A few thoughts about charm

Recently, on an internet forum on which I participate, someone began a thread to discuss 'charm.' I suppose, OED aside, that one of the reasons this is a difficult trait to identify is that it is difficult to define. (It also is a quality which I sadly do not possess. Oh, I indeed am kind, caring, compassionate and the like - and have the scars to prove this. I'm basically a gentle soul. However, various years of having to struggle, on various levels, for my own survival, and my intolerance for anything I find fake or illustrative of ego games, means that I do tend, if politely, to tell people to fuck off now and then.)

Of course, there are wonderful people in this world who would never be described as charming - and Lord knows some of the saints would make me, at my worst, seem about as gutsy as one of the Disney dwarfs. (I can think of a few people whom I esteem highly, and whose faith and its practise are an inspiration to me, of whom I know to stay clear if they approach acting 'charming.') But there is a charm that is born of true courtesy and charity - the genuine article reminds me much of holiness. I believe I'll share an illustration or two here.

Though it's about thirty years since we worked together, I'll always remember a friar with whom I was closely associated in a small, Franciscan parish. Alphonse wasn't charming in the sense of being outgoing, clever, witty, or intelligent, which I'd say are traits one might often associate with the term. He was a very simple man, rather shy, and possessed of absolute sincerity. Sometimes, I had to suppress a giggle - as when we had a discussion group about distractions at prayer, and he admitted (with no twinkle in the eye, but rather a tone of regret) that, whenever he tried to meditate, he kept picturing himself as a tennis champion, with everyone cheering for him at Wimbledon.

Looking back, and this after working with him regularly for several years, I'd say Alphonse had two special gifts - the sort of things which those affecting false charm try to copy for their own benefit. First, I've never known anyone who was so totally, genuinely interested in others. Whether he was listening to a child of three talk about scraping her knee, or a know-it-all parish snob who was indulging in self absorption, or someone with a personal problem, or someone whose main joy in life was her new fridge, or someone who had a direct line to the Holy Spirit and wanted to replace the Sunday readings with "prophecies" (this was the charismatic hey-day, and Catholics were often those most inclined to charis-mania), he not only was sincerely interested but could respond with esteem and compassion.

The interest was not an act. It wasn't the pretended "interest" which makes some burden others with questions, hoping to make them feel important and therefore be persuaded to offer volunteer service. He didn't listen to another's pain and later complain at being bothered. He never used other people's comments (I don't mean just the confidential - but, for example, a trying mini tirade the snob offered at a parish gathering) to win points with others for knowing things, or to mock the speaker later.

Second, Alphonse had an uncanny ability to see the good in others. (My cynical side makes me add that it's most fortunate that he was not among the friars who worked with hardened criminals - he'd have believed Jack the Ripper was seeking holiness, a trap into which I, too, would be likely to fall.) One wouldn't necessarily see it at the time, but one could get over rough spots and actually grow in kindness, virtue, and the like because of the strength of seeing the goodness Alphonse saw in oneself.

I haven't thought of Alphonse much in years, but this thread stimulated the memory. Though he did not have the poetic ways, wit, and passion of Francesco, somehow Alphonse's natural courtesy, simplicity, and delight in making the gospel known (he was in awe of this, not posturing) made me think that he was an illustration of the sort of charm which made Francis of Assisi have such an extraordinary influence.

Now, brace yourself if you're still there... since I am Elizabeth, not Alphonse, I naturally have a word to say about the false charm which I despise.

False charm is based on deceit and manipulation, and comes in many varieties. It just struck me that those who have read "Gone with the Wind" may remember how brilliantly Margaret Mitchell captured this in her depiction of Scarlett O'Hara. Scarlett is in awe of her mother, Ellen, who is generally recognised as kind, selfless, and otherwise a great lady. (Qualities she despises in Melanie.) Scarlett hasn't the slightest interest in actually having any of the traits people admired in Ellen - but she'd love to have the reputation for having these, since it would work to her advantage.

One version of false charm is the 'I'm such a prize, you're lucky if you know or associate with me.' It's the kind of 'charm' that used to be written about in books and magazines aimed at telling women how to catch men. (Or, at any rate, be 'popular,' because one could go with a man one despised, pretending interest, just because he was a means to meet other men.) It was false flattery - pretended obligations to give the impression of being such a catch that one's social calendar was filled years in advance. I would imagine that most men could see through this a mile away, but it must work with a small percentage - who have a sad time ahead if they marry such a woman, because she has no respect for them. She's after something - whether money, prestige, or someone to dominate - but he's never known her because of the 'princess doll' act.

The other 'charm,' which I think I like even less, is of the Dale Carnegie variety. (Years ago, for some project I cannot recall, I had to read that dreadful How to Win Friends and Influence people. I've also had the displeasure of meeting sales executives whose Dale Carnegie training was so obvious it was pathetic. They tack the other person's name on the end of every sentence, and always look for something to compliment... often transparent blarney or, worse, a statement that is insulting. They'll assume, for example, that a female telecom manager is a switchboard operator, and compliment her on being able to dial a number well.) It has nothing whatever to do with genuine concern for others, much less about wanting real friends. No, it's what to say or do that (it is hoped) will fool and flatter people enough to manipulate them into doing something to one's own advantage.

Worst of all is the sweet tongued put downs. It boils down to "I think I am superior to everyone else in every way. They all must admire me, and be eager for my advice. I therefore will manage to put them down with language that allows me to pretend they are overly sensitive or 'taking things personally' if they object."

When one encounters genuine charm, the effect on the soul (as it were) is similar to that of savouring Godiva chocolate or honey on the tongue. False charm makes one wince - rather like swallowing twenty saccharin tablets. Sadly, the false can masquerade as the genuine article. For example, the 'charmer' who is only looking for his own advantage can convince others they are valued, or even loved, and it is painful to learn that this was nothing but an act.

There are days when one must count one's small assets (...Franciscans are used to that on many counts.) :) No, I shall never be charming - but at least I am genuine. I delight in the rare person I meet who has true charm, and thank God that these blessings exist.