Dr. Powers' essay "Reading Ethnic Literature Now" deals with America's decreasing literacy and its affect on the study of ethnic literature. He opened my eyes to some of the lesser-known ripple effects of a culture that no longer values reading.
I don't believe that our culture's decreased interest in reading is necessarily irreversible. Although we have endangered "good" literature-- works from both the established, traditional canon and the newer ethnic canons-- decisive action on the part of both the private and the public sectors could renew the public's interest and participation in literacy.
However, assuming that those in power and everyday citizens won't take steps to protect the future of books, I think we will continue to see the growth of the television and the Internet's monopoly on the dissemination of information and aesthetic judgments. This doesn't necessarily mean that old literary classics and the seminal works of ethnic literature will completely disappear from the popular memory. I think it is very possible that some (perhaps only a few) will reappear in abbreviated adaptations or as allusions. Although these snippets might reach a wider audience than a paperback, I believe our culture's growing impatience and overwhelming materialism will ultimately reduce these masterpieces to mere shadows.
Another challenge to ethnic literature's future concerns socioeconomic class and the lack of educational opportunity. The majority of American ethnic literature flows from the "minority" experience, and, on a national level, many minorities continue to experience economic hardship. I question the likelihood that students whose minds suffer as a result of failing inner city schools and other poverty-related circumstances would be able-- or even willing-- to read James Baldwin or Toni Morrison, much less become authors themselves. I believe that many of these authors write because they want to edify their communities and shed light on ethnic identity, but, tragically, a substantial portion of their intended audiences can't receive their messages. Instead, the students who do read ethnic literature have educational and often economic privilege as members of the middle- to upper-middle classes. While I am thankful for the opportunity to read Alice Walker and Richard Rodriguez and I can see how my education has benefited from that exposure, I can't help but feel frustrated and angry for those high school students from Chicago's South Side, North Philadelphia, and East Los Angeles.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Erasing Myself
In keeping with Bakhtin's model of the engaged reader, I found myself interacting with Dr. Power's objections against Alan Jacobs' "Hermeneutics of Love."
I had not realized that Jacobs furthers the argument for male patriarchy by rejecting Adrienne Rich in favor of stronger male voices, such as those of Auden and Kierkegaard. I also had not noticed the implications in Jacobs' preference of Tompkins, who sees women as redeeming men as opposed to leaving men out of the equation. However, part of me has to agree with Jacobs when he says that Adrienne Rich, the quixotic reader, conforms her view of Emily Dickinson to herself and consequently misses some of the richness that this author has to offer. This is why I agree with Jacobs that Tompkins is the more charitable reader.
Dr. Power's accusation that Jacobs has attempted to "erase the reader and the reader's prerogatives before the text in the face of the author's greater authority and reality" leads me to make a remote connection between Formalism and poststructuralism. Obviously, Jacobs advocates for something completely different, but his alleged "death of the reader" reminds me of streams of criticism that renounce the author. The trend towards killing the author has frustrated proponents of ethnic and postcolonial literature as these authors have struggled for a voice, only to be told that they do not matter.
However, I disagree with Powers' basic reading of Jacobs, especially when he describes Jacobs' charitable reader as erasing himself. When I read Jacobs' article, I noticed that he did not advocate the annihilation of the author. He writes that "kenosis in the sense of self-evacuation or self-annihilation is forbidden by the Bakhtinian understanding of love" (107). Jacobs favors Bakhtin and cites his works over and over again, and he makes a point of voicing his distrust of Dostoevsky, who holds to the self-annihilation theory. Instead, he advocates self-renunciation, an action I see as distinct from self-erasure.
In my opinion, Powers' proposed "loving reading" does not contradict Bakhtin and Jacobs. In fact, its celebration of the undying, growing discourse resembles Jacobs' work. Jacobs cites Bakhtin: "Nothing is absolutely dead: every meaning will have its homecoming festival" (96). I associate this quote with not only eschatology but the resurrection, which I consider a type of transfiguration. Therefore, I think that Jacobs would agree with Powers' statement that "the goal of love is transfiguration, not repetition." In addition, Powers' model of the charitable reader who expands upon the author's work fits into Bakhtin's theory of heteroglossia since it makes room for multiple, related interpretations that interact with and shed light on a larger truth.
