On Orphaned Objects

In my work at the Carmelite Library I have a great deal to do with books that have lost their homes. Change through time causes convents, monasteries, even parishes to close, move, or downsize, resulting in boxes and boxes of drifting books. It’s a worthy effort, saving the libraries of the monastic houses. We rescue books and take them on board.

            Other books belong to the class of orphaned objects, whose owners have died or departed. Some astonishing collections appear: all the Icelandic sagas in the original, for instance. Some rare and precious volumes surface. Sometimes these have been rescued at the last minute from the tip; sometimes they’ve been donated by concerned heirs with no space to keep them.

            Orphaned objects confront everyone who has to clean up a deceased estate, or deal with the effects of a relation retired to a nursing home. They may be sentimental or family treasures, pure trash, valuable works of art, tools and dishes, clothing from bridal gowns (I had to find a home for my grandmother’s) to running shoes. The possessions of artists, writers and musicians hold works and manuscripts that might be welcomed in galleries or university archives, but could also be just as unsaleable as they were in their creator’s life. What to do then?

            Tragic things happen to orphaned objects. Oscar Wilde’s books were instantly auctioned as he was sent to prison, a beautiful collection of the most lovely and fabulous examples of bibliographic art, damaged or destroyed in the hasty selling, split up and sent all over the world. Someone loved and treasured many of the things whose aura vanished with the person.

            Living orphans include animals and plants. I think of a plant breeder whose vast number of unique specimens died as the heirs dealt first with his illness and death, then with grief and many other complications: the plants couldn’t survive the neglect. Orphaned animals need homes with great urgency. As I write this, sitting on my back veranda, an elderly dog lies beside me: he was orphaned when his owner had a stroke and then died, so fortunately her daughter found safe homes for her dogs.

            All things are mutable. But not all things are ever new. It’s best to keep what you love, and let go of as much attachment as you can. Sometimes new attractions can be provoked as the object passes to a recipient who recognises its specialness. It’s not always better to give than to receive. Receiving an orphaned object can be a blessing.

            It’s said that everything is a loan from God, and can be requested again at any time. Abandoning it all to trust may be the only answer. Orphaned objects have to find their own way in the world, and we can but hope that we will find, and be, good guides.

             

On Achievement and Accomplishment.

As I get older, reflections of the past appear to me, and it becomes so much clearer that sometimes things work, sometimes they do not. That sounds simple, but as the images cross my vision, I see how we play our roles in events — different roles at different times — and things we thought our unique responsibility or our own fault are often shared by others in the same roles.

            I have known crooks and players, saints and spectators, and many bewildered souls caught up in actions predictable or unpredictable, but often cyclic in nature. And here I include myself.

            Recently I read that to unclutter your house you must first determine your values in life. (I do need to declutter my house). A list of possible values was provided — a very long list — containing everything from love to money to achievement.  Among these possibilities, the word ‘achievement’ caught my eye. ‘Accomplishment’ wasn’t offered as a value. What, I wondered, is the difference between achievement and accomplishment?

            If achievement is the attainment of some great and noble effect, accomplishment seems to have a wider meaning. The dictionary describes accomplishment as a process, an act of completion or fulfilment — as, a promise or a prophecy — the Latin at the back of this is the word absolvo, which is literally to loosen — as, bonds — to give freedom, to acquit — as, of guilt — but also to relate or narrate: to tell the story.

            The Easter story of Jesus’ death and resurrection brings the question: did Jesus achieve the salvation of humanity, or did he accomplish it? To be sure, it was the great and noble deed. Yet his words, in St. John’s Gospel, ‘It is accomplished’ mean also fulfilled, perfected, absolutely done. So I think it is both.

            Not all of us can achieve greatness. But we can attain accomplishment. Another meaning of ‘an accomplishment’ is an art, skill or grace acquired by the perfecting of our abilities, leading to humanitas: true human feeling, kindness and refinement of human nature. Our faith in Jesus Christ is such an accomplishment, accompanied by grace: like art, music, and poetry, it leads to fulfilment of the meaning of human life, for ourselves and for others.