Sin in Storytelling

Last year I joined a local chapter of the national book club titled Well-Read Moms. (Disclaimer: I am not a literal mom, but I like to believe I live out the charism of spiritual motherhood through my students and my choir.)

 The club has been a really positive experience, and the books we read last year were enjoyable and edifying -- even Charles Dickens' Hard Times and George Eliot's Middlemarch... which I am still slogging through... but I digress. 

We are currently gearing up for the first book of the new year, a one-act play by Margaret Edson titled Wit (or W;t, depending on what edition you are reading). However, as we begin to delve into the work, one of the mothers in the group posited the following question: 

"In the play 'Wit', a character uses the phrase G--D--- several times. The character is not a Christian. One mother feels that Wit should not have been chosen since it takes the name of the Lord in vain. Her thought was that as a group for busy moms, the organizers of the club should have had a higher standard and found a different work on the same topic. What do you think?"

I was immediately reminded of the criticism that Flannery O'Connor received for her short stories. Although most of these stories are violent as well as dark, she always includes a moment of grace to which the main character must respond in some way, shape, or form. The main character may choose to reject this moment of grace, but it is there for the taking. 

Flannery O'Connor, 1925-1964.

Flannery O'Connor's stories portray the true order of the universe, for where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more. God is ever reaching out to the human person in love, offering them moments to repent and to believe in the Gospel. At the Incarnation, God Himself entered into the sinful messiness of the human world, taking on flesh so that we might have life and have it more abundantly. But ultimately, it is the choice of the individual to accept His offer. 

When it comes to whether or not a book should be read and recommended by Catholics, the most important thing is whether or not the book proclaims the truth about the human condition and the spiritual order, for while there is sin, there is also grace. Both forces are at play, but the grace of God always prevails. 

There are plenty of books in great literature that contain sin, whether or not it's taking the Lord's name in vain or committing murder or adultery. Crime and Punishment is about a homicide. Does that mean we shouldn't read it? Solzhenitsyn's famous short story, One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich also contains profanity and blasphemy, but it honestly and brutally portrays life in a gulag, as the book gives a concise but brilliant testament to the evils of the Communist Regime in the Soviet Union. 

In sum, while it is possible for the portrayal of sin in storytelling to become gratuitous or over-the-top, it's important to portray the world honestly, and honesty requires the acknowledgement that we live in a fallen world, where sin and evil manifest themselves in various forms. However, evil must be counter-balanced by a poignant moment of grace. 

I am eager to see how the two forces are at play in Edson's Wit. 

I See Dead People

When I was studying abroad in Austria, a couple of my friends and I got together one night to watch the 1999 Night Shyamalan film The Sixth Sense. The film tells the story of a successful child psychiatrist named Malcolm Crowe who takes on the task of helping a traumatized little boy named Cole who appears to be plagued by visions of ghosts. However, as Malcolm's relationship with the boy develops, he realizes that the boy's fantasies are far more disturbing than he imagined.

It is a highly suspenseful and rather gritty film, and one of the key moments in the story goes like this: (SPOILER ALERT)

Cole: "I see dead people."
Malcolm: "In your dreams?"
[Cole shakes his head no]
Malcolm: "While you're awake?"
[Cole nods]
Malcolm: "Dead people like, in graves? In coffins?"
Cole: "Walking around like regular people. They don't see each other. They only see what they want to see. They don't know they're dead."
Malcolm: "How often do you see them?"
Cole: "All the time. They're everywhere."

Later on, a theology professor at my undergraduate school used this scene to help us come to grips with the reality of those who live without the sacraments -- that is, without the life of grace -- either through ignorance, or worse, neglect and/or mortal sin. Whether they know it or not, these people have killed the spiritual life within them and they have become, in a manner of speaking, walking dead people. What's worse is that, more often than not, "They don't know that they're dead."

Problem: Dead people who don't realize that they're dead.

Solution? First of all, how do you make them realize they're dead? Secondly, how do you awaken them, or more accurately, how do you resurrect them? The second question is not so complicated, as that is the purpose of the sacraments of Penance and Anointing of the Sick -- sacraments of healing. But first you must make them realize they are dead. You have to move them to want to awaken.

Let's turn to another rather disturbing story, Flannery O'Connor's A Good Man is Hard to Find. The story follows an unfortunate encounter between a family and a band of criminals who are lead by a man known as the Misfit. The main character is a grandmother, a self-proclaimed "lady" who appears to be a religious woman. As the story progresses it becomes apparent that she is not only weak but deeply flawed. However, towards the end of the story, the Misfit experiences a moment of vulnerability and, moved with compassion, the grandmother suddenly cries, "Why you're one of my babies. You're one of my own children!"  Although she is being held at gunpoint, she foregoes the moral high ground she's staunchly kept and embraces her and the Misfit’s common humanity. The Misfit later realizes her change of heart and observes, "She would have been a good woman if it had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life." He recognizes that it is in facing death that the grandmother realizes her capacity to be a good woman. If she had lived her whole life at gunpoint, the grandmother might have gained the self-awareness and compassion which she lacked.

In other words, the grandmother was spiritually dead without knowing it until she witnessed the Misfit's moment of vulnerability and she was awakened by recognition of the beauty of the human person.

Beauty. (You knew it was going to be my favorite B-word). Beauty has the capacity to awaken the dead. I'm sure most of us have experienced this at least once in our lives: an unexpected moment in which your breath is taken away by something like the view of the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the lush colors of a forest in autumn, walking into a gothic cathedral, holding a baby in your arms, witnessing/receiving an act of kindness. It's a feeling of awe, yearning, vulnerability, as if one has been the recipient of an immense unexpected gift. It's a feeling that inspires one person to say, "I have to ask her to marry me," and another person to say, "I have to beg your forgiveness."

Sunrise over the Alps in Gaming, Austria.

Now we know of plenty of amazing vistas around the world through which the Creator's unmediated voice speaks to us: Niagara Falls, the Alps, the Cliffs of Moher, autumn in Vermont, the Grand Tetons, etc. However, there are plenty of us (myself included) who don't live next door to these natural wonders. How can we give them this sense of the beautiful?

Art. (On to my second favorite, the A-word...) As people become less connected to the unmediated Creator (a.k.a. natural wonders which present the majesty and beauty of the Creator without us having to do anything except stand there and experience it), they are going to need to encounter art that gives them the sense of the beautiful.

We need art that awakens -- not violates, but awakens.

We need art that shoots people every day of their life.
And it is our responsibility as believers to create this kind of art.

But that begs the question, how is this kind of art created? What makes art so beautiful that, as Rainer Maria Rilke writes in her poem Archaic Torso of Apollo, it compels them to change their life?

Most of the smart guys (Aquinas, Plato, Aristotle, Augustine to name a few) seemed to agree that beauty consists of three things: wholeness + harmony + radiance (and you don't have to take my word for it).

These three factors automatically cancel out qualities such as cute, pretty, facile, puerile, and banal. In other words, if it's easy/cheap, it's not beautiful.  Beauty takes effort, blood, sweat,  tears, money, and generous benefactors. Artists pour themselves into their work and they deserve to be paid for what they create.

If art has an agenda -- political, egalitarian or other -- it's not beautiful. Beauty does not bash people over the head. It simply presents the truth in the hope that people's hearts will respond. Exhibit A, B, C:

Altarpiece of Veit Stoss, St. Mary's Basilica, Krakow, Poland.

An Easter Liturgy at St. Mary's Catholic Church in Remsen, Iowa

"Like Great Drops of Blood" by Mary Sullivan

I see dead people... and it's time we helped them wake up.