41 pages • 1 hour read
Flannery O'ConnorA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
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Destiny and free will are two of O’Connor’s chief preoccupations. Although the road Tarwater travels toward his destiny is full of twists, each decision and series of events contributes to bringing about his fate as a prophet. The forces that propel him forward are multitudinous and may include Mason’s influence, inherited mental illness, the brushes with violence caused by the Devil, Rayber’s ineffectiveness as a mentor, and finally God when he finally speaks to Tarwater at the end of the novel.
Complicating the implacable march of destiny is that, of all the characters, Tarwater may be the only one who at least appears to possess free will. Mason is a slave to premonition and prophecy, whether they are true acts of God or simply manifestations of mental illness. Rayber is so paralyzed by inaction and a fear of irrationality that he almost never succeeds in imposing his will on any situation or individual. Bishop is too limited in his intellectual capacities to do anything more than react. By contrast, Tarwater repeatedly invokes variations of the phrase “I can act” (80). Despite spending much of the novel in a state of indecision, the boy indeed appears to impose his will at various intervals, from setting the Powderhead cabin ablaze to drowning Bishop.
The question arises as to why Tarwater seems to hurtle toward his destiny as inexorably as the other characters. In a rare bit of insight, Rayber hits on the answer when he tells Tarwater, “You don’t even know what makes you do the things you do” (192). Although Tarwater fails to heed this warning, Rayber’s words do resonate with the boy as they finally wipe a permanent smirk off his face. In any case, Tarwater’s oft-referenced ability to act is no more effective at changing his destiny than Rayber’s chronic inaction. Most of Tarwater’s actions are mere acts of opposition to external influences, defying Rayber and Mason at alternating intervals. Moreover, he mistakes the voice of the Devil in his head as his own individuality, thereby allowing himself to be manipulated into committing acts of violence and destruction. Overall, then, Tarwater possesses little control over his own will, and thus it is reasonable to state that his fate is all but sealed from the start of the book.
However, O’Connor complicates things once more by offering glimmers of a possible altered destiny for Tarwater. For instance, so much hinges on Buford’s decision to bury Mason’s body before Tarwater sets fire to the house. Seeing that gravesite at the end of the book is nothing short of miraculous for Tarwater. He sees the hand of God at work in this, but the burial is merely the result of an act of kindness and decency on the part of Buford. This concept is echoed earlier when a distraught Rayber misses a crucial opportunity to show affection for Tarwater following the scene at the Pentecostal tabernacle. Perhaps, then, O’Connor’s intent is to show readers that the essence of free will lies in compassion and caring for one another, and that these qualities provide our best chance at resisting the destinies fashioned for us by either personal trauma or cosmic forces.
As O’Connor argues in her letters, the best way to reach readers with different beliefs is to present her philosophical concepts in extremity. Nowhere are these extremes more sharply drawn than in the dichotomy she strikes between Mason’s religious fundamentalism and Rayber’s secular rationality. Although O’Connor is a lifelong Catholic, the portrait she paints of Christianity through Mason is hardly flattering. For all his ravings against the sinners of the city, the man proves himself to be a hypocrite through repeated acts of kidnapping and violence. His shooting of Rayber in the leg and ear can reasonably be considered attempted murder and is therefore a sin. Moreover, Mason’s certainty in his status as a prophet and carrier of God’s word gives him an arrogance that contradicts O’Connor’s own view of faith as something that must be constantly questioned.
Yet if Mason is a poor representative of the Christian faith, Rayber may be an even worse emissary of secularism. His cultish devotion to reason precludes anything that cannot be explained rationally. This causes Rayber to reject a broad range of human emotions, from love and compassion to guilt and forgiveness. In addition, Rayber defines his worldview less by what it is and more by what it is not. Fear and hatred of religion, forged in the trauma of his childhood, is the animating force behind his perspective. Rayber’s attitude is akin to those of several Enlightenment philosophers including Denis Diderot, who at times seemed less interested in elevating reason and more interested in denigrating religion.
Given the uncharacteristic extremes to which these characters take their respective philosophies, a reader might question what exactly O’Connor brings to the broader debate of religion versus reason. This question, however, misses the point of the dichotomy as detailed in the book. Based on O’Connor’s own statements about the use of extremes in her work, her intent is not to wade into a qualitative argument over which viewpoint is more valid. Rather, her intent is to challenge readers on both ends of the religion-reason spectrum to question their assumptions. On one hand, reason without an acknowledgement of the spiritual leads to profound emptiness, as illustrated by the character of Rayber. On the other, religion that rejects everything that isn’t fundamental to one’s faith leads to violence, antisocial behavior, and often mental illness, as evidenced by Mason. Both religion and reason, when pushed to the extreme, lead to the same consequences: loneliness and a deficiency of compassion.
Various dualities emerge in The Violent Bear It Away. A duality is when two seemingly opposing qualities manifest in a single individual, concept, or act. The most dramatic example of this is Tarwater’s simultaneous baptism and drowning of Bishop, which is at once the most sacred rite in all of Christianity and a mortal sin of the most serious degree. This reflects a broader duality in Christianity, in which murder is generally prohibited yet frequently sanctioned, whether in holy wars or other deeds supposedly done on God’s behalf. The drowning/baptism also constitutes the rebuke of Rayber’s cult of rationality, as something cannot be two things at once under his worldview.
Yet Rayber is afflicted with many of his own dualities, the most significant of which involves his attitude toward Tarwater. When he looks at Tarwater, he can’t help but see the “irrational, backwoods, and ignorant” (100) independence of Mason take shape. Rayber frequently looks upon Tarwater and sees himself, as both are victims of Mason’s exploitation. To Rayber, Tarwater’s countenance is one of both abuser and abused, a reflection of how abuse victims often take on qualities of their tormentors. Even Tarwater’s name is a duality of sorts, at once symbolizing the black, poisonous qualities of tar and the clear, purifying qualities of water.
Finally, there are several spiritual dualities involving fire, water, and violence. In the book, fire both destroys and creates, metaphorically burning Mason but also cleansing him to receive the prophecies of Creation. Fire destroys the cabin at Powderhead, but it also sets in motion Tarwater’s path toward creating a new life for himself as a prophet. Water too encompasses multitudes and is capable of blessing and killing—or as the friend puts it, “water is made for more than one thing” (167). Violence in general is also viewed as both destructive and constructive, as both Tarwater’s rape and Bishop’s murder are steps on Tarwater’s journey toward revelation.
Given the amount of senseless violence found in O’Connor’s novels and short stories, it perhaps isn’t surprising that her books are frequently left off of Christian reading lists. In O’Connor’s view, however, violence and faith are not necessarily in opposition to each other. Rather, violence can reinforce grace and a closeness to God by confronting characters with their darkest selves. For example, had Tarwater heeded Rayber’s instruction to baptize Bishop with a glass of water at dinner, it is unlikely that the boy would have continued on his path toward becoming a prophet. The same might be said of Tarwater’s sexual assault in the woods, which causes him to literally burn the path behind him as he marches toward his destiny.
This isn’t to say that grace is an inherent quality in violence, nor that violence is required or should be encouraged to attain a holy communion with God. Tarwater’s rape, Bishop’s drowning, and Rayber’s gunshot wounds are all tragic events that cause immense pain and suffering. Yet the argument O’Connor makes is that grace is found even in these most violent of acts, and that depending on the individual, these acts may even accelerate one’s transition into a state of revelation.
By Flannery O'Connor