Brad Gooch’s new biography of Flannery O’Connor has sparked a new surge of interest in her. By now, O’Connor’s place in American fiction is secure. But, as always, non-Christian critics have to struggle with what to make of her Catholicism. The results of their struggles usually say more about them than about O’Connor, and the same is true of Christopher Benfey’s New Republic review.
“Like others before him, Gooch overestimates O’Connor’s theological sophistication….The truth is that O’Connor liked the Catholic Church because she didn’t have to think about it….
Attempts to find this or that Christian idea embodied in her stories are doomed to failure, or to tedium at best. Who wants to believe that the interpretive key to her stories lies in the earnest theological musings of Jacques Maritain or Thomas Merton? She wanted to escape what she called in her essays ‘determinism,’ the notion that ‘the ills and mysteries of life will eventually fall before the scientific advances of man.’ She was all for mystery and freedom, which she thought the Church–at least the thirteenth century Church–made room for, but she found them in Hawthorne and Faulkner as well.’ “
Benfey seems to mean here simply that O’Connor accepted Catholic doctrines. I suppose not challenging them amounts to “not thinking” for someone like Benfey. But it is certainly NOT a true statement that she didn’t think deeply about them, or that one can’t find them in her fiction.
O’Connor presents the truths of Catholic theology as fundamental realities, almost like physical facts, rather than like a set of beliefs. Spiritual realities as Catholic theology presents them are real for everyone, believer or not, in O’Connor’s fictional world. They certainly impinge themselves on her characters, even if they don’t understand or react in bizarre ways.
One of her characters, for example, walks miles with rocks in his shoes because he feels he has to “pay.” His own church doesn’t provide him a ritual of penance, so he has to improvise. His felt need for sacramental realities is a part of obervable human nature for O’Connor.
Indeed, many of her short stories are exquisite explorations of the differences between Protestant and Catholic doctrines. No one who has read and understood O’Connor’s last short story, “Parker’s Back,” which is about Catholic versus Protestant understandings of the Incarnation, should be capable of making such statements.
But secular critics no longer believe in the importance of the distinctions O’Connor was writing about, or perhaps have lost the ability even to see them.
The fact that O’Connor “also” found mystery and freedom in Hawthorne is not surprising, given that the New England writer was so sympathetic to Catholicism that his daughter converted, founded an order of nuns, and is a candidate for canonization today.