Wylie contends is that the Catholic writer, because he believes in certain defined mysteries, cannot, by the nature of things, see straight; and this contention, in effect, is not very different from that made by Catholics who declare that whatever the Catholic writer can see, there are certain things that he should not see, straight or otherwise. These are the Catholics who are victims of the parochial esthetic and the cultural insularity and it is interesting to find them sharing, even for a split second, the intellectual bed of Mr.
- Related Story?
- Related books and articles?
- O'Connor's Short Stories;
- essay on use of computers in business.
- step by step guide to research papers;
- ignou assignment question papers 2013-14;
- The Church and the Fiction Writer: From March 30, | America Magazine?
It is generally supposed, and not least by Catholics, that the Catholic who writes fiction is out to use fiction to prove the truth of his faith or, at the least, to prove the existence of the supernatural. He may be. No one can be sure of his motives except as they suggest themselves in his finished work, but when the finished work suggests that pertinent actions have been fraudulently manipulated or overlooked or smothered, whatever purposes the writer started out with have already been defeated.
What the fiction writer will discover, if he discovers anything at all, is that he himself cannot move or mold reality in the interests of abstract truth. The writer learns, perhaps more quickly than the reader, to be humble in the face of what is.
How to Write Literary Analysis
What is is all he has to do with; the concrete is his medium; and he will realize eventually that fiction can transcend its limitations only by staying within them. Henry James said that the morality of a piece of fiction depended on the amount of "felt life" that was in it. The Catholic writer, in so far as he has the mind of the Church, will feel life from the standpoint of the central Christian mystery; that it has, for all its horror, been found by God to be worth dying for. To the modem mind, as represented by Mr. Wylie, this is warped vision which "bears little or no relation to the truth as it is known today.
When people have told me that because I am a Catholic, I cannot be an artist, I have had to reply, ruefully, that because I am a Catholic I cannot afford to be less than an artist. The limitations that any writer imposes on his work will grow out of the necessities that lie in the material itself, and these will generally be more rigorous than any that religion could impose.
Part of the complexity of the problem for the Catholic fiction-writer will be the presence of grace as it appears in nature, and what matters for him here is that his faith not become detached from his dramatic sense and from his vision of what is. No one in these days, however, would seem more anxious to have it become detached than those Catholics who demand that the writer limit, on the natural level, what he allows himself to see.
If the average Catholic reader could be tracked down through the swamps of letters-to-the-editor and other places where he momentarily reveals himself, he would be found to be something of a Manichean. By separating nature and grace as much as possible, he has reduced his conception of the supernatural to pious cliche and has become able to recognize nature in literature in only two forms, the sentimental and the obscene.
He would seem to prefer the former, while being more of an authority on the latter, but the similarity between the two generally escapes him. He forgets that sentimentality is an excess, a distortion of sentiment, usually in the direction of an overemphasis on innocence; and that innocence, whenever it is overemphasized in the ordinary human condition, tends by some natural law to become its opposite.
Sentimentality is a skipping of this process in its concrete reality and an early arrival at a mock state of innocence, which strongly suggests its opposite. Pornography, on the other hand, is essentially sentimental, for it leaves out the connection of sex with its hard purposes, disconnects it from its meaning in life and makes it simply an experience for its own sake.
Many well-grounded complaints have been made about religious literature on the score that it tends to minimize the importance and dignity of life here and now in favor of life in the next world or in favor of miraculous manifestations of grace. When fiction is made according to its nature, it should reinforce our sense of the supernatural by grounding it in concrete observable reality.
If the writer uses his eyes in the real security of his faith, he will be obliged to use them honestly and his sense of mystery and his acceptance of it will be increased. To look at the worst will be for him no more than an act of trust in God; but what is one thing for the writer may be another for the reader. What leads the writer to his salvation may lead the reader into sin, and the Catholic writer who looks at this possibility directly looks the Medusa in the face and is turned to stone.
He becomes aware, too, of sources that, relatively speaking, seem amply pure but from which may come works that scandalize. He may feel that it is as sinful to scandalize the learned as the ignorant. In the end, he will either have to stop writing or limit himself to the concerns proper to what he is creating.
It means that he can limit himself to the demands of art. The author must, of course, realize that it is his function, no less than it is the function of the Church, to protect souls from dangerous literature.
