Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Free Will, Faith and Fiction


J.P. Cunningham
©
“Free Will, Faith and Fiction”


            As I struggled through  Rowan William’s book “Dostoevsky:  Language, Faith and Fiction”, I realized first of all what a scholar Williams is.  As Archbishop of Canterbury and therefore spiritual head of the Anglican Communion, Williams approaches his scholarship from a clear point of view.  Although his writing style is clumsy and more than a bit oblique at times, making his work challenging for even a careful reader, Williams stands squarely at the intersection of Faith and Reason and posits an unambiguous thesis:  that Dostoevky’s fiction reflects more commitment to Faith than to doubt.  Williams looks closely at four of the 19th-century Russian author’s novels and works through various aspects of the richness of Fyodor’s work.

            About three-fourths of the way through the book, I noticed Williams quoting an American author (and scholar) Marilynne Robinson.   Robinson currently runs the creative writing program at Iowa and has produced two significant novels, including one Pulitzer Prize-winner.  In addition to writing fiction, Prof. Robinson has also produced more than one collection of essays, including “The Death of Adam.”  I have always seen reading as a journey, with one discovery leading sequentially to the next.   Having stumbled across Robinson in an unexpected place, I decided to see what would have led the Archbishop of Canterbury to be impressed enough by her thought and work to refer to her within his own book about Faith and fiction.

            What I then discovered was a novel as richly conceived and as brilliantly written as anything I had read from any author of the 20th century and rivaling the best of the 19th century in terms of its effort to deal with larger questions—philosophical , even theological questions--- within the real-world context of believable fiction.   Dostoevsky’s own personal faith shows forth clearly (at least to Rowan Williams) in works of fiction, while always leaving plenty of room for doubt.  Prof. Robinson’s wonderfully drawn character of  Rev John Ames  gives her the chance to address various angles of a Christian perspective, including the reality of doubt, even the need for doubt…doubt not necessarily as an indication of weak faith but as an opportunity for strengthening and deepening it.

            Considerations of faith within fictional works fell out of favor during the 20th Century.   As that century drew to a close, the cynicism that had typified so much of Art for decades seemed to lose some of its appeal, and signs began to appear again of a new openness to considerations of faith while still leaving room for the very human tendency toward doubt.

            Tolstoy, especially in his latter years at Yasnaya Polyana, became intensely spiritual.   His faith was not the guiding light for his early works, though.  “War and Peace” offers a more secular philosophy involving free will within determinism.  Summarized here, perhaps too simply, his worldview was that the largest events (such as wars, economic depressions, etc)  are in fact pre-determined and beyond the reach of individual control, but that the real action-- the real drama takes place on the smaller stage of individual persons’ everyday lives, where room is left for actions defining the humanity of each person, or lack thereof,  demonstrating compassion, love, hate, disregard for human life…the full array of human choices and consequences.  Obviously, whether God pre-determines details of our lives or leaves most of it up to us is a key question within the context of any consideration of Faith.

            Dostoevsky, at his most brilliant moment, within “Karamazov” offers “The Grand Inquisitor” , laying out the premise that God  cursed Mankind by granting freedom of choice, freedom of action…a premise that Free Choice is a burden rather than a blessing.   Pretty heavy stuff for fiction.  And yet at no point in Brothers Karamazov does philosophy overcome the story or the characters.  Instead, it enriches both immensely,  never shoving them aside.

            Professor Robinson deftly takes a similar approach, finding a way to consider the larger questions of Life within the context of a compelling story involving perfectly believable characters.   Rev. John Ames is one of most interesting persons you could ever meet.  Grounded firmly in his particular Faith, he is intelligent, well-educated and Reasonable in the best sense of that term.   The novel, in a different way from Dostoevky’s work, also deals with the intersections of Faith and Reason and also of Faith and Doubt.  Frederick Buechner, the gifted fiction-writer, minister and theologian, also deals effectively with the inevitability of doubt even within the most devoutly faithful persons.

            It is a challenge, to say the least, to produce fiction in the 21st Century that at least attempts to address similarly substantial subjects while never becoming so self-righteous or heavy-handed as to be off-putting.   Writers who can manage to sustain the centrality of strong , believable characters within the context of a compelling story can lend new richness to  what fiction has to offer further understanding of the human experience.  To keep it real, however, fiction writers will have to leave room for doubt, acknowledging its inevitability even within the most profound manifestations of Faith.
©J.P. Cunningham, Jan. 2011











Monday, January 10, 2011

Creative silence


J.P. Cunningham

TIME magazine, in its August 23rd, 2010 edition, placed Jonathan Franzen on its cover.  This was the first time in years that a novelist had graced the cover of this newsweekly.  One quote from the Franzen interview Franzen especially affected me

"The place of stillness that you have to go to to write, but also to read seriously, is the point where you can actually make responsible decisions, where you can engage productively with an otherwise scary and unmanageable world."

Nicely put, Jonathan.

Fiction, at its best, involves not millions of copies of hard-back books having to be inventoried and promoted so much as it does a quiet one-on-one dialog between the thoughtful, observant writer and an intelligent, attentive reader.

John Steinbeck, in diary entries during the writing of “The Grapes of Wrath”, mentioned repeatedly how success and the attention attached to it can distract.  He emphasized the usefulness of solitude and quiet focus.  “You start out putting words down and there are three things---you, the pen, and the page.  Then gradually the three things merge until they are are all one and you feel about the page as you do about your arm.  Only you love it more than you do your arm.” (Working Days, p. 121)  He frequently spoke of the importance of habit and discipline, with the habitual routine of sitting down and writing being more important than inspiration  to the production of good copy.

 A great deal has been said recently about the growth of self-publishing and the proliferation of e-books.  Wanna-be writers struggle to grab the attention of literary agents and traditional publishing houses only to be ignored or turned aside while traditional publishers recycle old titles and heavily promote the easiest books to sell rather than emphasizing the best.  Those same wanna-be writers turn increasingly to self-publishing in a desperate effort to make that connection between the thoughtful writer and the intelligent reader.   With so many titles thrown out into the marketplace through the combination of traditional and self publishing, and with a surfeit of mediocre talent and material mucking up the works, self-published works enter the fray  stained with the same taint of mediocrity, whether well-written or not.

The self-published author, once out in print,  has to shift gears abruptly, becoming a salesman, a specialist in internet marketing, an expert in facile and effective utilization of social (albeit virtual) networking.   Despite valiant efforts, the author then finds his or her serious work of fiction lost in a din of superficial chatter.   The most dedicated writer may begin to wonder whether there is any point to tolerating the rigors of writing…whether there is anything substantive to contribute that hasn’t already been done.  Even Steinbeck passed through profound moments of doubt.  Very near the time of completing “The Grapes of Wrath”, he wrote in a diary entry: …”It’s just a run-of-the-mill book.  And the awful thing is that it is absolutely the best  I can do. …” (Working Days, p. 90)
Most authors dream at least from time to time about gaining an audience in the millions.   They would better serve themselves and the quality of their work by sticking to a discipline routine and to an appreciation of the benefits gained from solitude, from the protective shelter of quiet…from “that place of stillness” that Franzen has mentioned.  Even before the staggering financial success of “Grapes of Wrath”, Steinbeck lamented a loss of quiet and productive solitude.  “…I was not made for success.  I find myself now with a growing reputation.  In many ways, it is a terrible thing. …” (Working Papers, p. 1)

Writers who share this sentiment are more likely to produce something worth reading.  And they can just as easily spring forth from the world of self-publishing as from anywhere else.

J.P. Cunningham
Jan 2011
Author of the novel SOMERSET.