I had not realized that Jacobs furthers the argument for male patriarchy by rejecting Adrienne Rich in favor of stronger male voices, such as those of Auden and Kierkegaard. I also had not noticed the implications in Jacobs' preference of Tompkins, who sees women as redeeming men as opposed to leaving men out of the equation. However, part of me has to agree with Jacobs when he says that Adrienne Rich, the quixotic reader, conforms her view of Emily Dickinson to herself and consequently misses some of the richness that this author has to offer. This is why I agree with Jacobs that Tompkins is the more charitable reader.
Dr. Power's accusation that Jacobs has attempted to "erase the reader and the reader's prerogatives before the text in the face of the author's greater authority and reality" leads me to make a remote connection between Formalism and poststructuralism. Obviously, Jacobs advocates for something completely different, but his alleged "death of the reader" reminds me of streams of criticism that renounce the author. The trend towards killing the author has frustrated proponents of ethnic and postcolonial literature as these authors have struggled for a voice, only to be told that they do not matter.
However, I disagree with Powers' basic reading of Jacobs, especially when he describes Jacobs' charitable reader as erasing himself. When I read Jacobs' article, I noticed that he did not advocate the annihilation of the author. He writes that "kenosis in the sense of self-evacuation or self-annihilation is forbidden by the Bakhtinian understanding of love" (107). Jacobs favors Bakhtin and cites his works over and over again, and he makes a point of voicing his distrust of Dostoevsky, who holds to the self-annihilation theory. Instead, he advocates self-renunciation, an action I see as distinct from self-erasure.
In my opinion, Powers' proposed "loving reading" does not contradict Bakhtin and Jacobs. In fact, its celebration of the undying, growing discourse resembles Jacobs' work. Jacobs cites Bakhtin: "Nothing is absolutely dead: every meaning will have its homecoming festival" (96). I associate this quote with not only eschatology but the resurrection, which I consider a type of transfiguration. Therefore, I think that Jacobs would agree with Powers' statement that "the goal of love is transfiguration, not repetition." In addition, Powers' model of the charitable reader who expands upon the author's work fits into Bakhtin's theory of heteroglossia since it makes room for multiple, related interpretations that interact with and shed light on a larger truth.
In Search of a Charitable Reading
Alan Jacobs' thoughts in "The Hermeneutics of Love" stimulated and refreshed my mind by offering a contemporary, Christ-oriented commentary on types of criticism. I could definitely pick out the aspects of his theory that seemed to align themselves with Christianity, and I enjoyed his ability to use well-known literary critics as examples.
Jacobs does an excellent job of presenting the theories of Mikhail Bakhtin. I had no idea that this theorist-- whom I had noticed in our anthology's table of contents-- had such an interest in Christianity. I found myself tempted to absorb everything he said because I was so enthralled with his ideas. However, this attitude is exactly what Bakhtin denounces as unethical. By swallowing his theories whole and unquestioningly, I would prove that I had not truly applied this critic's contributions.
I have several questions or points of contention for both Alan Jacobs and Mikhail Bakhtin. My first concern deals with the issue of eschatological community which the two critics celebrate. They seem to see the ideal interpretation as a "homecoming" when polyphonous voices will come together and form a larger, inclusive truth. Jacobs condemns exclusion under these assumptions and sees this framework as making room for those who are otherwise seen as outsiders within the context of certain texts. My question concerns the difference between "differentiation," which Jacobs sees as legitimate, and "exclusion." Is there such an interpretation that is completely irrelevant to the larger picture? If so, where are those boundaries? If Bakhtin and Jacobs are willing to accept any interpretation in the name of heteroglossia, I would become quite worried. Not only does this attitude bring about problems in the realm of literary theory by abolishing the need for and the authority of criticism, but such beliefs have shown their their true nature by causing strife and heartache within the Church, as seen in the crises occurring in many of our mainline Protestant denominations. If, however, Bakhtin and Jacobs merely celebrate the diversity of "tested" viewpoints while maintaining the need for discernment, I gladly endorse their theory. Not only does such a theory evoke a warm emotional response in me, but I see precedent for it within the Scriptures and in Christian tradition.
My second question concerns the issue of self-renunciation. What does Bakhtin mean by this? And how do we practice self-renunciation while we read? I understood this to mean that we should attempt to see the subject at hand from the perspective of the author, giving him or her the benefit of the doubt without blindly accepting everything they offer. Jacobs links self-renunciation to unconditional love, so I interpret this to mean that we should expound energy and dedication as readers and critics in an attempt to understand without fearing that the author would not reciprocate.
