December 13, 2005

One Literary Theory to Rule Them All

As anyone could easily tell from the preceding entries, I've had a lot of fun this semester playing around with different perspectives and ways of looking at literature. But through it all I must confess the slightest shade of discomfort. All of the critical theories to which we were exposed were alright in their way, but none of them worked perfectly for me. In particular, I was bothered by the fact that I could not fit my own critical efforts in the past into any of the categories which I was being taught.

I despise New Criticism, as I've mentioned before, for its total rejection of context and its attempt to reduce what I consider art to what it considers science. To me, New Criticism seems cold, dry, boring, and ineffective as a theory.

Reader-Response is fun in its way, and probably allows me the greatest latitude to exercise my opinions . . . but I can't help but feel that it is a cop-out as a serious theory. All you have to do is talk about your feelings while you were reading and voila, you have a piece of textual criticism. It can't be that easy, surely. I can't take myself seriously that way, at least.

Deconstruction is one that I've had a great deal of fun with this semester: presentations, papers, journals, and a lot of serious thought. And I was surprised to find that there is a great deal more to it as a serious approach, even for someone who believes in objective truth, than I might have expected. But unknowability is all you are ultimately allowed to arrive at, and that is far, far too limiting, surely. Certainly the objective reality of the text may always prove to be unknowable, but that doesn't mean that I can't draw a single, most-valid reading out of it which will be of use.

Psychoanalysis I have played with, both seriously and (more often) in jest, for years now. There's just something both quaint and entertaining about looking for sex in everything, just as a purely intellectual exercise. Phallic symbols, sexual frustration, parent-related trauma . . . all very inviting and easy to fall back on in a pinch. And, again, here is a theory that should be applied from time to time as the most useful in a particular case . . . but not always. Sex may well motivate everything, I don't know, but it isn't the meaning of everything, and as such I am not satisfied entirely with psychoanalysis.

Marxism is just flat out-dated, and does very little for me outside of functioning as an amusing joke. It, too, is fun to play with, and is actually applicable (largely for comedic value) in a few instances. Perhaps it can be most seriously applied where an author is clearly and intentionally dealing with the socio-economic themes which are dear to the Marxists heart, but for myself I have no interest in their politics.

Historical/Biographical certainly has its place, particularly in attempting to explain authorial intent. Why did the author produce this text, and what did it mean to them? But I still believe it is important to consider what it means, or ought to mean, to us. And there is no real room for that here. This theory I find extremely useful, but only in a secondary role, not as an end in itself.

Postcolonialism, Cultural Studies, Feminism, Post-feminism, and Queer Theory . . . all of these are variations on a theme. Not a bad theme, really . . . simply the idea that there are voices in both literature and history which are woefully underrepresented, and that this ought to be examined and rectified. Perhaps advocates of these theories, in their enthusiasm, turn a bit more material on its head than is strictly necessary, but it is an admirable effort nonetheless. But do they not see that they have simply boxed themselves in in a new location? There is no freedom here to accept certain types of literature on its own terms. I can't accept that, as much as I may enjoy dabbling in any of the above from time to time.

What I am not finding in any of these critical theories is a true accounting for literature itself. Some of them attempt to measure empirically, others to describe, others to account for in terms of libido or cold, hard cash, others to evaluate and re-evaluate from a dizzying array of angles, and still others merely to respond to. But who among them seeks to find a purpose and a great theme or drive behind the production and lasting value of literature? None . . . not really . . . not in the way I mean. These were the sorts of thoughts that were floating around in my head in a very disconnected fashion for quite some time.

And then, on the final day of class, Watson produced a handout for us which, quite frankly, made my week. I have copied it out below. It delineates the essentials of a critical theory which embodies precisely what I have been trying to do myself beginning some years ago. The origins of my own thought along those lines go back at least seven years or so to my first arguments over Harry Potter (if not even further back than that).

Essentially, the conflict that arose both in my own mind and between myself and others, and which has continued to resurface regularly throughout the intervening period, is whether I may positively state that any text is worth my time to examine and account for in terms of my own Christian worldview. Can I acceptably combine "All truth is God's truth" with "Art for art's sake" as I have long sought to do? The handout in class crystalized the definite, solid answer to that question which I have long postulated but seldom adequately proved: Yes.

But, I'm not sure if any of the above is making any sense at all, so maybe I'd better just get on with reproducing the contents of this handout for you. Maybe then everything will explain itself:

Christian Criticism

Assumptions with which to enter the text:
1. The glory of God is the central issue in all human endeavor.
2. The production of all literature is motivated by obedience or rebellion against God.
3. Your interpretation (insight) is influenced by your own relationship to the Spirit of God.
4. Literature, its writing, its reading, and its criticism is an arena for influencing conversion, redemption, and/or sanctification.

Questions to ask while reading the text:
1. Who has "fallen" and how did it happen?
2. What does the text say about redemption, forgiveness, enlightenment, or growth into wisdom?
3. What is the impact of evil/good, sin/forgiveness, etc. on the characters and their choices, dilemmas, and interactions with each other?
4. How is God's grace at work at various levels to bring about His moral and spiritual purpose in the text?
5. How is the text itself a product of God's grace?
6. What incarnations of God and godliness are reflected in the work (whether knowingly by the author or not)?
7. How does the work reflect or challenge a theistic or Christian understanding of life, the universe, and everything?

Practices to apply in analyzing the text:
1. Identify issues of sin, judgment and redemption in the text.
2. Identify who has spiritual power; what kind of spirit lies behind it; what is done with power; and who wants power.
3. Identify issues of faith, hope, and love.
4. Determine whether the text supports or undermines the status quo, "the world."
5. Observe the sacramental archetypes in the text (water, bread, blood, marriage, forgiveness, the call of God, etc.).
6. Trace the "passion" of the main character (figures of agony, betrayal, trial, execution, resurrection, etc.).

This, outlined in clear, practical terms and steps, is the theory I have been blindly striving to apply to everything I have read or watched for the past several years, with varying degrees of success. Suddenly having it dropped in my lap, and all contained so handily on a single sheet of paper, was . . . well, rather a rush to say the least. I felt both vindicated and purposeful . . . and a little disappointed he hadn't introduced it earlier in the course.

Anyway, I think I finally have a pet critical theory.

Posted by Jared at December 13, 2005 12:59 PM | TrackBack