Communion, Compassion, Charity
Below, I have posted the editorial that will appear in the upcoming double issue of Irreantum, due to arrive in your mailbox in November. The characters you’ll come to know in this issue include a pair of feuding farmers, a suicidal grandmother, an adulterous wife, a disgraced seminary teacher, and an earthen volcano erupting with snakes. (Okay, so technically the snake volcano’s not a character, but it’s a really cool image.)
On the face of it, none of these topics seems particularly “uplifting.” In fact, many of them are downright dark. But as I’ve read and reread the stories and essays and poems contained in this issue, I’ve found myself inspired, even spiritually fed. As I contemplated why such difficult topics can engender such seemingly contradictory responses, I began to fashion my editorial on the idea of communion, compassion, and charity in literature.
So before you read the editorial, I’ll pose my question:
It seems to me that Mormon theology can (or should) equip us as Mormon artists to create work that engenders and promotes charity. But are we doing this? If we are, where do you see it? If we aren’t, at least not very effectively or consistently . . . why? (I have my own ideas about this, but I want to hear yours first.)
***
What does your character want?
This is a question any writer of stories must be able to answer. At the core of every good piece of fiction or creative nonfiction—even, I would argue, at the core of every good poem—lies an unfulfilled yearning. Sometimes this yearning expresses itself in grand adventure. There are dragons to slay and mountains to scale. But often a character’s desires are circumscribed by the boundaries of the personal; there’s a longing for love, independence, faith, renewal, understanding. In the hands of a skillful writer, a character with these private yearnings can be just as potent and compelling as any sword-wielding hero.
This issue of Irreantum is full of heroes and heroines, and each one of them, in turn, is full of desire. The details of what is wanted change from story to story, but it seems to me the impetus for each character’s journey is essentially the same: the people in these pages want communion.
The sacred overtones of the word “communion” are appropriate for a journal like Irreantum. After all, this magazine attempts to bind two impulses—the artistic and the religious. But I see the broader definition of communion working somehow in every piece published in this issue. I sense the longing for intimate connectedness, the desire to be stripped of pretense, the need to be seen, to be heard, to be known.
I understand these characters’ desires. My own search for communion has led me, time and time again, to other people’s stories. To literature. The best characters—be they found in fiction or nonfiction—are those who let me know them. This intimacy not only helps me better understand those who live outside my personal and cultural boundaries, but I believe it helps me know myself better too.
In the contributors’ notes for Best American Short Stories 2007, the author Richard Russo posits that transformative literary experiences can help tear down the walls we humans erect around ourselves. He says:
The study of literature has had what I believe to be a salutary effect on my own character, making me less self-conscious and vain, more empathic and imaginative, maybe even kinder. Perhaps it’s an oversimplification, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve come to wonder if maybe this is what reading all those great books is really for—to engender and promote charity. Sure, literature entertains and instructs, but to what end, if not compassion? (409)
The idea that we create art as a way to encourage charity is a heavy one to contemplate. But it rings true to me. As a Mormon, I believe each individual on earth is a hero in his or her own epic, extraordinary, eternal journey. Each life on this planet is but a chapter in a decidedly character-driven story. As I try to see the world and the people in it more clearly, every story I know broadens the scope of my vision. I agree with Russo: my acquaintance with literature helps me live with compassion.
As readers come to the stories and essays and poems in Irreantum’s pages, it is my hope they will get a sense of the communion I believe the best art offers us. Perhaps some will see themselves in these characters’ yearnings and, in that recognition, gain a measure of power, or peace. Is this a lofty goal? I suppose. But if there’s any kind of literature that can “engender and promote charity,” I believe a Mormon literature can.
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October 29th, 2008 at 3:13 pm
I feel the same way about my own experience and about Mormon literature (and other Mormon arts). This is a great post. I regret to say that I’m not personally acquainted with Irreantum, but I appreciate your bringing this up as a topic. Charity implies service to me, creation implies edification. If we’re not creating to serve, are we really creating at all?
October 29th, 2008 at 5:11 pm
Thanks Adam. And I agree that creation at its best has an element of service involved, especially when we create as a way to express what we believe to be fundamental truths.
Part of the difficulty for Mormon artists as I see it, though, is that we take this idea of “doing good” with our talents so literally. Say that we feel that the highest good we can do is to induce someone to join the church–which is a noble goal to have–but if the work of art grows out of the impulse to persuade and convince rather than the impulse to illuminate and communicate, it risks becoming propaganda, not art. And in my mind, convincing someone to do good (or be good) is a different proposition than engendering charity.
