Letters
The relationship between James Hathaway and his mother can be catalogued in three stages. The first, indifference. The letters of indifference started when he left for boarding school at aged ten. He'd been so keen to tell his mother everything that was going on in his new life, a long, long way away from home that his letters, with scrawled writing and excited drawings, often contained more ink than paper before they were sent.
The token replies he received could have fitted on a postcard. Any questions about her, father or the estate were all blatantly ignored. They were all practically the same, at any rate, containing some variant of glad to see we've not wasted our money sending you there. As time went on, James' letters changed from thrilled anecdotes to hard facts. His grades. The fact that he'd taken twice the number of recommended classes and was passing all of them. His ambitious plans for the future. Did she have any ideas about what he should do?
The first phase was the longest, and in some respects the coldest. The replies remained the same. Pleased to see we're getting our money's worth. It's your choice.
To a point, James had grown used to the lack of enthusiasm he received from his mother. He'd reached the point where he'd channel every success he had into a single letter, in the hopes of getting a reaction. Of getting anything which implied she cared. A drop of love in the ocean of his own significance. He scoured every letter she'd ever sent him in the hopes of finding something which suggested any sort of pride in him. All there was, was the underlying sense that he was doing simply what was expected of him.
Despite this, James still wanted her to be proud. He went through every conversation he could ever remember having with her and reached a conclusion which brought him into the second stage, encouragement.
With bated breath and trembling fingers he penned another letter I'm thinking of going into the church.
Suddenly, the second phase was upon him. His mother's handwriting, which usually only covered two lines, now covered reams of paper. James was overwhelmed by the new enthusiasm his mother had for him. Now her letters were full of praise and explanation of what he needed to do to reach 'his' goal. Her goal. In spite of the knowledge that it was mainly her dream, not his, and swept away by the unfamiliar feelings of parental care, James allowed himself to be swept away with the dream. Long hours of Bible study awaited him.
But, a few days before he was prepared to go into training, James hit the bump in the road. Or, more accurately, his friend, Alex's parents died in a car crash, leaving his friend devastated. Wreaked. Traumatised. Broken. Alex stopped going to classes. Stopped eating. Stopped bothering to get up in the morning. Stopped washing. Then, finally, stopped talking at all.
The problem of suffering confronted James whenever he even got a glimpse of a cross or crucifix. He could see Alex's face; white, tear-stained and emancipated even with his eyes shut. It arrested his thoughts when he was trying to study. It invaded his rest time and led to him spending increasing amounts of time hunched over the Bible, straining his eyes in the middle of the night. Looking for an answer.
The Problem of Suffering. If God is all-loving, then he wouldn't want us to suffer. But if God was all-knowing, then he'd know that people do. If God was all-powerful, then surely, surely he'd do something to stop the plight of people. Good people. But, as the days passed and James visited Alex in the residential care setting he now resided, sedated for most of the day and zoned out for what was left, no huge act of help occurred.
Nothing brought Alex out of the depression.
Which left the analytical mind of James Hathaway thinking. God existed and was all-loving, all-knowing and all-caring, wasn't he? But it didn't fit. Finally he pencilled a list of options.
If God knows we suffer and can help, but doesn't. Then He is not all-loving.
If God cares, but doesn't know that we suffer. Then He is not all-knowing.
If God knows we suffer and cares, but can't help. Then He is not all-powerful.
If God is all of those things, but doesn't help then how do we know he's there at all?
After reading his doubts in God, James threw his pencil aside and went to bed. His head in his hands. For that night, he let himself believe his childhood belief that God had a huge plan and we were only seeing the corner of it, from down here on Earth. He had a plan to make it all better, but we had to be patient and try and interpret the small part of it we had. When he reassured himself of this, maybe for the fifth time, he finally got to sleep.
In the morning, James hid away in the library with a stash of books and a headache. First of all, he wanted to prove to himself, once and for all that God existed and was, in fact, everywhere. He read a science book explaining the Big Bang Theory. Who was it who created the Big Bang, he reminded himself. God. Because the science book was pretty foggy about who created the hydrogen and helium and encouraged them to explode in the first place. That was, James repeated to himself, an act of God.
He kept reading. From 'How the World Began', he moved on to a more complex book with uncomfortable, slanting font. St. Augustine's Theory of why Evil Exists-
God did not make evil and is not responsible for it.
Moral evil (decisions made by people which hurt others) began with the Original Sin and is the fault of the person who commits it.
Natural evil (bad things which happen and are out of human control) is a result of the breakdown of natural order after The Fall.
To sum up- evil is down to mankind's mistakes
People can be saved through Christ
Although this didn't resolve everything for James, it did give him a little comfort. However, it also scared him. If something like, Alex's problems could throw him into such a tizzy, then how was he expected to provide the answers to people suffering in such a way? James Hathaway didn't like not having the answers.
That was what clinched it for him, really. He wasn't going to become a priest and not know how to comfort the people whose job it would have been for him to comfort. So, with a steady hand and a heavy heart, James penned another letter, without realising that his first, cynical list was actually written on the back of the paper.
Dear mother, I have come to a worrying conclusion on account of my future. I do not think that my faith and knowledge is strong enough to allow me to begin priesthood. I regret that I will try and follow a different path to the one that you wish me to go down.
Tentatively, but with little hope in his heart, he added and I hope that you will respect my decision and remain in contact with me.
The third and final phase, of Mrs. Hathaway's letters was: silence. That letter was the last James ever sent, was the last ever exchanged between them. His mother never replied, even with token indifference and James couldn't bear to lay his soul open to her again, knowing that her reaction was probably going to be disappointment.
He'd never been enough for her. His best efforts, his hours of work, his outstanding grades and endless letters (all finished with Love from James) would never be enough for her. It was the final straw. James knew that his backing out of the church was the final sign that he wasn't good enough. That he'd failed again.
He thought that maybe it was time he started looking elsewhere for pride. Even now, they were still in the third phase. His mother never wrote to stop the silence and James would never willingly put himself in a position where his feelings could be trampled over by her indifference again.
