Ideal Christianity

Ideal Christianity doesn't exist, because anything the human being touches, even Christian truth, he deforms slightly in his own image. Even the saints do this.

Flannery O'Connor, letter 1963

Depressing but true.

Sin and Evil

Sin is interesting but evil is not. Sin is the result of an individual's free choice, but evil is something else.

Flannery O'Connor, letter 1957

An interesting distinction isn't it?

A Little Bit of Flannery ... and her sense of humor

How can you not grow to like someone who tells a story like this with such humor? From The Habit of Being.

... Dear old Van Wyke insisted that I read a story at which horror-stricken looks appeared on the faces of both Caroline and Sue. "Read the shortest one!" they both screamed. I read "A Good Man is Hard to Find" and Mr. Brooks later remarked to Miss Jenkins that it was a shame someone with so much talent should look upon life as a horror story. Malcolm was very polite and asked me if I had a wooden leg.

A Little Bit of Flannery ... and How to See

More from The Habit of Being.

To Ben Griffith
4 May 1955

[...]

Occasionally I see the Georgia Review but not often; however, it would be very agreeable to me to see something written about my work for local consumption by somebody who knows something. Recently I talked in Macon (nobody had ever heard tell of me, of course) and it was announced in the paper the next day that I was a "writer of the realistic school." I presume the lady came to this conclusion from looking at the cover of the drugstore edition of Wise Blood. In a few weeks I am going to talk to some more ladies in Macon and I am going to clear up that detail. I am interested in making up a good case for distortion, as I am coming to believe it is the only way to make people see.

Flannery O'Connor, The Habit of Being

A Little Bit of Flannery ... and Fascism

Yesterday I wound up reading a long conversation about the new liturgy in a forum where one would not normally find such a thing. Among other things, there was an extremely angry person who continually called the pope a fascist and, as far as I could gather, seemed to feel that in stating her opinion in the most angry and forceful way possible, she was following in the steps of those who helped the Church stay on course. No amount of conversation, whether gentle or spirited (and there were both sorts) was enough to shake her set beliefs.

I was left to my own thoughts on whose steps she felt she was following and, therefore, my thoughts turned to the great saints who have been instrumental in changing the Church in the past. St. Francis of Assisi and St. Teresa of Avila are those who always come to my mind, although I never can think of examples where they were not obedient and respectful as well as continually trying to effect change. Not being educated extensively in their writings, I could be wrong, of course.

Most mystifying of all to me was the repeated appellation of Pope Benedict as a "fascist." I don't really understand what that means and I surely don't understand why it would be applied to him. It was, therefore, with delight that this morning I read in The Habit of Being, Flannery's own response to being called a fascist because she was Catholic.

To "A."6 september 55

I looked in my Webster's and see it is 1948, so you are five years ahead of me in your vocabulary and I'll have to concede you the word. But I can't concede that I'm a fascist. The thought is probably more repugnant to me than to you, as I see it as an offense against the body of Christ. I am wondering why you convict me of believing in the use of force? It must be because you connect the Church with a belief in the use of force; but the Church is a mystical body which cannot, does not, believe in the use of force (in the sense of forcing conscience, denying the rights of conscience, etc.). I know all her hair-raising history, of course, but principle must be separated from policy Policy and politics generally go contrary to principle. I in principle do not believe in the use of force, but I might well find myself using it, in which case I would have to convict myself of sin. I believe and the Church teaches that God is as present in the idiot boy as in the genius. ...

Whether or not this has any application to that pitifully angry person's labeling of the pope is anybody's guess. But I liked what Flannery said anyway.

A Little Bit of Flannery

I am back to reading The Habit of Being, a collection of Flannery O'Connor's letters. She is such a likable person and alternately insightful and humorous ... so naturally I am going to try to find time to share some tidbits with you.

This one is a bit out of order but I thought I'd start off with something light. And it is such toss-offs that make me wish I'd known her.