I believe that coming to understand and even learning to love those who aren’t like us is the essence of charity, and one of our greatest tests in this life. But too often in Mormon art we are afraid of approaching the “other”–especially the other who makes bad choices. And I agree that it’s a tricky line. We don’t want to spend time wallowing in a depraved mind or a corrupt setting; that can affect our spirit. But what of the adulterous woman in the upcoming Irreantum story? As she speeds along the freeway to meet the other man in her life, she’s conflicted, she’s in pain, she’s guilty and afraid. But she’s also exhilarated. The story is a short one and in this particular piece she doesn’t receive any obvious comeuppance (although one can imagine she will if/when the story continues.) She is, truly, the “woman taken in adultery” represented in a realistic and moving way. And how are we as Mormons supposed to react to her?
It’s an interesting conundrum, and one I encounter often as I consider what kind of work to publish in Irreantum.
October 29th, 2008 at 6:18 pm
This has really gotten me thinking. One of the questions that comes to mind is wondering if we all experience art and literature in the same way.
The line in particular has me mulling a lot.
if the work of art grows out of the impulse to persuade and convince rather than the impulse to illuminate and communicate, it risks becoming propaganda, not art.
I agree that we ought not try to compel others, but truth be told, I personally often resonate with Mormon literature that wants more to testify than just to communicate. That would probably explain why writing fiction has never appealed to me.
I also wonder if I weird in that way, though.
Obviously, though, the issue you are exploring is an important one. And it can be really hard to find really good literature that lets one into the heart and mind of another without feeling forced.
I also am not convinced that Mormon lit always has to enter into the world of ‘the other’ in order to be meaningful and to help develop compassion. There’s plenty of opportunity for compassion within the ranks of those who do what’s right, too. In fact, I think that is something that, for the sake of trying to ‘open minds’ of Mormons through literature, may be something not given the attention it deserves. There’s a lot within our own culture that lacks in the realm of compassion and giving the benefit of the doubt — reminding us that we aren’t all cookie cutter clones, even when we all believe and do the same general things.
October 29th, 2008 at 6:25 pm
I appreciate your post, angela.
These are questions that I have grappled with ever since I discovered that I have a literary voice and that my literary voice can sometimes conflict with a very specific Mormon way of speaking about morality, and that the actions portrayed in literature can’t always be made to fit the tidy Mormon definition of what morality is.
So how do we decide what is appropriate to read/portray in art and what isn’t? I think it’s by cultivating the sense that you have talked about, by considering works of art charitably and by composing works of art with charity ever in the forefront of our minds. We can’t ignore ugliness in our art anymore than we can ignore the ugliness of everyday life. And that ugliness is often redemptive. Christ spent his time ministering to the poor and oppressed, and that is what we are called to do in the form of considering the “other” as you have said. I am actually working on a paper about this very topic for the Faith and Knowledge conference at Harvard in the spring, and I’m so happy to hear your thoughts!
October 29th, 2008 at 6:44 pm
There’s a lot within our own culture that lacks in the realm of compassion and giving the benefit of the doubt — reminding us that we aren’t all cookie cutter clones, even when we all believe and do the same general things.
Yes indeed, m&m. And this applies nicely to your first remark about how different people experience art and literature differently.
It’s so easy to feel defensive in these matters. When I’m speaking with someone whose standards are more strict than mine, I’m quick to assume that she considers herself to be more righteous than I in that regard, and I feel compelled to justify myself. Of course, when I’m on the other side of the fence, I’m prone to judging those whose standards are more lax. So my suspicion is probably warranted to some degree.
I wouldn’t suggest that LDS should explore darker material than what they’re comfortable with so that they can develop charity. But I very much agree that venturing out of your comfort zone can bring rich opportunities to do just that.
Elizabeth, I’m interested in reading your paper!
more later…
October 29th, 2008 at 6:54 pm
m&m, thanks for your response. I agree that it’s difficult to discern what type of art is “best” for us. Sometimes, a work of art that is purely uplifting is just what my spirit needs. But most of the literature and film that I love–that has changed me, challenged me, fed me–deals with characters who are in extremis in some way, either literally or figuratively. Sometimes these characters are in extremis because of life circumstances outside of their control; other times, these circumstances come about because of a character’s choices.
You said, “There’s plenty of opportunity for compassion within the ranks of those who do what’s right, too.” I get the gist of what you mean . . . but none of us do what’s right, really. We’re all sinners. Of course, there’s a big difference between a serial murderer and a woman who is passive aggressive toward her husband. But I believe that for some Mormons, even telling a story about a troubled LDS marriage would be seen as somehow wrong (unless, perhaps, someone repents and the marriage is saved in the end.)
