What do you think?
Rate this book
None Other Gods
Robert Hugh Benson (1871 - 1914) was the youngest son of the Archbishop of Canterbury. After college Benson was ordained as a priest in the Church of England. While on a trip to the Middle East Benson began doubting the Church of England and eventually joined the Community of the Resurrection. In 1903 he became a Roman Catholic. In 1904 he was ordained as a priest. None Other Gods begins, "These two young men were sitting in one of the most pleasant places in all the world in which to sit on a summer evening--in a ground-floor room looking out upon the Great Court of Trinity College, Cambridge. It was in that short space of time, between six and seven, during which the Great Court is largely deserted. The athletes and the dawdlers have not yet returned from field and river; and Fellows and other persons, young enough to know better, who think that a summer evening was created for the reading of books, have not yet emerged from their retreats. A white-aproned cook or two moves across the cobbled spaces with trays upon their heads; a tradesman's boy comes out of the corner entrance from the hostel; a cat or two stretches himself on the grass; but, for the rest, the court lies in broad sunshine; the shadows slope eastwards, and the fitful splash and trickle of the fountain asserts itself clearly above the gentle rumble of Trinity Street."
292 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1911
16 people are currently reading
117 people want to read
About the author
Robert Hugh Benson
320 books186 followersMrsgr. Robert Hugh Benson AFSC KC*SG KGCHS was an English Catholic priest and writer. First an Anglican pastor, he was received into the Catholic Church in 1903 and ordained therein the next year. He was also a prolific writer of fiction, writing the notable dystopian novel Lord of the World, as well as Come Rack! Come Rope!.
His output encompassed historical, horror and science fiction, contemporary fiction, children's stories, plays, apologetics, devotional works and articles. He continued his writing career at the same time as he progressed through the hierarchy to become a Chamberlain to Pope Pius X in 1911, and gain the title of Monsignor before his death a few years later.
His output encompassed historical, horror and science fiction, contemporary fiction, children's stories, plays, apologetics, devotional works and articles. He continued his writing career at the same time as he progressed through the hierarchy to become a Chamberlain to Pope Pius X in 1911, and gain the title of Monsignor before his death a few years later.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
November 15, 2024
19-year-old Frank sets off from Cambridge, on foot with a little money, no fixed plans and his religious ideals to guide him. Like many hopeful young people, he has some rough lessons ahead of him. Hunger, fighting, prison, betrayal and abandonment for starters. And THEN REAL things start to happen. Oh, and we supposed those others were the real, but they were just the gnats, the spiders, the inconveniences, the REAL was when his eyes were opened, and he SAW:
Most highly recommended!
'I saw suddenly that what had been wrong in me was that I had made myself the center of things, and God a kind of circumference. When He did or allowed things, I said, 'Why does He?'—from my point of view. That is to say, I set up my ideas of justice and love and so forth, and then compared His with mine, not mine with His. And I suddenly saw—or, rather, I knew already when I awoke—that this was simply stupid. Even now I cannot imagine why I didn't see it before: I had heard people say it, of course—in sermons and books—but I suppose it had meant nothing to me. (Father Hildebrand tells me that I had seen it intellectually but had never embraced it with my will.) Because when one once really sees that, there's no longer any puzzle about anything. One can simply never say 'Why?' again. The thing's finished.'With Robert Hugh Benson, you know you are going to get a thoughtful book, but even so this was a stunner. I think this was him imagining, what if he had done something like this at a young age, with a few variations of course.
Most highly recommended!
May 24, 2024
It is F. Scott Fitzgerald's punishment for being the author of one of the great American novels that all his undergrad enthusiasms are not just well known but subjects for decades of scholarship. In writing This Side of Paradise Fitzgerald was working through Compton Mackenzie's Youth's Encounter and Robert Hugh Benson's None Other Gods, "quest books" (as Amory and his friends label them) that involve an undergrad who is both, ahem, conventionally handsome and funny and, ahem, deep and seriously onto Something.
You can see the family relationship between the three books here—the protagonist's life in school, the girl who is not quite right for him, etc. It's got the requisite chilling supernatural scene, though (unlike the other two) it's not about sex. But over the course of the novel I thought less about Amory Blaine and Fitzgerald and more about Seymour Glass and Salinger—about how difficult it is to live with a saint who is focused entirely on his inner life, and how difficult it is to write about him.