In addition, Bakhtin and Jacobs alerted me of the possibility that I could be guilty of reading without interacting with the text. Have I become a lazy, passive reader? If the author truly desires that readers interact with and critique his or her text, have I fulfilled those wishes? I must admit that when I read works of fiction for my literature courses, I tend not to question the ideas and forms presented. Wanting to complete the reading assignment as quickly as possible in order to move on to the next task, I seldom take time outside of class discussion to "seek the vice." I confess that this habit has left me bored and disillusioned. Perhaps forming a critical response in my mind would make my assignments more interesting, and I wouldn't feel as though I had a case of intellectual bulimia. I could restore the meaning and purpose that has often been lacking in my reading.
Finally, these chapters make me pause and question whether the reading of non-Biblical texts is a "theologically significant activity." If reading holds no theological significance, Jacobs states that all his theorizing is useless. After pondering this question, I must say that I believe that reading is theologically relevant because it concerns the shaping of one's heart and mind. God has given us our minds so that we might exercise them and use them for His glory, and secular, substantial reading accomplishes this. Furthermore, our reading forms our sense of values and can illuminate the good that remains in human nature as a result of God's creation of us in His image. For these reasons, I believe that Alan Jacobs' work was not in vain.
Jacobs does an excellent job of presenting the theories of Mikhail Bakhtin. I had no idea that this theorist-- whom I had noticed in our anthology's table of contents-- had such an interest in Christianity. I found myself tempted to absorb everything he said because I was so enthralled with his ideas. However, this attitude is exactly what Bakhtin denounces as unethical. By swallowing his theories whole and unquestioningly, I would prove that I had not truly applied this critic's contributions.
I have several questions or points of contention for both Alan Jacobs and Mikhail Bakhtin. My first concern deals with the issue of eschatological community which the two critics celebrate. They seem to see the ideal interpretation as a "homecoming" when polyphonous voices will come together and form a larger, inclusive truth. Jacobs condemns exclusion under these assumptions and sees this framework as making room for those who are otherwise seen as outsiders within the context of certain texts. My question concerns the difference between "differentiation," which Jacobs sees as legitimate, and "exclusion." Is there such an interpretation that is completely irrelevant to the larger picture? If so, where are those boundaries? If Bakhtin and Jacobs are willing to accept any interpretation in the name of heteroglossia, I would become quite worried. Not only does this attitude bring about problems in the realm of literary theory by abolishing the need for and the authority of criticism, but such beliefs have shown their their true nature by causing strife and heartache within the Church, as seen in the crises occurring in many of our mainline Protestant denominations. If, however, Bakhtin and Jacobs merely celebrate the diversity of "tested" viewpoints while maintaining the need for discernment, I gladly endorse their theory. Not only does such a theory evoke a warm emotional response in me, but I see precedent for it within the Scriptures and in Christian tradition.
My second question concerns the issue of self-renunciation. What does Bakhtin mean by this? And how do we practice self-renunciation while we read? I understood this to mean that we should attempt to see the subject at hand from the perspective of the author, giving him or her the benefit of the doubt without blindly accepting everything they offer. Jacobs links self-renunciation to unconditional love, so I interpret this to mean that we should expound energy and dedication as readers and critics in an attempt to understand without fearing that the author would not reciprocate.
In addition, Bakhtin and Jacobs alerted me of the possibility that I could be guilty of reading without interacting with the text. Have I become a lazy, passive reader? If the author truly desires that readers interact with and critique his or her text, have I fulfilled those wishes? I must admit that when I read works of fiction for my literature courses, I tend not to question the ideas and forms presented. Wanting to complete the reading assignment as quickly as possible in order to move on to the next task, I seldom take time outside of class discussion to "seek the vice." I confess that this habit has left me bored and disillusioned. Perhaps forming a critical response in my mind would make my assignments more interesting, and I wouldn't feel as though I had a case of intellectual bulimia. I could restore the meaning and purpose that has often been lacking in my reading.
Finally, these chapters make me pause and question whether the reading of non-Biblical texts is a "theologically significant activity." If reading holds no theological significance, Jacobs states that all his theorizing is useless. After pondering this question, I must say that I believe that reading is theologically relevant because it concerns the shaping of one's heart and mind. God has given us our minds so that we might exercise them and use them for His glory, and secular, substantial reading accomplishes this. Furthermore, our reading forms our sense of values and can illuminate the good that remains in human nature as a result of God's creation of us in His image. For these reasons, I believe that Alan Jacobs' work was not in vain.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Standing Up for Poetry
How often have we heard people say, "I don't like poetry. I don't get it-- why does it have to be so obscure?" Evidently, this response has existed for centuries, and Giovanni Boccaccio testifies to this. However, most people would rather read a newspaper filled with articles about current events or flip through a fashion magazine while waiting in line at the supermarket. Poetry, however, has a more select audience.
