Cathedral By Raymond Carvers Essay, Research Paper

"For now we see through a glass darkly; but then face to face: now I know

in part; but then I shall know even as I am known" (1 Corinthians 13). The

narrator of Raymond Carver’s "Cathedral" is a man living a life of

monotony, continuously feeding the cold and bigoted mind that we witness for the

first part of the story. The process of guiding Robert through the drawing of

the cathedral, removes the narrator from that dark looking glass and initiates a

tranformation in which he is compelled to meet himself face to face; this

awakening stirs the narrator’s humility, imagination, and faith. It is human

nature to embrace preconceptions regarding the facets of daily life, from

politics to people. It is, as well, innate to consider oneself better than

another. An awakening such as the narrator’s, however, ruptures the protective

shield that surrounding steadfast biases, and forces the person to assess their

position in the greater schema of humankind. A bias that surfaces early on, is

the mention of Robert’s wife, "Beulah!" The narrator exclaims,

"That’s a name for a colored woman." (Carver, "Cathedral,"

182) Here, by attaching a stereotype to a simple name, he exhibits the precise

indiscretion of a closed-minded bigot, and then eventually reaches humility

through his awakening. The narrator possesses several other prejudices that also

hinder his humility. Later on, for example, the narrator sees Robert for the

first time and the man’s appearance startles him: "This blind man, feature

this," he says, "he was wearing a full beard! A beard on a blind

man!" (183) Later still, the narrator reinforces his portrayal of an

ignorant, presumptuous man when he notices that Robert doesn’t "use a cane

and he [doesn't] wear dark glasses, [having] always thought dark glasses were a

must for the blind." (183) However, the narrator sheds these stereotypes

once he engages in the ‘cathedral’ conversation with Robert; the two begin to

compare how well each of them envisions a cathedral. For instance, Robert gives

facts that he has just heard off the television, demonstrating his limited

knowledge. The narrator then attempts a description of a Cathedral,

"they’re really big," the narrator explains, "they’re

massive;" (188), and subsequently realizes just how little he knows as

well. The narrator realizes that with the gift of sight he can really see little

more than a blind man . . . And it is here that the narrator awakens to his

newly humbled — equal — position alongside Robert. Up to this point, the

narrator fancied himself a superior person because of his sight. Suddenly, with

this moment of awakening, down came that shield protecting his closed-minded

presumptions. By engaging in the same action that helped him realize his

humbleness, the narrator retrieves his imagination. For so long he had been

stifling his innate creativity, choosing instead to allow outside forces create

images and art for him. Robert coerces the narrator into sketching a cathedral,

unlocking the door behind which the narrator had been keeping his imagination.

This brings to light just how important and self-fulfilling that imagination had

once been to him and could be again: "So I began. First I drew a box that

looked like a house. It could the house I lived in. Then I put a roof on it. at

wither end of the roof, I drew spires. Crazy . . . I put in windows with arches.

I drew flying buttresses. I hung great doors. I couldn’t stop." (189/190)

This sketch has initiated another awakening. That is, the narrator placed in

perspective what a steady diet of television and drinking had been holding him

back from; here he is reacquainted with his estranged imagination, not able to

stop drawing because with the sketch comes a flood of new spiritual

enlightenment. The narrator doesn’t rest here for long, however, forced to

stretch his imagination even farther when the television goes off the air. Now

the narrator is forced to use his imagination in its purity. "’Close you

eyes now,’ the blind man said to me. I did it. I closed them just like he said .

. . ‘Keep them that way,’ he said. He said, ‘Don’t stop now. Draw.’" (190)

The narrator completes his drawing and, without even opening his eyes, knows and

feels its beauty because he was compelled to draw by his own mind, unaided by

external imaginations. "My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I

knew that. But I didn’t feel like I was inside anything." (190) The

narrator’s awakening has given him a freedom — he is no longer "inside

something," limited by the bounds of a television governed, vegetative

state. Moreover, he has awakened to a refreshed faith in himself and the world

around him. Earlier, Robert explained the idea that several generations of

people and families carry on a legacy of faith required to construct these great

cathedrals, most without the reward of witnessing the finished product. Here

again the narrator undergoes an awakening; true faith, he comes to realize, is a

test of wholehearted perseverance — a measure of love and undaunted

determination. "The men who begin their life’s work on them, they never

lived to see the completion of their work. In that wise, bub, they’re no

different than the rest of us, right?" (188) Wrong. Robert’s words force

the narrator to realize that he, himself, has never begun anything of which the

completion would extend beyond his life. In this sense, the building of a

cathedral becomes a symbol for the narrator; among his days of getting stoned

and enslaving himself to the television, he has done nothing so prolific that it

makes such a profound impact on his life or the lives of others . . . For he has

never possessed the faith to do so. Now, however, he has awakened to the reality

that he can make a difference by adopting the same faith that comes so easily to

the generations building those cathedrals; living a life of faith would stir the

narrator’s happiness and contentment with himself because he will be living a

life of meaning. Additionally, the moment at which the narrator has his multiple

awakening — the sketching of the cathedral — while determining his true

humbleness and releasing his stifled imagination, also solidifies his faith.

That is, in recovering his lost imagination, the narrator accentuates a

heartfelt and faith-driven perseverance. "My eyes were still closed. I was

in my house. I knew that. But I didn’t feel like I was inside anything. ‘It’s

really something,’ I said." (190) Here he has allowed himself to persevere

to the point where he draws an entire cathedral with closed eyes. The narrator

undergoes that rebirth of faith. He knows, through faith, that his sketch is a

piece of art, and a symbol of his faith. The cathedral encompasses the concept

of vision — the awakening of humbleness, imagination, and faith. On the whole,

the narrator has transformed as a result awakenings; he has moved beyond the

dark looking glass, to a place in which he sees himself clearly, face to face,

knowing as he is known. The blind is a catalyst for the narrator’s

transformation; his presence provokes the narrator’s prejudices, and thus makes

visible the narrator’s shortcomings of character such as lack of imagination and

lack of faith. Later, Robert maintains his catalyst purpose and provokes the

narrator’s awakenings, initiating the narrator’s 180o turn into a humble,

imaginative and faithful human being.

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