Frank Guiseley is Benson's saint, a Catholic convert (like Benson himself) who quits school and gives up his inheritance to start tramping across England doing odd jobs. Benson lets us know that Guiseley has died and presents himself as the editor of the book; he's been looking through Guiseley's journals and talking to his college friend Jack and following loose threads across England (I love how much English writers and their characters love walking around the countryside) to try to understand him.
It's clear that Benson thinks Frank is a saint, but it's not clear that anyone would enjoy being around him. The old Frank was the figure Fitzgerald sometimes hero-worshipped, the brave thoughtful merry prankster; the new Frank is tangled up in scruples and stuck on his own inner life in a way that seems to preclude any human connection. His friends worry about him, so he leaves them. His father doesn't understand right away, so he's out too.
"I'm too busy inside," he said. "Those things don't seem to matter much, somehow."
"Inside? What the deuce do you mean?"
Frank made a tiny deprecating gesture. "Well, what it's all about, you know ... Jack."
"Yes."
"It's a frightfully priggish thing to say, but I'm extraordinarily interested as to what's going to happen next—inside, I mean. At least, sometimes; and then at other times I don't care a hang."
After a brief time on the road by himself he joins up with "The Major," who is not really a major, and his wife, who is not really the Major's wife. Frank becomes convinced almost immediately that his purpose in life is to separate Gertie, the non-wife, from the non-Major, because she is a good girl who should be reconciled with her parents. All this is fine, but Frank becomes convinced that this has to happen in a way that crushes him; like Seymour or Teddy in Salinger, Frank receives a premonition of his own death and follows it monomaniacally to enlightenment. (If she needs money to get home, for instance, good old Jack can't loan him the cash; it needs to be the final shillings he will ever toil for, or the pawnbroker's loan for his threadbare coat.)
What is it that Seymour does for the rest of the Glass family? Salinger tries telling us in every possible way. He tells us about every Glass sibling, then he tells us about Seymour himself, then he lets Seymour out as a clairvoyant nine-year-old summer-camper, and he can't do it. People who love the Glass stories tend to love the other Glass siblings, right? Anxious Franny or hyper-sensible Boo Boo or the put-upon Buddy of "Raise High The Roof Beam, Carpenters." And they love Seymour. But I don't know that we do.
Benson and Frank can tell us why Frank Guiseley the hilarious man-about-town was not personally fulfilled, even when he started doing good works—
I hated the things he did and said, not because they were wrong, but because they were what I called 'bad form.' That was really the whole thing. Then I saw a lot more, and it made me feel miserable. I used to think that it was rather good of me to be kind to animals and children, but I began to see that it was simply the way I was made: it wasn't any effort to me. I simply 'saw red' when I came across cruelty. And I saw that that was no good.
"Then I began to see that I had done absolutely nothing of any good whatever—that nothing had really cost me anything; and that the things I was proud of were simply self-will—my leaving Cambridge, and all the rest. They were theatrical, or romantic, or egotistical; there was no real sacrifice. I should have minded much more not doing them. I began to feel extraordinarily small.
There's a lot there, especially if you've read This Side of Paradise—Amory does not reach this level of insight, which is why Fitzgerald could not figure out how to end any version of the novel. But it creates in Frank a kind of brutal, self-centered enlightenment, the sort of thing I associate more with sixties-inflected "eastern spirituality" than the Oxford Movement. Frank does pry Gertie away from the Major, and he does it in a way that makes him a sort of Christ figure, and—I don't know, what does that do for his friends and family? Jack who has put his entire life on hold to try to save him, and cousin Dick who realizes suddenly that there's more to life than a good income, and Gertie who is in love with him, and the landlord's little son who loves Frank and finds him there in his awful rooms. Frank is not Christ; Jack could have relieved Frank of his burden at any point and been enriched by it himself.
What is Frank's cruelty in the face of mundane human kindness supposed to tell us?
You can see the family relationship between the three books here—the protagonist's life in school, the girl who is not quite right for him, etc. It's got the requisite chilling supernatural scene, though (unlike the other two) it's not about sex. But over the course of the novel I thought less about Amory Blaine and Fitzgerald and more about Seymour Glass and Salinger—about how difficult it is to live with a saint who is focused entirely on his inner life, and how difficult it is to write about him.