Does poetry's select audience make it a genre for snobs? While appreciating poetry requires effort and education, I do not see it as a genre for the academically elite. Not all poetry requires the explication skill of an English major. I think of Emily Dickinson, Langston Hughes, Robert Frost, Carl Sandburg, and Ogden Nash. The average fourteen-year-old can come away with at least an elementary understanding of their most famous works.
Our culture does not celebrate philosophers-- at least not philosophers in the traditional sense-- to the extent of Renaissance Italy. However, like Boccaccio, I see today's philosophers as the academic elite. While the poets seem to belong to the people, the philosophers reign in their marble halls and only speak to a select group of carefully selected scholars. Furthermore, some academics-- for example, Barbara Christian-- have accused the philosophically-oriented literary critics of attempting to destroy poetry by emphasizing discourse over imagination.
Some things haven't changed in the past seven hundred years.
Boccaccio seems to think that poets are the true, fervid philosophers, and he says that poetry "veils truth in a fair and fitting garment of fiction." Isn't this what English majors have known all along? I remember in Medieval-Renaissance Literature how Professor Smith said that English majors do the same thing as philosophy majors, except that they have more fun. The philosophy majors can keep their pretentious titles. We both understand and can better communicate the same profound truths. After all, what is the point of possessing knowledge if you can't successfully share it?
Boccaccio also elevates the status of the poet to that of a high priest who proclaims the truth of the Almighty God. The poet uses his (or her) gifts of imagination and word-weaving and becomes a kind of benevolent sorcerer, "bringing forth strange and unheard-of creations of the mind." I find in Boccaccio's description the portrait of an individual who is a cross between the Old Testament prophet and the Romantic poet.
This brings me to consider several other facets of Boccaccio's argument. First, secular poetry can be inspired by God, who does not limit His glory to the biblical texts. I see this as a breakthrough heralding the beginning of the Renaissance sacred humanist movement. Second, Boccaccio's ideas seem to have indirectly influenced 18th century Romantic writers such as Wordsworth and Coleridge. While his concept of the sublime remains fixed in the object itself-- as opposed to the Kantian sublime-- his connection of poetry to emotional fervor is revolutionary and ahead of his time. He also sees poetry as stemming from "the creations of the mind," or the imagination. This is another view commonly associated with the Romantic movement.
Despite Boccaccio's ability to anticipate movements centuries into the future, portions of his definition of poetry remain rooted in the Middle Ages and would certainly be seen as antiquated by today's standards. He deems the knowledge of rhetoric, logic, grammar, arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy necessary for the production of excellent poetry. Our contemporary conception of poetry has been shaped by the Romantic movement's emphasis on "the language of the common man," the use of everyday subjects, and the power of the imagination and emotion. We don't see the need for logical training beyond knowledge of basic grammar and spelling, and I believe that if we insisted that poets study mathematics and astronomy before being allowed to write, we would see their passion and inspiration squelched simply because most poets love the humanities, not the sciences.
Antiquated residue notwithstanding, Boccaccio gives the foundation to contemporary views of poetry and philosophy. His ideas have survived the centuries' changes and remain ingrained in society's mind.
Does poetry's select audience make it a genre for snobs? While appreciating poetry requires effort and education, I do not see it as a genre for the academically elite. Not all poetry requires the explication skill of an English major. I think of Emily Dickinson, Langston Hughes, Robert Frost, Carl Sandburg, and Ogden Nash. The average fourteen-year-old can come away with at least an elementary understanding of their most famous works.
Our culture does not celebrate philosophers-- at least not philosophers in the traditional sense-- to the extent of Renaissance Italy. However, like Boccaccio, I see today's philosophers as the academic elite. While the poets seem to belong to the people, the philosophers reign in their marble halls and only speak to a select group of carefully selected scholars. Furthermore, some academics-- for example, Barbara Christian-- have accused the philosophically-oriented literary critics of attempting to destroy poetry by emphasizing discourse over imagination.
