It won't be long until Lent. At the Benedictine abbey where we went to Mass yesterday, it was Septuagesima Sunday -- and Lent points out the importance in a Christian life for regular conversion. It's not just a one time thing.
Conversion comes from the Latin conversio, meaning “to turn around.” In the New Testament, the Greek writers used the word metanoia, meaning a change of heart, particularly toward repentance. Conversion involves both turning away from a past life and turning toward God, resulting in an interior transformation of the person. Conversion can mean turning from sin to repentance, from laxity to fervor, from unbelief to faith, from error to truth. What is Conversion?
(Wiktionary has more on the etymology and present day variety of uses of the word.).
The similarity between the Latin "versio" or turning in that word and the Greek "strophe" or turning in the word eucatastrophe is interesting. Eucatastrophe seems to refer to a kind of conversion of the plot or event sequence, when things that seemed to be going one way take a turn in a seemingly very different direction (a good one)
Conversion is similarly a turn in a different direction and euconversion, if that's not too much of a language-mix, would be a turn in a good direction. St Paul is an obvious example of a sudden and complete conversion. The epistle reading for Septuagesima Sunday is the 1 Corinthians passage about running the race so he shall not be disqualified.
Conversion, either for the better or worse, is almost the essential engine of literary fiction. The protagonist generally has to undergo change during the course of the events and in turn influence that very turn of events. Conversion of the protagonist or subject, and conversion by the protagonist of the course of events, is fairly indispensable.
And for good reason, it seems, because a story or history is almost by definition an interaction between the characters and their situation that comes to a resolution. Agonist is a chemistry term, in fact, but comes from the Greek for contestant, struggle, drive.
Perhaps a good time to quote the passage from St Paul linked above!
Brethren, know you not that they that run in the race, all run indeed, but one receiveth the prize? So run that you may obtain. And every one that striveth for the mastery, refraineth himself from all things; and they indeed that they may receive a corruptible crown, but we an incorruptible one. I therefore so run, not as at an uncertainty: I so fight, not as one beating the air: but I chastise my body and bring it into subjection: lest, perhaps, when I have preached to others, I myself should become a castaway.
The necessity in one's life for conversion is not dispensed with by staying out of Christianity's fold. You can see people in life who don't see the necessity for struggle against themselves. Usually it's not a good look. As St Paul mentions, every athlete, everyone who strives, is going to have to train and self-deny in order to succeed. Is money, or love, or fitness, or knowledge, or a prize, the supreme goal? Conversion involves sorting through possible goals and putting them in order. Often, over and over again, since they have a way of reshuffling themselves when we aren't paying attention.
In literature, there are some stories with high-stakes conversion plots and some with more modest or even trivial eucatastrophes. Some of it depends on the genre of the literary work. In detective fiction, the bringing to justice is the highest good; in romance, it's the relationship; in epics it seems to be some kind of restored and renewed stability, perhaps? Also within stories, there are often minor turns, both in the agonist and in the narrative.
One's life too can be filled with micro-conversions which may or may not contribute to the real good of the whole life, the final effect. I don't want to give negative examples, because what is a trivial distraction to one person may be a genuine turn to the good for another person. Kathleen Norris wrote in Acedia and Me that sometimes for her, neglecting to get up at a normal hour and brush her hair and teeth was a beginning symptom of a slide into depression; and turning to doing these things in that respect could show the beginnings of a true and important recovery. For someone who is not ill or a very small child or the mother of one, basic hygiene may be not be the struggle that St Paul described.
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