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Bethany Little, 7555
Dr. Jones
ENG 495
March 26, 2013
Reality Revealed: Seeking to Display God’s Truth and Beauty through Literature
An understanding of how and why literature should be read is essential to anyone who
professes a serious love for the written language. As a student who is working toward the
goal of teaching language for years to come, a justification of the study of literature is
required for my conscience to be at rest—does this course of study really matter? Will this
goal merely produce fleeting enjoyment and diversion, or will the results of my faithful
pursuit of the study and teaching of literature echo in eternity? I believe that literature
matters, but it is indeed a faithful pursuit that will make it so. An effective use of literature
will be developed only from understanding its nature and using it properly to achieve its
ultimate goal: the engaging communication of ultimate, universal truth that transcends
humanity in a way that is accessible, memorable, and beautiful. Literature allows us to access
the transcendent through the ordinary, the spiritual through the mundane—through the
imagination, literature reveals reality to its reader, instructing him with the truth in order that
he might live better because of it. Hard work, vigorous study, and an adherence to the
principles learned will make this possible.
The most important goal of literature is to teach universal truth that is understandable and
memorable. By universal, I mean an objective truth that exists beyond men’s individual, or
even collective, minds. As a believer in the God of the Bible, I claim that there is an ultimate
truth which He embodies and calls us to pursue—truth is not dependent on my perception of
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it. The primary concern of literature should be to reveal this truth, to make it accessible and
understandable in a way that will affect change in the lives of its readers.
The question of subject matter, what literature should address, reaches through time to
Aristotle. In order to communicate the instruction of virtue, what kind of content should
literature be concerned with? Are space ships and faeries at all appropriate in a medium that
is concerned with teaching objective truth? As a reader and writer whose imagination thrives
on such things, I am profoundly concerned with this question. To find the answer, I look to
Aristotle. Though he does not address the specific questions of faeries perhaps, I believe that
the spirit of Aristotle’s philosophy teaches that regardless of the characters or setting, a work
will be effective if it accurately imitates life—literature should be an accurate representation
of the human nature that we encounter daily. To many ears, the word “imitation” sounds both
cheap and simple. This view is one held by Plato, who believes imitation is a practice which
only removes the viewer’s (or reader’s) understanding of the object further away from the
reality. In his opinion, one should try to understand a bed, for example, by observing the bed
itself, not an imitation of it through art or poetry (4-5). Furthermore, he perceives that poets
are being dishonest by imitating things on which they personally are not the experts. For
instance, because Homer was not himself a war general, he should not be writing of battle in
such a way that would suggest he is an expert in the field (6). Aristotle reacts against this
idea, rather claiming that imitation, or “mimesis,” is the natural and therefore universal
method by which learning takes place: “[Man] is the most imitative of living creatures, and
through imitation learns his earliest lessons; and no less universal is the pleasure felt in things
imitated” (21, sec. 4). Therefore, by accurately imitating human nature, instruction occurs.
However, it is essential to realize the poet’s role in this dance of imitation—it is not his duty
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to merely record events directly as he observes them; rather, he must be concerned with what
might probably happen in any given situation. The beauty of poetry is that the poet may use
his imagination as freely as he chooses, and still instruct objective truth (given he follows the
aforementioned guidelines). Aristotle states, “[I]t is not the function of the poetry to relate
what has happened, but what may happen,—what is possible according to the law of
probability or necessity” (26, sec. 9). Aristotle is primarily concerned with the universal laws
and tendencies of human nature, what things are probable to happen according to those laws,
and what things are necessary as dictated by the law of cause and effect. In fact, many
situations that are merely observed and recorded do not reveal the heart or the motives of the
nature of man. By observing the law of probability and necessity, the poet is able to create a
sequence of action that is true to human nature while at the same time revealing the motives
and secrets of the heart. So we see that with these principles present, matters such as setting
and the physical form of characters ceases to be so important.
Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene is a wonderful illustration of this truth. There are
elements of spells, magicians, knights, and monsters. Yet the depth of insight that Spenser
gives us into the quest of the man striving for holiness and the trials that face him is a clear
reflection of the Christian walk through the fallen world that every reader can learn from, and
live better for it. Imitation of human nature can include, but is not limited to, the exact
events we observe in our daily lives. For this reason, literature entices those from countless
backgrounds to undergo an experience dissimilar from our lives, but yet resonating deeply
with our nature as men, teaching us how to live.