Some things haven't changed in the past seven hundred years.
Boccaccio seems to think that poets are the true, fervid philosophers, and he says that poetry "veils truth in a fair and fitting garment of fiction." Isn't this what English majors have known all along? I remember in Medieval-Renaissance Literature how Professor Smith said that English majors do the same thing as philosophy majors, except that they have more fun. The philosophy majors can keep their pretentious titles. We both understand and can better communicate the same profound truths. After all, what is the point of possessing knowledge if you can't successfully share it?
Boccaccio also elevates the status of the poet to that of a high priest who proclaims the truth of the Almighty God. The poet uses his (or her) gifts of imagination and word-weaving and becomes a kind of benevolent sorcerer, "bringing forth strange and unheard-of creations of the mind." I find in Boccaccio's description the portrait of an individual who is a cross between the Old Testament prophet and the Romantic poet.
This brings me to consider several other facets of Boccaccio's argument. First, secular poetry can be inspired by God, who does not limit His glory to the biblical texts. I see this as a breakthrough heralding the beginning of the Renaissance sacred humanist movement. Second, Boccaccio's ideas seem to have indirectly influenced 18th century Romantic writers such as Wordsworth and Coleridge. While his concept of the sublime remains fixed in the object itself-- as opposed to the Kantian sublime-- his connection of poetry to emotional fervor is revolutionary and ahead of his time. He also sees poetry as stemming from "the creations of the mind," or the imagination. This is another view commonly associated with the Romantic movement.
Despite Boccaccio's ability to anticipate movements centuries into the future, portions of his definition of poetry remain rooted in the Middle Ages and would certainly be seen as antiquated by today's standards. He deems the knowledge of rhetoric, logic, grammar, arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy necessary for the production of excellent poetry. Our contemporary conception of poetry has been shaped by the Romantic movement's emphasis on "the language of the common man," the use of everyday subjects, and the power of the imagination and emotion. We don't see the need for logical training beyond knowledge of basic grammar and spelling, and I believe that if we insisted that poets study mathematics and astronomy before being allowed to write, we would see their passion and inspiration squelched simply because most poets love the humanities, not the sciences.
Antiquated residue notwithstanding, Boccaccio gives the foundation to contemporary views of poetry and philosophy. His ideas have survived the centuries' changes and remain ingrained in society's mind.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Dante's Timeless Insight
Dante Alighieri's explanation of different types of exposition remains relevant and perceptive even today, as we enter the 21st century. He explains four different senses by which a literary work-- specifically, the Bible-- can be understood: the literal, the allegorical, the moral, and the anagogical. I had never heard of the fourth word before, but he nevertheless defines and gives examples of each type of interpretation.
Obviously, the literal interpretation is the surface meaning of a text, whereas the allegorical is "a truth hidden beneath a beautiful fiction," representing real-life situations and characters. The moral sense is didactic, and the anagogical sense concerns the supernatural and the spiritual, or the reader's relationship with God.
Dante calls this kind of multi-faceted reading polysemous. I saw his analysis as more in line with contemporary thought concerning reading than the theories of Augustine, and, consequently, I could better apply his theory to my own reading.
I also believe that Dante's theories have influenced today's orthodox readings of Scripture. I'm sure that the majority of evangelical laypersons would not recognize that their theology of biblical explication has its roots in 14th century Italy, but the fact remains that Dante's emphasis on understanding the literal meaning of Scripture prior to forming hermeneutical interpretations is still recognized as authoritative. I distinctly remember my youth director teaching this principle to our youth group when I was a sophomore in high school, and I still keep his notes from that meeting in my Bible. I have found this theory useful time and time again in my own study of Scripture.
However, I must consider two more ideas concerning Dante's influential theory. Dante seems to focus exclusively on sacred texts or texts inspired by Scripture. I wonder whether all the elements of his definition of a polysemous reading can be applied to so-called secular fiction. For me, this raises issues of the author's intention (which the Formalists would call a fallacy). Perhaps the author told his or her story with the sole purpose of entertainment. If this is the case, would it be fair-- or even relevant-- to apply an allegorical, moral, or anagogical reading? Certainly many authors' writings demonstrate profound truths about humanity, intended or not, but I question the ability to anagogically analyze these works. I fear that if I attempted this, I would come up with a perverted or contorted view of God, an outlook not in keeping with Scripture. In other words, I would see my impositions of representation as a "stretch."