Frank Guiseley is Benson's saint, a Catholic convert (like Benson himself) who quits school and gives up his inheritance to start tramping across England doing odd jobs. Benson lets us know that Guiseley has died and presents himself as the editor of the book; he's been looking through Guiseley's journals and talking to his college friend Jack and following loose threads across England (I love how much English writers and their characters love walking around the countryside) to try to understand him.
It's clear that Benson thinks Frank is a saint, but it's not clear that anyone would enjoy being around him. The old Frank was the figure Fitzgerald sometimes hero-worshipped, the brave thoughtful merry prankster; the new Frank is tangled up in scruples and stuck on his own inner life in a way that seems to preclude any human connection. His friends worry about him, so he leaves them. His father doesn't understand right away, so he's out too.
"I'm too busy inside," he said. "Those things don't seem to matter much, somehow."
"Inside? What the deuce do you mean?"
Frank made a tiny deprecating gesture. "Well, what it's all about, you know ... Jack."
"Yes."
"It's a frightfully priggish thing to say, but I'm extraordinarily interested as to what's going to happen next—inside, I mean. At least, sometimes; and then at other times I don't care a hang."
After a brief time on the road by himself he joins up with "The Major," who is not really a major, and his wife, who is not really the Major's wife. Frank becomes convinced almost immediately that his purpose in life is to separate Gertie, the non-wife, from the non-Major, because she is a good girl who should be reconciled with her parents. All this is fine, but Frank becomes convinced that this has to happen in a way that crushes him; like Seymour or Teddy in Salinger, Frank receives a premonition of his own death and follows it monomaniacally to enlightenment. (If she needs money to get home, for instance, good old Jack can't loan him the cash; it needs to be the final shillings he will ever toil for, or the pawnbroker's loan for his threadbare coat.)
What is it that Seymour does for the rest of the Glass family? Salinger tries telling us in every possible way. He tells us about every Glass sibling, then he tells us about Seymour himself, then he lets Seymour out as a clairvoyant nine-year-old summer-camper, and he can't do it. People who love the Glass stories tend to love the other Glass siblings, right? Anxious Franny or hyper-sensible Boo Boo or the put-upon Buddy of "Raise High The Roof Beam, Carpenters." And they love Seymour. But I don't know that we do.
Benson and Frank can tell us why Frank Guiseley the hilarious man-about-town was not personally fulfilled, even when he started doing good works—
I hated the things he did and said, not because they were wrong, but because they were what I called 'bad form.' That was really the whole thing. Then I saw a lot more, and it made me feel miserable. I used to think that it was rather good of me to be kind to animals and children, but I began to see that it was simply the way I was made: it wasn't any effort to me. I simply 'saw red' when I came across cruelty. And I saw that that was no good.
"Then I began to see that I had done absolutely nothing of any good whatever—that nothing had really cost me anything; and that the things I was proud of were simply self-will—my leaving Cambridge, and all the rest. They were theatrical, or romantic, or egotistical; there was no real sacrifice. I should have minded much more not doing them. I began to feel extraordinarily small.
There's a lot there, especially if you've read This Side of Paradise—Amory does not reach this level of insight, which is why Fitzgerald could not figure out how to end any version of the novel. But it creates in Frank a kind of brutal, self-centered enlightenment, the sort of thing I associate more with sixties-inflected "eastern spirituality" than the Oxford Movement. Frank does pry Gertie away from the Major, and he does it in a way that makes him a sort of Christ figure, and—I don't know, what does that do for his friends and family? Jack who has put his entire life on hold to try to save him, and cousin Dick who realizes suddenly that there's more to life than a good income, and Gertie who is in love with him, and the landlord's little son who loves Frank and finds him there in his awful rooms. Frank is not Christ; Jack could have relieved Frank of his burden at any point and been enriched by it himself.
What is Frank's cruelty in the face of mundane human kindness supposed to tell us?
August 17, 2018
This story would fit in quite well with the parables in the gospel. A wealthy young man walks away from it all and gives his life away. From a secular standpoint, it's a complete waste. He wanders around England with no money and begging for food and shelter while he seeks work. He went on this journey because he converted to Catholicism and his family disowned him.