To Sally and Robert Fitzgerald
3/5/54

I am sending you off the mixes and whatnot tomorrow and I hope you get them before the worm does. I found it all but the Maltex. The Southern child lives in such a rich environment that he don't need Maltex and it is not to be found in this community. I substituted an angel-food cake mix that Mama dotes on. All you do is spit on it or something and you got an angel-food cake. ...

Things I've Learned from Flannery O'Connor ... and "The Abbess of Andalusia"

Joy in the face of suffering might seem impossible to achieve, but to avoid gloominess Flannery relied on God's grace -- a grace, she told one correspondent, that came through the sacraments. Writing to T.R. Spivey, a Protestant, she acknowledged that many things that bring Catholics grace -- going to Mass, regular fasting -- are done out of obligation, or become "merely habit." However, she believed that it was better to "be held to the Church by habit than not to be held at all." What's more, she believed that by prescribing such habitual obligations, the Church showed itself to be "mighty realistic" about human nature, since obligations provide needed structure. They also bring opportunities for grace.

Flannery believed there was something we can do to make ourselves more receptive to God's free gift of grace: "You have to practice self-denial," she told Spivey. For her that meant immersing herself in writing: "I never completely forget myself except when I am writing," she wrote to Hester. She also practiced self-denial by giving money to charity rather than spending it on herself. ...

This is a long overdue review which was delayed only by the holidays and my subsequent busy schedule, not by my enthusiasm for the work itself (generously provided by Tan for my review).

Lorraine Murray has done a splendid job of giving us a view of Flannery O'Connor which skillfully reveals the author's spiritual journey through her writing and life. Most of us are at least vaguely aware that O'Connor wrote what is often called Southern gothic stories. As such, her stories often feature the uncomfortable and grotesque, although O'Connor insisted that her stories always have a very Catholic core.

I must admit that I am one of the many who has merely dipped my toe into O'Connor's work and after finding it both difficult and uncomfortable had determined to let it strictly alone. However, this book has changed my mind. Murray does enough explication of various stories as she traces O'Connor's career that I was left interested despite myself in exploring her stories again. Believe me, this is no small accomplishment.

I also was left feeling that Flannery O'Connor and I have much more in common than I ever would have dreamed.

• Flannery delighted in the ridiculous and her descriptions of the priest's St. Patrick day decorations left me feeling that we surely would have agreed on our amusement and dismay over much of the "dumbed down" architecture, art, music, and liturgy that is encountered in the Church today.
• She sparred with her mother regularly while still loving and appreciating her. This is not my situation with my mother at all as we generally agree on many things, but it certainly is helpful to keep in mind when I encounter others who I really like but who sometimes drive me to distraction nonetheless.
• Her generosity to other writers is well chronicled. Lately I have had the honor to be asked for advice in a similar way by those I do not know at all. When I thought despairingly of my busy schedule, I remembered Flannery whose schedule was limited by her physical frailty but never failed to give her best advice and support to others. Thus I attempt to do likewise.
  
• Flannery seems to have had the same duality of feeling that I do about such places as Lourdes. While not overly caring about pilgrimages and steadfastly resisting a well meaning benefactor's donation of a trip to Lourdes, she finally went, viewing the entire thing as a sacrifice. That would have been me to a T. As she wrote, "It is obvious to me that faith has to be shown, acted out."
  
• She never succumbed to self-pity but always presented things with a light-hearted approach. What a great example she is. This is not my tendency unfortunately. However, may I do likewise, Lord hear my prayer.
• A disciplined schedule to accomplish is necessary if you are serious about achieving something. Here I am thinking of Flannery's set time for writing each morning, at a desk that faced a white wall so there were no distractions. That's a lesson that many of us in this twittering, facebooking, emailing, IMing world would do well to remember.
• There is a pure enjoyment that comes to us from nature and the creatures in it which can't be found elsewhere. Flannery's love of her peacocks, chickens, mules, and other animals around the farm is a tonic, especially in a society where we are beginning to hear about Vitamin D deficiencies becoming widespread since we don't get outside enough.
• Hand in hand with nature went Flannery's love of her friends as evidenced through the of letters she wrote and received. I am working my way very slowly through The Habit of Being which is a chronological collection of her correspondence. Her personality shines through with a great sense of humor. We can't be isolated. We need community, friends, family to be complete.
  