Simply because the main goal of literature is to teach truth, it does not exclude other
goals that need to be met along the way. In “Preface to Lyrical Ballads,” William
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Wordsworth asserts that though truth is an objective of poetry, the primary goal of literature
is to delight, to inspire pleasure in its readers: “The Poet writes under one restriction only,
namely, the necessity of giving immediate pleasure to a human being [. . .] it is a homage
paid to the native and naked dignity of man, to the grand elementary principle of pleasure, by
which he knows, and feels, and lives, and moves” (248-49). His opinion does not match up
with the primary goal I believe to be correct, that of revealing truth to its readers, but that by
no means suggests that beauty and pleasure are not integral components of what good
literature is. I prefer to view the process of writing good works as a form of vertical ladder.
At the top, there is the teaching of objective, transcendent truth. But perhaps the middle rung,
which must be passed in order to reach the ultimate goal, is the expression of beauty and the
communication of pleasure to the reader. So though this is not the ultimate goal of literature,
it is a necessary step to getting there. There are some wonderful pieces of literature that get to
that middle rung, and stop. They are beautiful, they are delightful to read—but is the reader
left changed for the better after reading it? I believe a good example of poetry that is
immensely beautiful but fails to consistently teach transcendent truths is the work of Edgar
Allen Poe. Truthfully, it was his poetry that first created the spark of a love of literature
within me, a love for something beyond just pleasant stories. The musicality of his verses
will forever inspire me as they run through my mind with their lilting patterns, “And so, all
the night-tide, I lie down by the side / Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride”
(38-39 ). However, though it is dear to my heart, his poetry is not something I can point to as
work that changed my life. Indeed they are beautiful, and in that they do reflect the beauty of
the Maker who created language—but Poe stops at being beautiful, and does not take that
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next step to the teaching of transcendent truth. His works are good, incredible works of
craftsmanship, but they fall short of reaching their full potential as literature.
Though poets cannot let it be the only goal, the expression of delight to the reader is
essential to the purpose of literature because it makes the truth it teaches memorable and
understandable. In his work “An Apology for Poetry,” Phillip Sidney refers to poetry as a
“speaking picture,” one which acts as a moderator between the disciplines of history and
philosophy, while at the same time exceeding them both in merit. Sidney claims that though
philosophy may be truthful in all it says, that it may be urging man to adopt precepts that are
right and necessary, it falls short of poetry for three reasons: it is abstract, it is not
memorable, and it does not motivate. Philosophy is very difficult to read and to understand;
Sidney claims that even if the reader does make it through the tedious material and leaves
with some understanding of what he has read, it is not easy to remember, and therefore
challenging to apply to a practical life: “For [the philosopher’s] knowledge standeth so upon
the abstract and general, that happy is the man who may understand him, and more happy
that can apply what he doth understand” (110). Philosophy does not give us practical
examples of how to apply the good precepts it teaches, and so remains in the abstract and is
easily forgotten.
History, on the other hand, provides us with facts, dates, and events, but is not free to
explore the precepts and motivations behind those occurrences. Also, history has knowledge
of isolated events, yet cannot connect them, resulting in a very limited gain of understanding
of human nature. The historian is so concerned with picking exact details and records from
the past that he may only speak of examples, but cannot connect them with the abstract truths
that these examples teach.
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Poetry, according to Sidney, acts as a Moderator between these two disciplines because it
does both, and is not leaving out either the precept or the example. Poesy is a “speaking
picture” in that: “whatsoever the philosopher saith should be done, he giventh a perfect
picture [. . .] for [the poet] yieldeth to the powers of the mind an image of that whereof the
philosopher bestoweth but a wordish description” (110). Poetry infuses the example of the
historian with the life of the words from the philosopher, creating a “speaking picture” that is
delightful to read, and therefore memorable. However, Sidney believes that even clear and
memorable teaching is not enough, if the hearer is not motivated to apply it: “what so much
good doeth that teaching bring forth (I speak still of moral doctrine) as that it moveth one to
do that which it doth teach?” The goal of learning virtue is, “not Gnosis, but Praxis” (114).
Poetry accomplishes this goal as well through its characters; the audience or reader is
motivated to either emulate the character of the hero or avoid the vices of the villain. In this
way, Poetry takes the strengths of both the disciplines of philosophy and history, and,
discarding the weaknesses, combines the two to form a way of teaching virtue that cannot be
excelled (119). A literary work that perfectly embodies Sidney’s idea of “speaking picture” is
C.S. Lewis’s The Great Divorce, the scene of the death of the lizard in particular. The
narrative is so compelling and the imagery so vivid that the reader is wholly captured within
the story. The truth the scene teaches, the beautiful truth of a man set free from sin and fully
fulfilled as the magnificent creation he was meant to be who can now fully enjoy the gifts
that God gave him, is permanently engrained in my memory. The beauty of the art allows me
to appreciate both the singular story and the universal truth it teaches—when these are
combined, I emerge with a better understanding of the world I live in that will change me
forever.