On his journey, he meets two people who are likewise in need. He takes an interest in them. He can leave them at any time and find a way to be comfortable but he stays. He does all he can to help them. And there is a cost.
Benson was an Anglican priest who became a Catholic. He writes books about the Catholic faith that are deeply inspiring. This one reminds me of St Francis of Assisi.
If you like a story that makes a moral point, this is for you.
On his journey, he meets two people who are likewise in need. He takes an interest in them. He can leave them at any time and find a way to be comfortable but he stays. He does all he can to help them. And there is a cost.
Benson was an Anglican priest who became a Catholic. He writes books about the Catholic faith that are deeply inspiring. This one reminds me of St Francis of Assisi.
If you like a story that makes a moral point, this is for you.
October 26, 2016
Beautiful. Oh, wow, I don't even know what to say. A book about the spiritual life of an imaginary character that is so delicately drawn that you hardly realize what's really going on under the exteriors of the story - just as in real life. Some may find it depressing, but to me it was actually singularly encouraging. It is a comfort to remember that the value of one's life is not measured in external success.
March 7, 2021
This was a very interesting book. I thought it was beautiful; but in a spiritual under the surface sort of way; also rather mysterious, like as Frank says that something is happening that he is a part of, things building up. But really beautiful, sad yet happy in a way not at all expressed by the word. In a happy way one could never describe, I suppose happiness in the soul. Anyway it was just heavenly.
October 18, 2025
First, there's no talking about Frank wanting to be a priest, from what I remember—so, there's some inaccuracy to the book's synopsis. I admit I went into the book hoping for a story about a young man striving for the ideal of the priesthood; that's why, in a way, I was disappointed. But it doesn't mean the story isn't good. Far from this—I think it's one of Msgr. Benson's finest.
Other reviewers said that Frank reminds them of St. Francis of Assisi. Some say this is the story of a saint; others wouldn't be entirely wrong if they said it's the story of a naive aristocratic boy learning about the hard truths of life. I think the answer is in the middle. Nowhere does the author try to exalt or even justify Frank's actions; in fact, Msgr. Benson writes profusely about the flaws of his protagonist, and how he thinks Frank is, in reality, inexperienced and sometimes superstitious. He receives the note from his father and has no doubts that the only way forward is to leave everything behind and live like a tramp; they explain this by reminding us of Frank's gypsy blood. Everything points towards the fact that his decision wasn't entirely supernatural: it was something stemming from his own spontaneous nature and enthusiastic ideals. He realizes this a little too late, when he's already hellbent on leading Gertie back to her family. Another decision that isn't entirely supernatural: there's something of his own stubbornness in it.
So, Frank wasn't a saint, but he was on his path to sainthood. We see this in his conversations with Fr. Hildebrand, and later, in a beautiful Christmas scene, when he seemed to reach a state of pure contemplative prayer. But all this progress comes to a halt with the tragedy that closes the book.
Then, we should ask the question: Has Frank truly failed? And what is the meaning of the title, "None Other Gods"?
The answer to the first is yes and no. Yes, for he did commit mistakes and got himself into trouble, often for futile reasons; and there were definitely more fruitful ways to help Gertie, even if he succeeded, in the end. But also, no, he didn't entirely fail, for we know the ultimate failure is eternal damnation. God, in fact, knows everything about us and everything we will do in life; so, even the minutest defects of our temperaments are ordained by God to a higher purpose. Even great saints had tragic failures in life, and they made mistakes; but God permitted it to humiliate His sons, to bring good out of error, and for reasons we will never know in this world. One example in fiction is Elijah in Jerusalem.
Even so, his rash decisions taught him something about himself, and about God, and about the world. Frank embraced poverty and achieved some peace and humility of spirit. He learned by experience things he knew only by study, and he renounced all the idols of the world—comfort, money, pleasure, pride, fame, love—to follow the will of the only true God. So, while Frank seeks the path towards the One God, the other characters represent all the idols that enslave humanity: Jenny is self-conceit, ambition, and prudence of the flesh; Lord Talgarth, self-indulgence and dullness of heart; Gertie and the Major, love of the flesh leading to toxic relationships, and so on. In this sense, by "None Other Gods", the author means Frank's ultimate conversion to God, renouncing the earthly gods of his old life.
