intolerant of errors of judgment. He presentsneach of his popes with the GreatnChoice, permits most of them some transitorynglimpse of the truth, and then callsnin human pride and “historicalnnecessity” to explain the great refusal. Innthe process historical contexts, errors ofnjudgment and moral corruption are allnconfounded. The temptation to judgenand condemn much of the Church’s historyntestifies to a healthy hunger for simplicitynand holiness in a church which toonoften betrays its mission. But the temptationnhas its darker side. When the earlynChurch emerged from her first greatnperiod of persecution and determinednthat penitent apostates could be readmittedninto full communion with thenfaithful, she chose to become the Churchnof sinners as well as saints; she strove tonfollow the example of her Founder, whondined with publicans and forgave Peter’sntriple denial. That decision made thenmoral contamination of the hierarchyn(not to mention the laity) virtually inevitable.nThe Roman Catholic doctrinenof infallibility is less a proud boast than andesperate divine expedient. It is a concessionnto weakness, the supernatural supplementnto what, in the best and wisestnof us, remains a flawed nature.nOutside that narrow circle of security,nall hell may literally break loose, with thenspiritual authority contaminating thentemporal, or vice versa. To baptize andnconfess and marry and bury the king is tonaffect, or attempt to affect, his moralsnand his conduct; there is no impassablenwall, no watertight dike between churchnand state, between the king’s confessornand the king’s subjects. This does not letninstitutional religions off the hook, but,non the contrary, imposes on them a dilemmanas insoluble as it is unavoidable,nwhich is manifested in a succession ofnrazor-thin decisions.nXhe alternative—a declaration of warnagainst the World—cannot be chosen,nbut only accepted if it is imposed.nWestern Christians note the hardiness ofnChristians in communist countries, contrastingntheir unambiguous witness withnS6inChronicles of Culturenour own on-again-off-again love affairnwith the world. But there is another sidento religion in Russia or Hungary ornRumania: Dmitry Mikheyev, in an articlenin National Review, reminds us:n”fame produces its own ‘natural selection’n; we know only the dozens of victorsnand forget that thousands, tens ofnthousands, did not survive. They werenbroken, and they perished.” This isnwhere the romance of life in thencatacombs ends for too many—not in thenmartyr’s palm of victory but in the despadrnof the apostate and the timeserver.nIf our generation, or our children’s generation,never faces something of thenkind, we must hope for the grace of fortitude.nBut in the West, the present task ofnChristians is still to be in this world,nthough not of it. In this age of campaign­ning priests, revolutionary nuns andnMarxist bishops, Malachi Martin’s denunciationnof the church’s involvementnin politics is a salutary and well-earnednrebuke. But his prescription for JDuritynsounds worse than the disease. Thoughnthe middle ground must be negotiatednwith care, the extremes can be locatednwith some degree of certainty by anyonenexcept disciples of liberation theology.nOne need not embrace capitalism ornWilsonian democracy to perceive the incompatibilitynof communism and Christianity.nThe lessons of history should benlearned, but this does not mean we cannescape from history. For one of the implicationsnof an incarnate God is that allnmatters are in some sense religious, butnnot all are matters with which religiousnauthority should deal. DnStories With & Without CharacternRichard Yates: Liars in Love; DelacortenPress/Seymour Lawrence; New York.nDamon Runyon: The Bloodhounds ofnBroadway and Other Stories; WilliamnMorrow & Co.; New York.nby Richard VigilantenWho is Jill Krementz? I know hernonly as “Photograph © 1981 by JillnKrementz” which I see everywhere. Indon’t follow photography and couldn’tnname another photographer exceptnMathew Brady. But I know her. She takesnthe authors’ book-jacket photographsnfor all the books published by respectablenpublishers. She’s a monopoly. Notnthat I wish to criticize Miss Krementz’snphotography. She is a wonderful photographer.nIn fact, she is a bit dangerousn—a sort of “seat perilous” among photographers.nEven in a format as lowly asnthe publicity photo she reveals souls. Anwriter who is not of the purest of heartnMr. Vigilante is a free-lance writer innAlexandria, Virginia.nnnand allows her to do his book jacket mnsna terrible risk.nIt was only after I had read RichardnYates’ s collection of stories, liars in Love,nthat I noticed his picture on the back ofnthe book, taken by Miss Krementz, ofncourse. It is a head shot in every sense ofnthe word. Yates’s head looks huge in thenpicture, and fills most of it. The head sortnof hangs down from his shoulders as if itnis just too huge to be supported, even byna body which looks in itself to be prettynsubstantial. The hugeness of the head isnaugmented by a whiskery white beard,ngroomed just carefully enough to go withna tweed jacket or an old blazer, which isnwhat Yates is wearing. His mustache isncut so as to frame his mouth into an expressionnof restrained yet deep regret, as anclown’s makeup around xhc mouthnoften seems to give the mouth itself a sadnexpression. But in this case Yates’snmouth is very slightly upturned so thatnwithout the mustache he would be wearingna slight smile. As it is he appears simultaneouslynhappy and sad as, we mustnimagine, all wise men are.nBut Yates’s eyes are the importantn