Part of what helps me as I try to become a more charitable person is the realization that although I am a sinner, I am not alone in my sinning. Humanity is out there tripping up and falling down right along with me. In a strange way, the stories I’ve read about other people’s failings have not only helped me be kinder to others (I don’t resent them as much for their perceived “perfection,” and I’m also not as horrified by some of their sins), but these stories have helped me be kinder to myself. I wonder if (and I could be wrong here! I’m wondering) those Mormons who, with the best of intentions, only read those things that are “uplifting”–where the sinner learns his or her lesson and repents and never looks back, or where those with faith wind up with well-deserved happy endings–have a harder time accepting their own faults and moving on from their personal disappointments.
Finally, I think “the other” is everybody, really. “The other” could be a person’s child or parent or spouse, since none of us is completely knowable. But I also think it’s been helpful for me to enter the life of an Afghani bastard child, or a Christian missionary living in the Congo, or an African-American slave. Difficult things happen to all these characters (in _A Thousand Splendid Suns_, _The Poisonwood Bible_, and _Beloved_, respectively), but I’m certain that for me, each of these reading experiences has increased my proximity to the spirit. I’m willing to concede, though, that others will have different experiences with such texts, and I don’t judge them for it. (Really, I don’t!).
October 29th, 2008 at 7:02 pm
Elizabeth, I love what you said about composing art with charity ever in the forefront of our minds. That’s exactly what I was getting at.
The truth is, there is plenty that passes for “art” out there that simply gets down in the mud and wrestles in it. Literature that exists to shock or horrify. That kind of stuff does nothing for me; in fact, I want to turn away from it. What I respond to is the kind of art that does grapple with life’s difficulties and conflicts but maintains an impulse of charity, both toward its characters and its readers.
This can be difficult to ascertain, though. We all have our lines in the sand. One person’s mudwrestling might be another person’s truth telling. There are a number of books I’ve picked up then put down and movies I’ve started watching and turned off. That’s why I say I don’t judge people for their personal lines in the sand, because I have my own.
But for the sake of Mormon art in general, this question of conflict (what kinds of conflicts are okay? and what kinds of resolutions?) is an important one, and one that will probably never be resolved because it IS so nebulous and personal.
October 29th, 2008 at 10:11 pm
But for the sake of Mormon art in general, this question of conflict (what kinds of conflicts are okay? and what kinds of resolutions?) is an important one, and one that will probably never be resolved because it IS so nebulous and personal.
Well said.
I think this obviously expands to just life. What kinds of things are ok to talk about? Acknowledge? I think what we see in the tension in art reflects a similar struggle in our existence.
I’m thinking, for example, of what kinds of comments people think are ‘ok’ for church. What kinds of things is it ok to talk to your visiting teachers about? I get the sense that many people are afraid to acknowledge weakness. As such, we all struggle in silence probably more than we need to, and might tend to think that we are more alone than we really are.
I know I’m just sort of repeating what you have said…just thinking of it outside of the realm of art as well.
October 30th, 2008 at 2:20 am
And, Angela, I loved your 6:54 comment. I agree.
October 30th, 2008 at 7:29 am
Thanks for your thoughtful reply, Angela.
“Say that we feel that the highest good we can do is to induce someone to join the church–which is a noble goal to have–but if the work of art grows out of the impulse to persuade and convince rather than the impulse to illuminate and communicate, it risks becoming propaganda, not art. And in my mind, convincing someone to do good (or be good) is a different proposition than engendering charity.“
I love this comment. Even our missionary impulses should be directed by charity. Forgive me if I get a bit heady here. It’s a weakness of mine.
I consider creation to be our purpose in life – I’m not just talking about art, though that is one creative path that many choose, including (hopefully) myself. Consequently, I think we ought to follow the example of our Father in Heaven, the perfect creator. He made this wonderful world and everything in it, but why? Well, according to scripture, it was to see if we would obey Him. In other words, to present us with a magnificent testimony of His reality and our potential, provide us with the opposition necessary to agency, and allow us to make our own choices.
To me, that’s what the best art does as well. It shows you a vision, but doesn’t force the human mind. It helps you along the path of decision making, it provides means for understanding, it bears out the love of the creator and the created, but leaves the ultimate choice to you. You notice that Christ and many of the prophets frequently refer to the natural world to illustrate true principles. Nevertheless, we can all consider the lilies without feeling compelled to accept their teachings. There is no unrighteous dominion in the testimony of the lilies. They are perfect art – perfect creation.
