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.

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.

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.

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.

Poststructuralism on Trial

At fifteen, I made an unnerving discovery.

I was living in a postmodern world.

I remember trying to share the Gospel with a friend who had already left for a tiny liberal arts college in New England. This friend responded by telling me that if Christianity was my reality, that was fine. But it wasn't her reality, and what was "right" for me wasn't necessarily right for her. Her lukewarm words made me feel deflated, but they did not cool my passion for evangelism. As a consequence of this exchange, I began investigating postmodernism and its main tenets. I assumed that if I could understand the current cultural and academic trends, I would be better equipped to share my faith. I was right. My rudimentary, teenage investigation has stood the test of time, providing a decent foundation for my subsequent, academically-oriented studies and giving me the tools to construct-- no pun intended-- a Christian response to postmodernism and poststructuralism.

Unlike some ardent apologists, I don't waste a considerable amount of energy condemning postmodernism. Sometimes I'm able to make use of its more mainstream manifestations and its vocabulary.

However, I don't agree with the core postmodern / poststructuralist ideology because it has the potential to eliminate the world's sense of ethics. Furthermore, it is self-contradictory. After reading "The Race for Theory," I think that Barbara Christian would resonate with my sentiments.

Christian brings up the point that poststructuralist discourse is itself a metanarrative. She sees it as oppressive and stringent, accomplishing the very thing that it seeks to eradicate. I had never looked at postmodernism's self-contradictions from the perspective of language. Christian also opened my eyes to the secular critique of poststructuralism. Before reading her remarks, I thought that all major, secular critics and academics adhered to postmodern theory. Obviously, I was wrong.

Barbara Christian critiques poststructuralism from her unique situatedness as a female, African-American intellectual. One of her main points of contention concerns the poststructuralist's murdering of the author. She states that powerful white intellectuals conceived of this concept right as the narratives of people of color began to surface, suggesting that the newly-discovered "death of the author" wasn't a coincidence. I'm not sure that her theory is true-- I would need more information. But her complaint that poststructuralist theory steals power from the authors who have fought for empowerment seems absolutely valid and legitimate.

Christian's commentary makes me consider the ramifications of white privilege within the world of criticism. The likes of Derrida, Lacan, and Barthes can enjoy the luxury of playing with theory and droning that metanarratives and authors do not exist. For them, it is only literary criticism-- a game that has no effect on them personally as white males. Those who have been disenfranchised-- with the exception of white females such as Cixous-- can't afford to toy with poststructuralist theory because it takes away their very rights and souls as humans yearning for justice.

Unfortunately, I found Christian's response to poststructuralism disappointing. She advocates a different approach to every work, essentially fulfilling the aim of the theory she seeks to abandon by rejecting all metanarratives, including poststructuralism. She's more postmodern that the poststructuralists! She also falls into their fallacy by denying metanarratives. Her conclusion places her right where she started.

As a result of reading Barbara Christian's critique, I have further reason to believe that postmodernism and poststructuralism will not continue to reign in academia indefinitely. Eventually intellectuals will see these problems and reject this movement. I pray that after poststructuralism dies they will embrace an honest, true ideology, an ideology would draw them closer to Christ.

They're Not Abolishing English

When I first turned to "On the Abolition of the English Department," I was prepared to staunchly oppose what would be presented. I remained somewhat defensive until I realized that, in the words of the introduction, the Kenyan professors were advocating an "expansionist" policy. They weren't nearly as radical as I had expected.

I had expected that the Kenyan professors would throw out all English-language literature with the exception of Negritude, Afro-Caribbean, and African literature. Instead, I found that the proposed changes within the University of Nairobi's English (or Literature) Department served to put English national literature in perspective in light of the students' identities as Kenyans. This actually made quite a bit of sense to me. After all, it's their country. Why shouldn't they celebrate their culture and heritage?