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It is essential to understand that though beauty is necessary to create good literature, it
cannot be the sole component and disregard truth. What Aristotle assumes, as did Sidney and
many after him, is that there is an objective, universal, transcendent truth which is able to be
taught through these methods. But along with the passing of the ages arose a tendency within
major critics to deemphasize the value of conveying objective truth through poetry. We see a
beginning of this shift in the poetry of Wordsworth, who slightly relegates the importance of
truth by placing the highest value on the communication of pleasure. He is, however, not
entirely ignoring it, as he says “[poetry’s] objective is truth, not individual and local, but
general and operative (248). Thus, though pleasure and beauty is clearly the most important
thing to him, as Wordsworth demonstrates in the remainder of his treatise, he does believe to
a certain extent that a “general,” or universal, truth should be communicated through poetry.
However, his ideas began a slippery slope toward the complete disregard for truth’s role in
literature.
The development of the Romantic era resulted in an assertion that truth was synonymous
with beauty, and the purpose of literature became compromised. This shift in mentality
brought about a lack of effort to connect literature with truth outside of itself. If beauty
within a work is all that matters, if accurate imitation that is truthful to reality is no longer
important, poetry becomes dangerously unstable. Without a concern for accurate truth that
connects it to reality, poetry becomes able to be interpreted in a multitude of ways. Now, it is
important to realize that this is not discounting the multi-faceted meaning that literature is
able to embody, the myriad of ways in which a person can react to it. Literature should be
celebrated for its fluid and dynamic nature. However, the presence of an objective truth must
also be present, and it is the reader’s duty to search for it. When this truth becomes
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discredited, such a quest for the truth is no longer deemed necessary. Thus, the doors for a
relativistic interpretation of poetry were opened by the Romantics.
The disconnection of universal truth from literature is dangerous for many reasons, one of
the greatest being that it detracts from the poet’s identity as a maker and creator. Because we
were created in the image of God, we reflect in our identities His role of creator. One way in
which we create it through writing, through the shaping of literature. When postmodernists
such as Jacques Derrida claim that no meaning exists beyond the text, they are asserting that
the intentionality of the writer does not matter. By claiming that the meaning signified by the
text can be interpreted “ad infinitum,”—each interpretation legitimate—Derrida is negating
the author’s ability to create meaning, as well as humanity’s ability to access definitive
knowledge and universal truth (496). Both of these assertions are in contradiction to the
Christian’s perspective of reality, which holds that humans are able to reflect God’s creative
ability as well as understand the objective truth which He makes available to us. But once
again, keeping a balanced view of literature is essential—by recognizing that it must have a
stable core, that it must be connected to reality by a universal, objective truth, I am not
negating the dynamic, elusive nature of language. In fact, I agree with the New Critics’
assertion that according to the intentional fallacy, many authors do not succeed in saying
exactly what they wanted to—there are times when the author fails in communicating their
thoughts (467-68). This is due to the complex, dynamic nature of language and literature, as
well the plethora of perspectives that readers bring to the text. However, none of these things
compromises the truth that is meant to be conveyed through literature. When instructing truth
is acknowledged as the central goal of literature, the reading and writing of it is most
delightful, beautiful, and fulfilling. When we as poets are living in the purposes that God has
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set for us, conveying His truth and beauty through our art, we will be the most free, not
restricted, to use our imaginations and to revel in the joy of literature.
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Works Cited
Aristotle. The Poetics. Kaplan and Anderson 18-47.
Brooks, Cleanth. “Keat’s Sylvan Historian: History without Footnotes.” Kaplan and Anderson
465-474.
Derrida, Jacques. “Structure, Sign, and Play.” Kaplan and Anderson 493-510.
Kaplan, Charles, and William Davis Anderson, eds. Criticism: Major Statements. 4th ed. Boston:
Bedford/St. Martin’s, 2000. Print.
Poe, Edgar Allan. The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. New York: Barnes and
Noble, 2006. Print.
Sidney, Phillip. “An Apology for Poetry. Kaplan and Anderson 101-145.
William Wordsworth. “Preface to Lyrical Ballads.” Kaplan and Anderson 240-256.