I also think that Dante's theory of interpretation is exclusively scholastic, not meditative. This surprises me because he takes poetic license in his most famous work, The Divine Comedy. This is hardly an academic work. Furthermore, Dante seems to see meditative readings of Scripture
as illegitimate. I find this fascinating in light of the supposed prevalence of the medieval practice of lectio divina, which contrasts against Dante's proposed objective disinterest. Dante appears dismiss mystical readings, which are more dependent on experience and emotion than on reason and exposition. I can hardly rule these out as illegitimate, since I value the dynamics of one's relationship with God.
All things considered, I still find Dante's thoughts useful and enduring. His theory definitely stimulates discussion and leaves room for practical application.
Obviously, the literal interpretation is the surface meaning of a text, whereas the allegorical is "a truth hidden beneath a beautiful fiction," representing real-life situations and characters. The moral sense is didactic, and the anagogical sense concerns the supernatural and the spiritual, or the reader's relationship with God.
Dante calls this kind of multi-faceted reading polysemous. I saw his analysis as more in line with contemporary thought concerning reading than the theories of Augustine, and, consequently, I could better apply his theory to my own reading.
I also believe that Dante's theories have influenced today's orthodox readings of Scripture. I'm sure that the majority of evangelical laypersons would not recognize that their theology of biblical explication has its roots in 14th century Italy, but the fact remains that Dante's emphasis on understanding the literal meaning of Scripture prior to forming hermeneutical interpretations is still recognized as authoritative. I distinctly remember my youth director teaching this principle to our youth group when I was a sophomore in high school, and I still keep his notes from that meeting in my Bible. I have found this theory useful time and time again in my own study of Scripture.
However, I must consider two more ideas concerning Dante's influential theory. Dante seems to focus exclusively on sacred texts or texts inspired by Scripture. I wonder whether all the elements of his definition of a polysemous reading can be applied to so-called secular fiction. For me, this raises issues of the author's intention (which the Formalists would call a fallacy). Perhaps the author told his or her story with the sole purpose of entertainment. If this is the case, would it be fair-- or even relevant-- to apply an allegorical, moral, or anagogical reading? Certainly many authors' writings demonstrate profound truths about humanity, intended or not, but I question the ability to anagogically analyze these works. I fear that if I attempted this, I would come up with a perverted or contorted view of God, an outlook not in keeping with Scripture. In other words, I would see my impositions of representation as a "stretch."
I also think that Dante's theory of interpretation is exclusively scholastic, not meditative. This surprises me because he takes poetic license in his most famous work, The Divine Comedy. This is hardly an academic work. Furthermore, Dante seems to see meditative readings of Scripture
as illegitimate. I find this fascinating in light of the supposed prevalence of the medieval practice of lectio divina, which contrasts against Dante's proposed objective disinterest. Dante appears dismiss mystical readings, which are more dependent on experience and emotion than on reason and exposition. I can hardly rule these out as illegitimate, since I value the dynamics of one's relationship with God.
All things considered, I still find Dante's thoughts useful and enduring. His theory definitely stimulates discussion and leaves room for practical application.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
My Acquaintance with Augustine and Aquinas
I had looked forward to this moment all semester and eagerly anticipated reading the words of two of the great doctors of the Church, hoping that their ideas might prove enlightening to me, a modern-day Christian reader.
I have to admit that I didn't exactly find what I had expected-- at least not immediately. However, a few of the passages appealed to me and gave me cause to ponder their significance.
St. Augustine makes a very interesting connection between the Trinity, the Word (logos-- Christ incarnate) and the words which humans use. Augustine writes that "there can be no work unless the word precedes," and he links this to the presence of the Word of God (by whom all things are made) and the existence of creatures. I interpret this to mean that the idea represented in language exists regardless of the existence of the word that describes it.
Augustine does not doubt the authority of the word to describe the preexisting idea. He calls the possibility of a disjunct or faulty connection between language and meaning a lie. This makes me believe that he is a complete literalist, since it appears that he doesn't allow for any sort of figurative language in this equation. After reading in the introduction about Derrida's interest in Augustine's work, I can see how this simplistic view of language would give the poststructuralists fits. Isn't poststructuralism and postmodernism in general amused by wordplay and the ability of language to undermine itself? I intend to read Derrida in order to get his perspective on this dilemma.
As much as I admire St. Augustine's role in the formation of orthodox Christianity, I can't say that I completely agree with all of his ventures into literary theory. Perhaps I should applaud him anyway because of his handicap of having lived in an age devoid of the following centuries' theories. Perhaps I'm being pretentious.