Now, this is a work of genius; yet, I cannot say that everything about the narrative pleases me, though much may stem from the time when the book was written. I feel that the story could be much better if it were more tight and focused on Frank's journey, maybe giving us more of his diary, and less of the other characters' lives. I mean, they are important, but much could be said in a sentence or two.
That's why, at least till now, from his modern age novels, I still prefer "An Average Man".
Other reviewers said that Frank reminds them of St. Francis of Assisi. Some say this is the story of a saint; others wouldn't be entirely wrong if they said it's the story of a naive aristocratic boy learning about the hard truths of life. I think the answer is in the middle. Nowhere does the author try to exalt or even justify Frank's actions; in fact, Msgr. Benson writes profusely about the flaws of his protagonist, and how he thinks Frank is, in reality, inexperienced and sometimes superstitious. He receives the note from his father and has no doubts that the only way forward is to leave everything behind and live like a tramp; they explain this by reminding us of Frank's gypsy blood. Everything points towards the fact that his decision wasn't entirely supernatural: it was something stemming from his own spontaneous nature and enthusiastic ideals. He realizes this a little too late, when he's already hellbent on leading Gertie back to her family. Another decision that isn't entirely supernatural: there's something of his own stubbornness in it.
So, Frank wasn't a saint, but he was on his path to sainthood. We see this in his conversations with Fr. Hildebrand, and later, in a beautiful Christmas scene, when he seemed to reach a state of pure contemplative prayer. But all this progress comes to a halt with the tragedy that closes the book.
Then, we should ask the question: Has Frank truly failed? And what is the meaning of the title, "None Other Gods"?
The answer to the first is yes and no. Yes, for he did commit mistakes and got himself into trouble, often for futile reasons; and there were definitely more fruitful ways to help Gertie, even if he succeeded, in the end. But also, no, he didn't entirely fail, for we know the ultimate failure is eternal damnation. God, in fact, knows everything about us and everything we will do in life; so, even the minutest defects of our temperaments are ordained by God to a higher purpose. Even great saints had tragic failures in life, and they made mistakes; but God permitted it to humiliate His sons, to bring good out of error, and for reasons we will never know in this world. One example in fiction is Elijah in Jerusalem.
Even so, his rash decisions taught him something about himself, and about God, and about the world. Frank embraced poverty and achieved some peace and humility of spirit. He learned by experience things he knew only by study, and he renounced all the idols of the world—comfort, money, pleasure, pride, fame, love—to follow the will of the only true God. So, while Frank seeks the path towards the One God, the other characters represent all the idols that enslave humanity: Jenny is self-conceit, ambition, and prudence of the flesh; Lord Talgarth, self-indulgence and dullness of heart; Gertie and the Major, love of the flesh leading to toxic relationships, and so on. In this sense, by "None Other Gods", the author means Frank's ultimate conversion to God, renouncing the earthly gods of his old life.
Now, this is a work of genius; yet, I cannot say that everything about the narrative pleases me, though much may stem from the time when the book was written. I feel that the story could be much better if it were more tight and focused on Frank's journey, maybe giving us more of his diary, and less of the other characters' lives. I mean, they are important, but much could be said in a sentence or two.
That's why, at least till now, from his modern age novels, I still prefer "An Average Man".
February 18, 2016
A truly remarkable book! Off to a bit of a slow start, like a lot of Benson's books are, though they mostly richly reward the effort required to get into them. This story unfolds to become increasingly moving and truly inspiring, reaching an intensity that is quite hard to bear at the end. And this without lapsing into maudlin sentimentalism. An unforgettable book that not only lingers in the mind and heart, but also nurtures the spirit.
I am puzzled a little by the description under this version though. Frank Guiseley is not off to join the clergy, and his father's reaction is not due to any intention on his son's part of becoming a priest. It is due to the fact that he has become Catholic, and Frank's reaction to his father's response that he will cut him off is to sell the possessions he has been left with, pay his debts, and take to the road.