The inclusion of African oral literature fascinated me. I learned that the oral tradition-- specifically, the folk tale-- incorporates song. So far, I've found that this is unique to Africa, and I really respect it. I think the closest thing to the African folk tale that we have in our culture is opera and musicals, but both of these genres are considered music-related, not literature-related.

I also found it interesting that the revised departmental syllabi would include the literature of other European countries such as Germany, Russia, and France. Again, I would have previously expected that the department would eliminate all study of European literature out of (justified) resentment. The inclusion of these countries' literature makes sense because it would give students a better-rounded and better-informed knowledge of the world and its cultures without compromising the study of Kenyan literature.

I wonder whether similar changes will eventually occur within the wider American university system. I am currently investigating numerous graduate programs in English, and most of the schools that I'm considering have exclusively "English" departments. These schools include Rice, University of Texas, UCLA, UC-Berkeley, and UC-Santa Barbara. However, UC-San Diego is notable in its rejection of the strictly "English" department. They offer a broad Literature degree which encompasses Asian, African, American, Commonwealth, and European literature in addition to the standard English literature. I originally dismissed this innovation as a result of politically-correct multiculturalism, and I still don't know whether I would apply to UCSD because their broad focus may not allow for intense study in British literature and general literary criticism-- where I would like to focus my studies. However, this article about the University of Nairobi's proposed transformation has caused me to become more open-minded and to respect UCSD's decision.

Langston Hughes and the Negro Artist

I must admit that as I consider Langston Hughes' admonition to African-Americans in the 1920s, I feel a little out of place. First of all, I am not black. I have never known anything other than white privilege. Secondly, I don't understand the cultural and social milieu of the Jazz Age. I come from the world of the early 21st century, post-Civil Rights Era, post-Black Panthers. While all is far from perfect, our nation is now coming to the realization that we may have an African-American president in another six months.

However, for what my opinion is worth, I will offer my reflections.

Langston Hughes favors the black lower class, which he sees as more authentically Negro (to use his term). If I put myself in his position, I can understand his frustration about middle- and upper-class African-Americans. I can see why he would see the "white" culture that has consumed these families as bland or stifling. (Mind you, I don't see my culture as boring or tasteless, but I respect the opinions of others, even if I disagree with them.)

However, I question Hughes' description of poor blacks. Perhaps they have maintained their authenticity, but I thought his portrayal of their lives was glamorized. He seems to think that these people have a more easygoing lifestyle-- he pictures them breaking into song and dance for every occasion. I wonder whether the black lower class was comparatively better off in the 1920s than today. If their financial position was no better than at present, I would accuse Hughes of viewing life through rose-colored glasses.

When I spent a semester in North Philadelphia, my classmates and I would walk through the neighborhood every week to get to the community center where we were volunteering. I didn't see anyone singing, and nobody was dancing in the streets. I saw rowhouses crumbling and vacant lots filled with trash. I remember one block where only one shabby house was left standing. There were no grocery stores, no parks. The ineffective public school system had become notorious for violence against teachers, and many children were at least a year behind acceptable reading levels. The neighborhood was plagued by gangs, drugs, and gun violence. We didn't dare walk down the side streets after dark.

After studying the information that the Census Bureau had collected concerning our neighborhood, we found that many times multiple families lived in one dwelling. Most of the men who were of marrying age-- or had fathered babies-- were either dead, imprisoned, or delinquent. This left scores of unmarried young women raising families, wandering from one boyfriend to the next. Very few families had health insurance, and we learned that many mothers waited until their children's illnesses had become so severe that they had to go to the emergency room because they could not pay to see a family practitioner. Because of these stressful financial issues, education took second place to basic survival. Only some men and women had attained high school degrees. Very few had completed college.

I find it hard to believe that our neighbors in North Philly would have approved of Hughes' description of the lower class. In my estimation, with the exception of the tenacious inner-city church, today's African-American communities inspire very little joyful singing. I only hear angry, disenchanted hip-hop.