However, St. Thomas Aquinas' logical arguments concerning Scripture, metaphor, and multiple meanings better satisfied my expectations. Because I value poetry and the mystical, his ability to see the beauty of metaphor as a gift from God to be used for His glory resonated deep within my soul. Aquinas believes metaphors demonstrate truth about God and the world by veiling the actual essence of a thing in order to make it understood and appreciated by people. In my opinion, these thoughts resemble Platonic or Emersonian theory, except that they have been consecrated to God. I can then agree with C.S. Lewis in his assertion that even pagan philosophy possesses an element of truth. Furthermore, I see Aquinas' ideas as aligning with Jesus' example of parables. If God can partake in this activity, why can't we? After all, beneath this storytelling lies an enduring Truth.
I have to admit that I didn't exactly find what I had expected-- at least not immediately. However, a few of the passages appealed to me and gave me cause to ponder their significance.
St. Augustine makes a very interesting connection between the Trinity, the Word (logos-- Christ incarnate) and the words which humans use. Augustine writes that "there can be no work unless the word precedes," and he links this to the presence of the Word of God (by whom all things are made) and the existence of creatures. I interpret this to mean that the idea represented in language exists regardless of the existence of the word that describes it.
Augustine does not doubt the authority of the word to describe the preexisting idea. He calls the possibility of a disjunct or faulty connection between language and meaning a lie. This makes me believe that he is a complete literalist, since it appears that he doesn't allow for any sort of figurative language in this equation. After reading in the introduction about Derrida's interest in Augustine's work, I can see how this simplistic view of language would give the poststructuralists fits. Isn't poststructuralism and postmodernism in general amused by wordplay and the ability of language to undermine itself? I intend to read Derrida in order to get his perspective on this dilemma.
As much as I admire St. Augustine's role in the formation of orthodox Christianity, I can't say that I completely agree with all of his ventures into literary theory. Perhaps I should applaud him anyway because of his handicap of having lived in an age devoid of the following centuries' theories. Perhaps I'm being pretentious.
However, St. Thomas Aquinas' logical arguments concerning Scripture, metaphor, and multiple meanings better satisfied my expectations. Because I value poetry and the mystical, his ability to see the beauty of metaphor as a gift from God to be used for His glory resonated deep within my soul. Aquinas believes metaphors demonstrate truth about God and the world by veiling the actual essence of a thing in order to make it understood and appreciated by people. In my opinion, these thoughts resemble Platonic or Emersonian theory, except that they have been consecrated to God. I can then agree with C.S. Lewis in his assertion that even pagan philosophy possesses an element of truth. Furthermore, I see Aquinas' ideas as aligning with Jesus' example of parables. If God can partake in this activity, why can't we? After all, beneath this storytelling lies an enduring Truth.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
bell hooks: How Postmodernism Serves [My] Race
Unlike Barbara Smith, bell hooks seems to have reconciled her race with postmodernism. She makes apologies for its rejection of essentialism, dismissing the problems that Smith raises as "not really intervening in the discourse in a way that alters and transforms." The ease with which she throws out this contention makes me question whether she has fully examined all the ramifications of this tenet of postmodernism.
Instead, she sees the rejection of essentialism as positive for the black experience since it breaks down the implicit rules that occur in various sectors of the African-American population. In other words, she believes postmodernism breaks down the walls that go up when African-Americans view other African-Americans as "not black enough" or "whacko extremists."
I'm an outsider to this discourse concerning postmodernism and blackness, but I can attest to the fact that African-Americans sometimes have condescending attitudes about other African-Americans. I also think that a prevailing-- yet faulty-- idea of "black essence" exists in the minds of both the African-American community and in other racial groups. This essentialism is formed from outside, often stereotypical pressures as well as the inside pull towards conformity.
Many whites-- and other racial groups-- have at least some of these stereotypical, prejudiced assumptions about blackness:
1. They live in the 'hood. The 'hood is dangerous and undesirable.
2. They speak a weird, incorrect form of English. This shows their lack of intelligence and their refusal to take education seriously.
3. They like hip-hop. Hip-hop is bad because it's sexual and violent.
4. They belong to Pentecostal, storefront churches. This proves that they are easily swayed by their emotions and can't reason.
