"The Prayers of All Good Men are Good."

“The prayers of all good men are good”
Our vast world, if one makes the desperate attempt to understand it, must be viewed through the great kaleidoscope of morality. Morality is the lever and the pulley of human action, the driving force behind everything from vast social movements to the whimsical public opinion. And while its presence often motivates people positively, there are aspects of morality that divide and stratify the world on its largest scale and human relationships on their most intimate. We are all different people, formed mostly by the culture in which we grow up and the families in which we are raised. Our backgrounds and our actions determine us, and therefore they determine our religions, our morality. We may be raised as Protestant, as Catholic, as Muslim, as Jew, or a multitude of other religions, and how we are raised may push us away from those religions or farther into our faith. Either way, it is unlikely that any one person’s religion matches another’s. Sadly, this diversity doesn’t usually lead to tolerance; more often than not, the world’s major religions build deep and high walls between people and nations of different beliefs. Thus arises judgment and inevitable conflict. Perhaps the greatest moral question of our generation does not lie within evaluating ourselves, but in judging the morality of others. Our world is embroiled in religious conflicts: Muslims, Christians, and Jews in the Middle-east, Catholics and Protestants in Ireland, Buddhists, Hindus, and Muslims in Southwest Asia, and abundant religious persecution in areas like Africa, the Middle-east, and the United States. It is obvious that the largest source of warfare in our world is either directly caused by or involves a considerable amount of religious intolerance. Willa Cather didn’t write her masterpiece, My Ántonia, to highlight such conflict, but nevertheless, it contains a plea for religious tolerance that is both eloquent and simple. Through the quiet words of Josiah Burden, the narrator’s grandfather, Cather insists that “the prayers of all good people are good.” Indeed, Cather’s claim is honest and candid. In today’s world of high-strung religious tensions, every Christian, every Muslim, every Jew, every human being can learn from the plain truth that Cather presents.
The Midwest has always been known for its conservative values and its strong, religious people. We are, stereotypically, the hard-working men and women of the land—faithful and traditional. Our hearts and minds are the plains we live in; they are large and loving and the sun shines on them. But they are hard to change. When fire sweeps through and burns the grass, soon there is new growth, but the same plains. The Midwest is, no doubt, a Christian land. Willa Cather’s novel is set here, and it would seem an odd juxtaposition to place a plea for religious tolerance amongst a so conventional and often stubbornly intolerant people. But it is perfect. Josiah Burden represents much of the Midwest’s traditional values, like hard work and strong faith. Using him as a conduit for moral expression allows Cather to reach those who need the message the most. The man’s quiet words resonate profoundly in a world full of hate and misunderstanding. The prayers of all good men—all good men—are good. Not just the prayers of Protestants or Catholics. Not just the prayers of Christians. The prayers of all good men have value and meaning; they are not merely empty supplications to false gods. It’s difficult view to maintain in a world like ours, but the value of understanding it lies in a more beautiful and united world. Good men, and good women, should be judged on the basis of their morality and character, not their religion. It may be an idealistic goal, but Willa Cather shows us that such a simple ideology can be compatible with all kinds of people, including the obdurate Midwesterners.
These are difficult and obscure times we live in. Morality has been twisted and turned into something barely comprehensible. Everything from television to war is confused and confusing, and the masses don’t know what moral is from immoral. Truly, our society, our world, is in a crisis. Or maybe it has always been. Differences, it seems, pronounce inferiority and the teeming masses see morality only in similarity. Religion is politics, and politics are hopelessly dissolute. My Ántonia offers a simple plea to the world: abandon the complicated, judgmental attitudes we clothe our beliefs in. Take up instead the creed that the prayers of all good men are good. To judge others on the sole basis of their religion is absurd. To judge others because of their morality is an entirely different thing. Whether we can adopt such an accepting view will be a challenge for coming generations that will equal any moral crisis in history. We are entering a point in the course of moral history where our judgments of others have ramifications far more severe than simple personal disputes—wars are started over religious differences. “The prayers of all good men are good.” It is a statement so undemanding and with such candor that the only possible application is universal. Indeed, Cather provides us with albeit a seemingly too easy ideological fix. But nevertheless, it contains a real truth: that the morality and goodness of every person does not lie in the name of their religion. There are immoral Christians and immoral Muslims, yet that does not mean that all Christians and all Muslims are bad people. Goodness stems from good morality, not good religion. Willa Cather’s novel, My Ántonia, with its profound plea for religious tolerance, shines light on what is indeed the greatest moral challenge of our generation: finding inside ourselves the strength to look past names and titles into the true nature of our fellow humans’ morality.