Theology: Good Grief, Charlie Schulz!

Is Charlie Brown’s “good grief!” an exclamation of fundamental Angst? Does Linus’ blanket have a deep symbolic meaning? Such questions may sound like ways to take the fun out of Charles Schulz’s famous comic strip Peanuts. But Robert L. Short, 32, a graduate student at the University of Chicago Divinity School, argues not only amusingly but also convincingly that Peanuts indeed has intentional theological significance.

The Nameless Woe. In a new paperback called The Gospel According to Peanuts (Knox; $1.50), Short contends that the cartoon, whose creator is a lay preacher in the Church of God of Anderson, Ind., is a modern variety of prophetic literature, full of useful parables for the times. For example, “the doctrine of original sin is a theme constantly being dramatized in Peanuts.” When Charlie Brown gloomily confides to Linus that he has “been confused right from the day I was born,” he sums up the “nameless woe” that is at the heart of man’s predicament.

Another expression of man’s sinfulness is the inability of Schulz’s characters to change for the better: fuss-budgety Lucy is destined to grow from “the crabby little girl of today” to “the crabby old woman of tomorrow”; “good ol’ wishy-washy” Charlie Brown will be forever friendless, always the losing pitcher in 184-to-O baseball games. Trapped by what Cardinal Newman called “some terrible aboriginal calamity,” Schulz’s characters never seem able to keep up with the world. As Linus puts it: “How can you do ‘new math’ problems with an ‘old math’ mind?”

Sin, according to St. Paul, is worshiping any god but God. In Schulz’s “child’s garden of reverses,” says Short, false idols are plentiful, and the wages of sin are paid in terms of an “emotional clobbering.” Thus Linus’ beloved blanket-“only one yard of outing flannel stands between me and a nervous breakdown” -is constantly threatened by the dog Snoopy or the visiting grandmother who disapproves of such habits (and drinks 32 cups of coffee a day). Lucy’s love for Schroeder goes unrequited; the heart of the little blond pianist belongs only to Beethoven. Charlie Brown’s lowpowered positive thinking-“I actually believe that I can fly this kite”-always ends in a tangle of string.

Ups, Not Downs. Like the adults they really are, the children of Peanuts are beset by an assortment of griefs and fears. Charlie Brown’s little sister Sally is afraid of kindergarten. Linus, refusing to memorize his piece for the Christmas pageant, knuckles under when faced with the imminent threat of his sister’s cocked fist. The ungovernable loudmouth Lucy gets depressed by the thought that the world has downs as well as ups. “I don’t want any downs,’ ” she bellows. “I just want ‘ups’ and ‘ups’ and ‘ups.’ ” Even Snoopy-whom Short sees as a kind of Christ figure, a hound of heaven alternately threatening to run away with Linus’ blanket and offering to Charlie Brown a tail-wagging friendship-is obsessed with a “weed-claustrophobia” that makes him a less than desirable outfielder, a fallible catcher in the rye.

Behind the daily wit of Peanuts, concludes Short, lies an essentially Christian view of reality. Its characters, of course, act out a comedy. But that is precisely what Christianity is, a divine comedy defined by Soren Kierkegaard as “the most humorous point of view in the history of the world.” Such fundamental doctrines as the Resurrection, the Incarnation, the Holy Spirit, have always been an offense to cold reason-“a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles,” as St. Paul put it. In fact, says Short, one literally has to become like a child to believe such things. “But again, this is precisely why Christ said, ‘Whoever humbles himself like this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.’ “