However, I think art does need to offer a choice, and that may be what you were getting at with the comment about reading only “uplifting” literature. Such things have a purpose, as we all need affirmation from time to time, but there comes a point at which we need challenge to grow. Of course, what is affirming to me may be challenging to you, and vice versa, and methods for offering that choice are as diverse as the choices themselves.
Alright. I’m done. Thanks for your indulgence.
October 30th, 2008 at 8:56 am
I appreciate your headiness, Adam, and your post was lovely. I agree that creation–learning to be a creator–is one of the things we’re here on earth to experience. (By the way, have you read Pres. Uchtdorf’s talk, “Creativity and Compassion”? It was given in the women’s session of General Conference, but I think you’d really like it.)
And I really love your definition of how God expects us to show obedience: “to present us with a magnificent testimony of His reality and our potential, provide us with the opposition necessary to agency, and allow us to make our own choices.” Excellent way of putting it.
Thank you for your thoughts.
October 30th, 2008 at 11:06 am
Once I heard someone use the phrase “spiritual pornography” and it started me wondering just what that was.
After a little thought, I figured that if pornography simulated the veneer of sex without having its substance, then spiritual pornography must simulate the veneer of spiritual experience without having its substance.
October 30th, 2008 at 2:20 pm
Thanks for the tip, Angela. I’ll have to look that talk up.
Stephen, that’s a frighteningly insightful way to view some of these works of “art” that we encounter. I wonder if you would extend your idea this far or not, but the “warm fuzzy” experience may be a form of this “spiritual pornography” by your definition.
October 30th, 2008 at 2:34 pm
Stephen – or we could use the bretheren’s term on this one, “spiritual twinkie.” I am pretty sure it was Holland.
October 30th, 2008 at 2:48 pm
I like the term spiritual twinkie. It doesn’t have the pejorative connotation of spiritual ding dong.
(This was simply a Hostess brand snack related joke and not indicative of any kind of smug, self-righteous judgment on my part.)
I have to run and go teach a class, but when I have more time I do have something serious to offer regarding Stephen’s post.
October 30th, 2008 at 8:57 pm
Angela’s original question: “It seems to me that Mormon theology can (or should) equip us as Mormon artists to create work that engenders and promotes charity. But are we doing this? If we are, where do you see it? If we aren’t, at least not very effectively or consistently . . . why? (I have my own ideas about this, but I want to hear yours first.)”
For me, an answer to this comes through my favorite definition of charity: the ability to see others as they really are, which means as God sees them. When I can expand my vision to see others as God sees them, I’m not blind to their faults, but I see those frailties in the larger perspective of hope and grace and possibilities full of light.
But I realize that not everyone would define charity the same way I would. And it may be presumptuous to say that I “see others as God sees them.” That’s how it feels to me, though, like I see eye to eye.
Is it brownnosing to say I found it in Bound on Earth?
. I also saw a great deal of charity in On the Road to Heaven. But I’m embarrassingly unfamiliar with other major works of Mormon literature. I suspect that as I continue to educate myself, I will find more of that kind of charity.
October 31st, 2008 at 3:54 pm
I’ve heard it suggested that one reason why Mormon artists are failing is because art is intended, by its nature, to challenge the establishment. Hence, artists are somewhat doomed under the Mormon regime since, allegedly, the church doesn’t like to be challenged.
I don’t buy it for a moment, but I’ve seen it expressed that way.
November 3rd, 2008 at 9:07 am
anon:
Yeah. I don’t buy it either – about the nature of arts or the reason for Mormon failure in them. I guess we have to qualify the word “failure,” though. Financial failure? From my perspective, that’s the least serious failure we can have, although one of the hardest to deal with in the short term. Failure to be true to the vision that inspires our art – failure to create from body, mind, and spirit – I see that as the bigger failure.
In discussing the success of a recent ward party, my bishop asked me if my family, being new to the ward, felt at all strengthened or helped by our attendance. I answered in the affirmative, which was true. He then declared the party an unmitigated success, because at least one person was genuinely benefited thereby. I wonder if that sort of Abiniadite (can that be a word?) success is not enough to justify our efforts in art as well as fellowship – even if the artist is the one receiving the benefit.
November 6th, 2008 at 10:17 am
[...] also had great discussions about the pros and cons of stereotyping LDS publications, and the connection between literature and compassion. And we’re just getting [...]