The Struggles of the Catholic Writer

"What Mr. Philip Wylie contends is the that the Catholic writer...cannot...see straight; and this contention, in effect, is not very different from that made by Catholics who declare that whatever the Catholic writer can see, there are certain things he should not see, straight or otherwise." 

Flannery O'Connor, The Church and the Fiction Writer.

"Test everything; hold fast what is good." St. Paul to the Thessalonians (1 Thess. 5:21)

Recently, a writers association invited me to become a member. One of the benefits they promise is that they would display my books (I have none) at their booth, but they retain the right to "approve them for Catholicity."

The only thing I want my work to be approved for is publishing. So, this caveat raised quite a few red flags for me. Besides, I don't even know what "Catholicity" even means.

But this does raise the question of what it means to be a writer who not only espouses the Christian faith, but is a Catholic.

Some time ago, I wrote a story about a pedophile and her young prey. After a few weeks of working on the piece with a group of writer-friends, one of them asked this bold question: "How could you be so daring in your writing and still be a faithful Catholic?"


How could I not?

Being Catholic doesn't mean that I shut my eyes to the world or that I censor my craft to fit doctrine. To do so reduces faith to an ideology and makes my work nothing more than a whorish endeavor in service of it.

For this writer, being Catholic means that I am able to examine everything without fear. It is imperative that I be "as wise as a serpent and as innocent as a dove" (Matt. 10:16). I cannot accomplish that task if I refuse to explore certain areas because such a search might offend the moralism of someone else.


Writing is a dangerous activity because it opens the mind to wandering. Wandering, or rather imagination, is a God-given gift, that I like to think we should use for such things as oh, say, the arts. Further describing what happens in the mind of a pedophile as she fantasizes about her victim is an even darker, more dangerous wilderness. Add to that a depiction of self-pleasure as a response to this fantasy. Surely some might scream "Pornography!"

I struggled immensely writing that part of the story. Many thoughts passed through my mind: Is this true to the story? Is it sensationalistic? Is it unnecessarily offensive?" The truth is, I still struggle with the answers to those questions; but the struggle isn't because of the teachings of the Church; it has more to do with what Flannery O'Connor called the constraints of the art. It is quite a balancing act between being gratuitous and being afraid to explore this uncharted territory.

I have two choices then: I can explore the mind of the pedophile with my readers or I can shut  my eyes and decide not to write about her at all. If I choose the latter, I can't help but suspect that I will miss an opportunity to see and reflect God's grace on this world. What the Catholic writer can never forget is that God found the world dying for. Even the world of the pedophile is worth the cross. Seen in this light, the horror of the unspeakable illuminates the absolute necessity of Someone greater than us to save us from ourselves.