I am puzzled a little by the description under this version though. Frank Guiseley is not off to join the clergy, and his father's reaction is not due to any intention on his son's part of becoming a priest. It is due to the fact that he has become Catholic, and Frank's reaction to his father's response that he will cut him off is to sell the possessions he has been left with, pay his debts, and take to the road.
January 16, 2024
The first Benson book I haven’t enjoyed. Of course the book is well written and Benson has a wonderful ability to paint the interior spiritual life of a character. I think I might just be too Choleric to appreciate the story. It would make more sense to me if Frank had joined the monks instead of following the degenerate bums around England. His grand mission of getting the girl back to her family doesn’t seem to me to be that heroic. Surely he could’ve reached higher levels of sanctity in the monastery or at least made some positive changes to his community if he returned home? Instead the Major will likely spend the rest of his life in prison, Gertie will probably keep being a whimsical and immature woman, and the estate will pass on to extended family.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
March 12, 2016
This book is a hagiography of an imaginary saint, whose life and achievements are every bit as pointless by the standards of the world as the life of a 4th century hermit.
It is, on a human level, a story of abject failure.
But on another level this is a story of a victory. In this book there is a vivid sense that a spiritual war of tremendous importance is going on, far more clearly and truly than in Chesterton’s picaresque extravaganzas or Charles Williams’ grotesqueries. At the end we are sure that Frank has won; that God has won; that in the sight of God the fate of Gertie is every bit as important as the fate of empires or galaxies; and that the unease we (by we, I mean I) have always had with the ending of Perelandra is because that story ought to have ended something like this one, if it was really Christian.
And finally, this story is a straightforward and clearheaded account of what might happen to anybody – even you or me – if we were to take seriously what is written in the Gospels about selling all you have and giving it to the poor, walking two miles with the man who forces you to walk one mile, loving your neighbour as yourself, etc. All that crazy stuff.
It is, on a human level, a story of abject failure.
But on another level this is a story of a victory. In this book there is a vivid sense that a spiritual war of tremendous importance is going on, far more clearly and truly than in Chesterton’s picaresque extravaganzas or Charles Williams’ grotesqueries. At the end we are sure that Frank has won; that God has won; that in the sight of God the fate of Gertie is every bit as important as the fate of empires or galaxies; and that the unease we (by we, I mean I) have always had with the ending of Perelandra is because that story ought to have ended something like this one, if it was really Christian.
And finally, this story is a straightforward and clearheaded account of what might happen to anybody – even you or me – if we were to take seriously what is written in the Gospels about selling all you have and giving it to the poor, walking two miles with the man who forces you to walk one mile, loving your neighbour as yourself, etc. All that crazy stuff.
April 20, 2023
Benson wrote beautiful novels.
This one portrays a young man of Benson's time who took seriously the command Jesus gave to the young rich man to leave all his possessions and follow Him. Family and friends understandably think he's a bit crazy.
Benson's prose is lovely; he is very good about creating characters, descriptions, dialogue, plot, all that novel-y stuff -- but what I enjoy most about his books is their spiritual atmosphere. Benson must have had a pure faith to write about holy characters in such a believable and appealing way. One of the great things about this one is that you get to see the main character's spiritual growth as he deals with challenging people and situations.
This one portrays a young man of Benson's time who took seriously the command Jesus gave to the young rich man to leave all his possessions and follow Him. Family and friends understandably think he's a bit crazy.
Benson's prose is lovely; he is very good about creating characters, descriptions, dialogue, plot, all that novel-y stuff -- but what I enjoy most about his books is their spiritual atmosphere. Benson must have had a pure faith to write about holy characters in such a believable and appealing way. One of the great things about this one is that you get to see the main character's spiritual growth as he deals with challenging people and situations.
September 16, 2023
Quite difficult for me to get into for some reason. The 4 stars is purely for the moral merits and evangelical values shown in the story.
June 27, 2013
A surprising gem of a tale. I thought for a while that it was going to be a reselling of the repentant son story but rather it is a telling of a story about 'to follow Me you may have to abandon you mother, father and family' quote in John's Gospel. Sacrificing wealth, privilege and prestige to help a lost soul is admirable in any generation and in any culture. I can imagine Benson went through this same trial himself when he converted from Anglicanism. Lovely book about a lovely man who is Christ-like.
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews