Often, when I am engaging in conversation with someone, I ask, “Are you reading anything interesting?” or “What are you reading?” I do not do this to put anyone on the spot or to make them feel uncomfortable. Why do I do it? I think it is partly because I often hear from college teachers that a significant problem with contemporary students is that, while they do read on their cellphones, they don’t read books. Another reason I ask the question is that I am interested in learning about books that I should perhaps read. Reading a book that you love can be a genuinely beautiful experience.
One of my friends often responded to my question about what she was reading by saying, “Just junk.” That indirectly moved me to challenge myself about what I was reading. Whenever I read something that I find either very interesting, challenging, or informative, I feel a sense of enrichment. I suspect that this is a universal experience. A good book can lead us into new experiences, can open new worlds to us. Last year, I conducted my first seminar at St. John’s University entitled “Philosophy and the Catholic Novel.”
The experience was one of the teacher learning from the students. Probably the main reason I chose the topic was the enormous influence that reading Catholic novels has had on my own education. Another reason was that I was determined to find out how much reading I could assign to the students.
I had 20 students in the seminar. Among them were a few seminarians. At the beginning of the course, I had the impression that the term “Catholic novel” was unfamiliar to the students, including the seminarians. By the term “Catholic novel,” I mean a novel in which the theme is based on some dogma, moral teaching, or sacramental principle, and in which the mystery of Catholicism is presented affirmatively. This does not mean that every Catholic in the novel is a saint, but it does mean that the mystery of Catholicism is presented affirmatively. The novels I had the students read were Graham Greene’s “The End of the Affair” and “The Power and the Glory,” Ron Hansen’s “Mariette in Ecstasy,” Mark Salzman’s “Lying Awake,” Shisaku Endo’s “Deep River,” Morris West’s “The Devil’s Advocate,” and sections of Evelyn Waugh’s “Brideshead Revisited.”
I had planned to have them read Alice McDermott’s “Charming Billy” and George Bernanos’ “The Diary of a Country Priest,” but we ran out of time. In glowing evaluations, the only book that students thought I should drop was “Mariette in Ecstasy.” This surprised me because I believe it is a great novel. I guess that the experiences of Mariette in the novel did not connect with the students’ experiences. If I were to teach the course again, I would plan to spend more time interpreting the novel and inviting students to discuss what they like or dislike about it.
My favorite play, except for Shakespeare’s plays, is Graham Greene’s “The Potting Shed.” In the play, Greene plays on the word “potter,” indicating that God is a potter shaping and forming people, even those who are agnostic or even atheist. Perhaps a miracle has taken place in the potting shed, and so the adult members of the family, most of whom are agnostics, avoid talking about what might have happened in the potting shed, and so the potting shed becomes a kind of symbol of God, the Hound of Heaven pursuing the family. In the closing minutes of the play, a 12-year-old member of the family confesses that she had a dream in which she walked down to the potting shed, and a lion stood at the door of the shed. Her grandmother asks if the lion bit her. Her grandchild confesses, “No. He just licked my hand.” When I heard those closing lines at the Broadway production of Greene’s play, my eyes filled with tears.
What a wonderful image of God’s love for us — a lion licking our hands. The family had fled from the lion, and the lion, instead of attacking, licks the grandchild’s hand. I thought of doing a dramatic reading of the play in class, but once again, time ran out.
One of the wonderful experiences that a teacher can have is when they present some insight that is important to the teacher, perhaps that the teacher loves, and the students greatly appreciate it. I think that can be one of the great rewards that a teacher can receive.
In mentioning this course on the Catholic novel in earlier columns, I have discovered that through the columns, some readers have started courses and discussion groups on Catholic novels. That is a special reward that a columnist can receive.
Father Lauder is a philosophy professor at St. John’s University, Jamaica. His new book, “The Cosmic Love Story: God and Us,” is available on Amazon.com and at Barnes & Noble.