5. They are good at basketball. That's the only honest way they'll succeed in life.
6. They don't do well in school because they're dumb.
7. They have an attitude. This makes them intimidating and unruly.
8. They dislike-- if not hate-- whites. This means they're dangerous.
9. They commit crimes and belong to gangs. This also means they're dangerous.
10. They eat soul food: fried chicken, grits, ribs, greens, cornbread, and red velvet cake. An unbalanced diet explains their tendency to become overweight.
I agree with bell hooks when she says that postmodernism will help break apart stereotypes. I personally hope that it will help to end the tendency among other groups to label African-Americans. Obviously, this problem is detrimental to both groups. It harms the African-American community because it provides the fuel that maintains oppression, and it deprives other racial groups of meaningful relationships in addition their dignity and goodness.
(However, "true" postmodernism rejects the metanarrative of good and evil. This causes obvious issues in the realm of race relations.)
I think urban blacks and political activists sometimes accuse other African-Americans of "selling out" if they use proper grammar, wear "white" clothes, listen to classical music, or study ballet. These divisions only cause conflicts within the African-American community, and bell hooks seems to lament this. I agree with her when she states that postmodernism will theoretically help break down these artificial divisions.
bell hooks gives a thoughtful critique of postmodern academia's tendency towards inaction. From what I have seen, postmodernism often leads to self-centeredness and a deficiency of motivation and conviction. I respect bell hook's work in the African-American community and her view that engagement puts theory into practice. Again, however, I believe the conviction needed for activism can't coexist with a truly postmodern viewpoint. I think it is possible to adopt some of the products of postmodernism (inclusiveness, tolerance in the traditional sense, questioning of authority, etc.) without becoming a postmodernist.
Instead, she sees the rejection of essentialism as positive for the black experience since it breaks down the implicit rules that occur in various sectors of the African-American population. In other words, she believes postmodernism breaks down the walls that go up when African-Americans view other African-Americans as "not black enough" or "whacko extremists."
I'm an outsider to this discourse concerning postmodernism and blackness, but I can attest to the fact that African-Americans sometimes have condescending attitudes about other African-Americans. I also think that a prevailing-- yet faulty-- idea of "black essence" exists in the minds of both the African-American community and in other racial groups. This essentialism is formed from outside, often stereotypical pressures as well as the inside pull towards conformity.
Many whites-- and other racial groups-- have at least some of these stereotypical, prejudiced assumptions about blackness:
1. They live in the 'hood. The 'hood is dangerous and undesirable.
2. They speak a weird, incorrect form of English. This shows their lack of intelligence and their refusal to take education seriously.
3. They like hip-hop. Hip-hop is bad because it's sexual and violent.
4. They belong to Pentecostal, storefront churches. This proves that they are easily swayed by their emotions and can't reason.
5. They are good at basketball. That's the only honest way they'll succeed in life.
6. They don't do well in school because they're dumb.
7. They have an attitude. This makes them intimidating and unruly.
8. They dislike-- if not hate-- whites. This means they're dangerous.
9. They commit crimes and belong to gangs. This also means they're dangerous.
10. They eat soul food: fried chicken, grits, ribs, greens, cornbread, and red velvet cake. An unbalanced diet explains their tendency to become overweight.
I agree with bell hooks when she says that postmodernism will help break apart stereotypes. I personally hope that it will help to end the tendency among other groups to label African-Americans. Obviously, this problem is detrimental to both groups. It harms the African-American community because it provides the fuel that maintains oppression, and it deprives other racial groups of meaningful relationships in addition their dignity and goodness.
(However, "true" postmodernism rejects the metanarrative of good and evil. This causes obvious issues in the realm of race relations.)
I think urban blacks and political activists sometimes accuse other African-Americans of "selling out" if they use proper grammar, wear "white" clothes, listen to classical music, or study ballet. These divisions only cause conflicts within the African-American community, and bell hooks seems to lament this. I agree with her when she states that postmodernism will theoretically help break down these artificial divisions.
bell hooks gives a thoughtful critique of postmodern academia's tendency towards inaction. From what I have seen, postmodernism often leads to self-centeredness and a deficiency of motivation and conviction. I respect bell hook's work in the African-American community and her view that engagement puts theory into practice. Again, however, I believe the conviction needed for activism can't coexist with a truly postmodern viewpoint. I think it is possible to adopt some of the products of postmodernism (inclusiveness, tolerance in the traditional sense, questioning of authority, etc.) without becoming a postmodernist.
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