Good Versus Evil in a Road Trip Gone Awry
If in some instances the Church sees fit to forbid the faithful to read a work without permission, the Catholic author will be thankful that he has been recalled to a sense of responsibility. The fact would seem to be that for many writers it is easier to assume universal responsibility for souls than it is to produce a work of art, and it is considered better to save the world than to save the work. This view probably owes as much to romanticism as to piety, but the writer will not be liable to entertain it unless it has been foisted on him by a sorry education or unless writing is not his vocation in the first place.
That it is foisted on him by the general atmosphere of Catholic piety in this country is hard to deny, and even if this atmosphere cannot be held responsible for every talent killed along the way, it is at least general enough to give an air of credibility to Mr. A belief in fixed dogma cannot fix what goes on in life or blind the believer to it. A dimension taken away is one thing; a dimension added is another, and what the Catholic writer and reader will have to remember is that the reality of the added dimension will be judged in a work of fiction by the truthfulness and wholeness of the literal level of the natural events presented.
If the Catholic writer hopes to reveal mysteries, he will have to do it by describing truthfully what he sees from where he is. A purely affirmative vision cannot be demanded of him without limiting his freedom to observe what man has done with the things of God. If we intend to encourage Catholic fiction writers, we must convince those coming along that the Church does not restrict their freedom to be artists but ensures it the restrictions of art are another matter.
To convince them of this requires, perhaps more than anything else, a body of Catholic readers who are equipped to recognize something in fiction besides passages that they consider obscene. It is popular to suppose that anyone who can read the telephone book can read a short story or a novel, and it is more than usual to find the attitude among Catholics that since we possess the truth in the Church, we can use this truth directly as an instrument of judgment on any discipline at any time without regard for the nature of that discipline itself. Fiction, made according to its own laws, is an antidote to such a tendency, for it renews our knowledge that we live in the mystery from which we draw our abstractions.
The Catholic fiction writer, as fiction writer, will look for the will of God first in the laws and limitations of his art and will hope that if be obeys those, other blessings will be added to his work. The happiest of these and the one he may presently least expect? She died in Your source for jobs, books, retreats, and much more.
Flannery O'Connor March 30, Show Comments 5. Comments are automatically closed two weeks after an article's initial publication. See our comments policy for more. I'm looking at the collected works of Flannery O'Connor published by The Library of America, and the paragraph missing from their version of "The Church and the Fiction Writer" is actually missing the paragraph after what is bracketed in this online version.sdc.ascensiondental.com/xagi-tios-buenos-tatuados.php
Flannery O’Connor’s “A Good Man is Hard to Find”: Who's the Real Misfit? | NEH-Edsitement
- case studies retail and investment banks use of social media.
- argumentative essay mixed marriage.
- Is It Hard For Find A Good Man??
- hartselle civitain essay!
- Analysis of Flannery O'Connor's Story, 'A Good Man Is Hard to Find'!
Her writing style reflects the ethnic relation in the South and her own Christian faith. The author writes in third person limited point of view to portray the tragic journey of a family who lived in Georgia in On the road, The kids and the grandmother persuade Bailey to drive them to the see a plantation which the grandmother visited when she was a lady. Unfortunately, the family gets into an accident on the desolate dust road to the plantation.
The only thing the family can do is to wait for help, and it turns out that their help is none other than The Misfit and his buddies. The Misfit orders his buddies to take all the family members except the grandmother into the wood and shoot them.
Response paper on A Good Man Is Hard To Find - Kyle Simmons...
Hopelessly, the grandmother calls The Misfit her child and wants to touch him on the shoulder, but this angers The Misfit. As a result, he shoots the grandmother three times on the chest. From this quote the readers can perceive that the grandmother is good at manipulating her son by saying that going to Tennessee can be beneficial to the kids in order to achieve her own purpose. The kids, John Wesley and June Star, are innocent compare to their selfish grandmother.
Under this kind of circumstance, probably most of the people would be quiet in order to avoid trouble, but John Wesley mentions the gun just because he is simply curious. Unfortunately, his inquiry brings The Misfit into action, and results in tragedy. Although The Misfit is not present until the final pages of the story, he influences the story from the exposition of the story when the grandmother tells Bailey that he flees from the prison, and is on the way to Florida. The author uses a clear and detailed direct characterization to portray The Misfit when he first appears in the story.
The author describes him as a man whose Hair just beginning to gray and he wore silver rimmed spectacles that gave him a scholarly look. He had on blue jeans that were too tight for him and was holding a black hat and a gun. The conversations between The Misfit and the grandmother also reveal the evil inside The Misfit. As a result, his philosophy blinded his conscience, and make his sinful actions look naturally appropriate to himself. Besides characterization, foreshadowing is also a significant literary element throughout the story.