Crooked Finger (crookedfingers) wrote,
Crooked Finger

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the state of permanent somnambulism of a hallucinated madman

It is 1:22 PM Monday afternoon in the flow of my Christ-centered life. I remember these words of the Lord Jesus to His disciples, "Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me. I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing. If anyone does not abide in Me, he is cast out as a branch and is withered; and they gather them and throw them into the fire, and they are burned" John 15:4-6.

I did get around to mowing our front and back yard before the rain storm came this afternoon. I feel better looking out our front door and seeing our lawn mowed. So I did accomplish something today. I did not though take Rudy for a walk anywhere this morning.

This afternoon I have been reading my books on Gustave Flaubert. I found this interesting in the book titled, "The Novels Of Flaubert: A Study Of Themes And Techniques" by Victor Brombert.

"Thus, side by side with the so-called realist, whom he most often evinces, there appears another, perhaps more authentic Flaubert endowed with an irreducible faith in the evocative witchcraft of imagination or its substitute, memory. If Flaubert the realist exists, so does Flaubert the escapist, and even Flaubert the mystic. Ecstatic reveries are for him a permanent temptation. For it is not merely love of formal or abstract beauty that makes him challenge the "scientific" approach to truth. Writers such as Sainte-Beuve and Hippolyte Taine-and he admired both-did not, he felt, take Art and Beauty (he capitalized both words) sufficiently into account. As for Zola and his friends, they had altogether lost sight of the chief aim of art: "culte de l'Art" quite seriously and quite literally. It was for him an almost religious vocation to "maintain the soul in a high region" through a redeeming cult of Art which glorified the divorce between artistic creation and life.

Flaubert's quest, as he himself saw it, was after a higher, more general truth. And in that quest the servile reproduction of surfaces or the concern for everyday triviality was not, he knew, the most effective method. Nor could one speak of historic progression. "Henry Monnier is no more true than Racine," he tersely concludes in a letter to his young disciple Guy de Maupassant. It is in this light that one must read Pellerin's vituperative remarks against reality in L'Education sentimentale. But behind Flaubert's esthetic revulsions and preferences, behind his lofty reaffirmations of the universalizing vision of all true art, one can also detect undeniable mystic velleities. One of his most symptomatic literary projects is that of La Spirale, which was to describe the state of permanent somnambulism of hallucinated madman. Flaubert wanted to write an "exalting book" which would prove that happiness could be attained only in the realm of imagination or through a superior madness. . ." pg. 9,10

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