This has proven to be one of the most popular posts on the blog, which suggests that lots of people enjoy, but perhaps are puzzled by, Flannery O'Connor's short stories. I would be happy to explore more of her stories (I've got a couple of half-written posts that are hanging fire). If you have a particular O'Connor story that excites, interests, or puzzles you, leave a comment at the end of this post and let me know -- or you can email me
, if you don't want to leave a public comment.
A recent comment on an
old post about Flannery O'Connor
raises some questions that I thought I
would respond to in a separate post, rather than depositing them in the
obscurity of the comm box. Janet Baker left a long comment (you can read it in
its entirety there), which says in part:
I'm currently working on the short story Revelation, looking
at the text for what it says about Flannery's Catholicism, rather than listening
to her pronouncements in non-fiction, like her letters. If you read the story,
you will note that it is Mrs. Turpin's virtues that must be burned away before
she enters heaven, and that people enter heaven in groups, racial and social.
Perhaps you don't read either St. Thomas Aquinas, or Teilhard de Chardin, nor
have I extensively, but if you begin to read about it, you'll see that St.
Thomas promotes the virtues of which Mrs. Turpin is guilty--generous
almsgiving, supporting the Church, helping others regardless of their worthines
[sic] of help. It was Teilhard, whom Flannery really loved and read even when
it wasn't time for bed, as she did Thomas. Teilhard, on the other hand,
supports the idea that we enter heaven in groups and all enter, all, after
their individual identities had been burned away. That's why he was a heretic
and rejected by the Church, along with all his bogus evolutionary crap,
although he influenced the Church deeply, and perhaps mortally.
Janet, thanks for your comments. I’m glad you like the blog;
stop by any time! As a longtime student and teacher of literature (the field in
which I hold a doctorate, from a Catholic university), and as sincere Catholic well-educated in the Faith,
I can tell you that I see no sign in “Revelation” that O’Connor was espousing
the kind of universalism that you impute to
Teilhard de Chardin, nor do I believe that the burning away of the “virtues” mentioned in the story (which are
actually faults) should be equated with the obliteration of individual
Point of View matters
Let’s look at the passage to which you refer. (I’ll assume
the reader is familiar with the story in its entirety, and the context of this
passage within the story.) This is the final scene, in which Mrs. Turpin has
challenged God to explain why He allowed someone to call a respectable woman
like herself “a warthog from Hell.” As she gazes toward the sunset awaiting
A visionary light settled in her eyes. She saw the streak
[of purple sunset] as a vast swinging bridge extending upward from the earth
through a field of living fire. Upon it a vast horde of souls were rumbling
toward heaven. There were whole companies of white-trash, clean for the first
time in all their lives, and bands of black niggers in white robes, and
battalions of freaks and lunatics shouting and clapping and leaping like frogs.
And bringing up the end of the procession was a tribe of people whom she
recognized as those who, like herself and Claud, had always had a little of
everything and the God-given wit to use it right. She leaned forward to observe
them closer. They were marching behind the others with great dignity,
accountable as they had always been for good order and common sense and
respectable behavior. They alone were on key. Yet she could see by their
shocked and altered faces that even their virtues were being burned away. ...
In the woods around her the invisible cricket choruses had struck up, but what
she heard were the voices of the souls climbing upward into the starry field
and shouting hallelujah.
I think, Janet, you misunderstand what O’Connor is
implying when she says that “even their virtues were being burned away.” This
refers to the people at the end of the procession, those with whom Mrs. Turpin
identifies (“people whom she recognized as those who, like herself and Claud,
had always had a little of everything and the God-given wit to use it right”.) Statements by the
omniscient narrator are filtered through Mrs. Turpin’s consciousness, including the approving description of those at the end of the procession; thus, what
gets burned away in her vision are their self-imputed “virtues” which she shares, i.e., her sense of self approval, her
self-righteousness, her mania for judging herself, along with everyone and
everything else, according to a scale of middle-class respectability, which
judges appearances rather than the heart. The purifying fire of God’s love
burns away the dross of these “virtues,” leaving only real goodness, so that
these souls may enter into His presence rejoicing. What we have here is
something like what Dante depicted in the Purgatory section of his Divine
– souls in the process of being purified, who rejoice even though the
process is painful and difficult.
O’Connor liked to use the symbols of water and fire to
indicate purification. In a letter to Dr. T. R. Spivey on 9 April 1960, she said:
Water is a symbol of purification and fire is another.
Water, it seems to me, is a symbol of the kind of purification that God gives
irrespective of our efforts or worthiness, and fire is the kind of purification
that we bring on ourselves – as in Purgatory. It is our evil which is naturally
burnt away when it comes anywhere near God.