 The only thing I was missing in this book was the recommendation of a book that would help in tapping into O'Connor's stories, especially for those of us who are uninitiated into the world of critical reading and symbolism that they seem to require. However, Murray does use some key stories (with spoilers) to make points about O'Connor's spirituality and perhaps that is guide enough.

Highly recommended.

For another excerpt and the realization it gave, please click through.

From Nathaniel Hawthorne to Flannery O'Connor. And Back Again.

I am continually surprised at the way people and events are connected both in the big wide world and in my personal experience. My own Rose has a passion for Nathaniel Hawthorne's writing which, combined with her and Hannah's love of The Scarlet Letter, made me pick up and read that book which high school English had taught me to despise.

I found a complex and interesting book which made me admire Hawthorne's character as much as his writing. Additionally, I found new depths when Heather Ordover at the CraftLit podcast recently featured the book read aloud by her listeners as well as including her enlightening commentary. Much was made there of Hawthorne's understanding of women as people. I wrote to Heather about his daughter, Rose Hawthorne, and how his influence must have contributed greatly to her character. Rose converted to Catholicism and in 1900 founded an order to care for inoperable cancer patients.

The Dominican Sisters of Hawthorne is an American religious community, founded on December 8, 1900 by two extraordinary women. Rose Hawthorne, daughter of American novelist Nathanial Hawthorne, began the work at age 45. She moved into a tenement in the poorest area of New York City, and began nursing incurable cancer patients. Rose, later to become Mother Alphonsa, was a convert to Catholicism. This work was the practical fulfillment of her conversion.

About halfway through the excellent The Abbess of Andalusia: Flannery O'Connor's Spiritual Journey, I have discovered with pleasure that Flannery O'Connor put her finger on a specific moment of influence. O'Connor had agreed to edit and write the introduction for a book about a terribly deformed little girl (Mary Ann) who nonetheless lived a life of joy, written by an Atlanta chapter of the order who approached her. There is much food for thought in "The Abbess" about the role of "innocent suffering" in the life of the Christian and the life of the Church, prompted by O'Connor's own thoughts and writings while working on the book. In considering the Hawthorne connection, which I find interesting for all the threads I see converging as well as for the reminder that we often do not realize the good we are doing, I include this excerpt:

It is true that Mary Ann suffered, but Flannery did not believe she suffered in vain. Rather her suffering was a thread woven within the larger fabric of believers called the Communion of Saints. In the introduction, Flannery described the Communion of Saints as "the action by which charity grows invisibly among us, entwining the living and the dead."

On May 14, 1961, she explained to a friend that "the living and the dead" referred to Nathaniel Hawthorne, who was her inspiration for the introduction. Long before Mary Ann was born, Hawthorne had written about visiting the children's ward in a Liverpool workhouse. There, according to his description, he met a "wretched, pale, half-torpid child of indeterminate sex, about six years old." Hawthorne admitted that he found the child repulsive, but for some mysterious reason, the child took a liking to him. The child insisted that Hawthorne pick him up. Despite his aversion, Hawthorne did what the child wanted: I should never have forgiven myself if I had repelled its advances."

According to Flannery, Mother Alphonsa believed that these were the greatest words her father ever wrote. And many years after Mother Alphonsa had died, Flannery perceived a mystical connection existing between Hawthorne's picking up the child, his daughter working among the dying and the sisters caring for a little girl with a disfigured face.

There is a direct line between the incident in the Liverpool workhouse, the work of Hawthorne's daughter, and Mary Ann -- who stands not only for herself but for all the other examples of human imperfection and grotesquerie which the Sisters of Rose Hawthorne's order spend their lives caring for. Their work is the tree sprung from Hawthorne's small act of Christlikeness and Mary Ann its flower.

Flannery O'Connor dedicated the book to the memory of Nathaniel Hawthorne.