes, and all parties are back to drunken revelry. It’s around this time where Jake mentions that he went to church a couple of times, once with the beautiful British socialite Lady Brett Ashley. “She said she wanted to hear me go to confession, but I told her that not only was it impossible but it was not as interesting as it sounded, and besides, it would be in a language she did now know.” (154) This particular exchange sets the stage for several other moments where Jake and Lady Brett consider the existence of God and the power of faith. For instance, after Robert Cohn has beaten the young bullfighter Pedro Romero into a bloody mess, for spending time with Lady Brett with whom Cohn is in love, Jake and Brett walk along the streets of Barcelona and look inside the yellow walls of a chapel

“We went in through the heavy leather door that moved very lightly. It was dark inside. Many people were paying. You saw them as your eyes adjusted themselves to the half-light. We knelt at one of the long wooden benches. After a little I felt Brett stiffen beside me, and saw she was looking straight ahead. ‘Come on,’ she whispered throatily. ‘Let’s get out of here. Make me damned nervous.’”

Even though the praying “had not been much of a success,” Jake’s sense of longing for something far greater than himself keeps tugging at his soul. And it’s exactly this subtext to the novel where, I believe, Hemingway was trying offer solutions to the moral aimlessness of his characters. “’You might pray,’ I laughed. ‘Never does me any good. I’ve never gotten anything I prayed for. Have you?’ ‘Oh, yes.’ ‘Oh , rot,’ said Brett. ‘Maybe it works for some people, though you don’t like very religious, Jake.’ ‘I’m pretty religious,’ Jake answered.” (213)

And finally this passage, toward the end of the novel when Lady Brett reflects on why she’s leaving Pedro Romero, the 19-year-old bullfighter: “’You know it makes one feel rather good deciding not to be a bitch . . . It’s sort of what we have instead of God.’ ‘Some people have God,’” I said. ‘Quite a lot.’” (249)

There’s no evidence whatsoever to suggest Hemingway was a man of faith. Then again, these things move in mysterious ways and perhaps, deep down in some dark crevice of Hemingway’s soul, there lurks a man just like Jake Barnes, a man of doubt who had wandered far from God, or perhaps a man of faith who sees that mankind simply cannot put the whole of life together. Either way, it would certainly answer a lot of questions about the seeming purposeless existence of the characters who inhabit The Sun Also Rises.

WORKS CITED
Hemingway, Ernest. The Sun Also Rises. New York, NY: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1926.

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