In Mrs. Turpin’s vision, the freaks and lunatics are at the
head of the line and the respectable middle-class people are at the end because
“the first shall be last, and the last shall become first,” as our Lord
promised. (Those whom comfortable, complacent people like Mrs. Turpin
have despised in this life will enter the Kingdom
of Heaven before those who despised them.) An allusion to this is made in the passage immediately preceding Mrs.
Turpin’s vision, when she angrily yells to Heaven, “Go on, call me a hog! Call
me a hog again. From hell. Call me a wart hog from hell. Put that bottom rail
on top. There’ll still be a top and a bottom!” Clearly, Mrs. Turpin’s amour
has been wounded and she blames, not the unpleasant girl who actually
called her a wart hog, but God Himself. She goes on, almost apoplectic with
rage, to shout at God: “Who do you think you are?” God’s reply is the vision of
the procession in the sky.
It's hard to become a saint
Mrs. Turpin is not a bad woman, and she is, in her own
benighted way, trying to be a good woman, but she doesn’t really know how to go
about it. She is blinded to her own faults. That’s why she is so nonplussed when
the ill-tempered college girl, Mary Grace, attacks her (she is both literally and figuratively “struck
by Grace”); that’s why she is so horrified and humiliated to be called a
“wart hog from hell.” I think Mrs. Turpin has something in common with the rich
young man, who observed all the Jewish law quite willingly, to whom Our Lord
said, “One thing only is lacking. Go sell all you have and give to the poor and
follow me.” The difference is that the rich young man just didn’t get it and
“went away sad.” Mrs. Turpin is more fortunate – God grants her a great grace,
a vision of her true state, and, although she does not understand it, she is
changed (converted) by it. In the end, she is humbled, not merely humiliated,
and humility is the beginning of true virtue.
|Flannery O'Connor's passive diminishment|
didn't stop her from being a brilliant writer.
Every single one of Flannery O’Connor’s stories is about the
transformative action of Grace in the soul – usually a stubborn, recalcitrant
soul, the soul of the last person you’d expect to be transformed by Grace, the
soul of someone like Mrs. Turpin, or the grandmother in “A Good Man is Hard to
Find,” who doesn’t believe he or she is in need of transformation or salvation.
The soul of a Pharisee who is given the grace to see that he/she and the
Samaritan, the publican, the harlot, (as well as the “freaks,” the “lunatics,” the
“white trash” and “niggers”) have a lot in common in the sight of God. God
loves them all, despite their deficiencies, and it is clear that O’Connor loves
them, too, and wants her readers to love them, not because of but despite their
That’s pretty much the way I feel about my friend, Flannery,
a woman who doubtless had her limitations but who was constantly striving to
transcend them, by the grace of God, right up until the day she died. I see no
evidence in this story that Flannery O’
Connor was influenced by Teilhard de Chardin and “all his bogus evolutionary
crap”; rather, I see a perfectly orthodox theology of Grace, undoubtedly shaped
by the writings of the Angelic Doctor, whose work she devotedly read every
night before bed. With respect to her interest in Teilhard de Chardin, she
admitted that, being neither a theologian nor a scientist, she didn’t
understand a lot of what he wrote; her admiration for him seems to spring more
from the way he inspired her imagination, as well as his idea about “passive
diminishment,” a concept which spoke to her own condition as one who suffered from an
incurable, debilitating illness. Certainly, I see no taint of Teilhard’s
unorthodox views on Original Sin or cosmic evolution in “Revelation” or any of
O’Connor’s other short stories.
Was Flannery O’Connor a saint? I don’t know and don’t particularly
care. If she wasn't when she died, she will be when we meet in eternity. She certainly was a sincere and devout Catholic, although not a narrow one. She
devoted her life to putting her one indisputable talent in the service of God,
trying to awaken to the hope of repentance
and spiritual regeneration a culture that was busy abandoning Him. Perhaps she was too much impressed by some of the
theological fads of her day, but I think it would be off the mark to brand her
a “modernist.” I dislike the practice of applying shibboleths that divide
Catholics (or other Christians) into tendentious dichotomies: “modernists” and
“traditionalists,” “heretics” and “true believers,” “us” and “them.” To do so
presents a temptation to sin against Charity, and puts us in the camp of the
unregenerate Mrs. Turpin and other self-satisfied pharisees. More important is
to distinguish between Truth and error (love the sinner, hate the sin), and I
find plenty of truth, and Charity, in Flannery O’Connor’s stories.
©2015 Lisa A. Nicholas
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