Sunday, September 27, 2009

Disneyland vs. the Simpsons...Post-Modernism

The focus on pastiche and parody in the short post-modernism article was fascinating. Certainly our own cultural preoccupation with these literary forms (the Office, other mockumentaries, the Simpsons, Family Guy, Southpark etc.) seems to embody the feedback loop where we jump from symbol to symbol to symbol without finding any underlying reality.

I was caught by the idea and implication of Disneyland as the symbol with no basis in reality. It symbolizes something that itself only exists in the minds of the people (if there, anymore).

I have noticed with my high school students, that many of them have been exposed to a vast quantity of Americana and cultural lore, but are unable to access it except through the ironic post-modern sensibility because they have no experience of the things themselves, experiencing them only through the send-ups they encounter in these various parody television shows/movies. This of course means they have no knowledge of the original, and more interestingly and inherently more post-modern, they don't even realize that what they are seeing is a parody of something else, and so think that many of these things originated in the vast flow of parodies parodying parodies of other parodies in layers so deep that the "truth" behind the shifting signs is lost.

In other words, I run into tons of students who believe the things these shows make fun of turned up for the first time in the very programs...most pure embodiment of the hyper reality the text discusses.

I also found myself hoisted on my own petard in discovering that my own respect for those who (like myself of course) combine a deep appreciation for/knowledge of both hi-culture and pop-culture is not some unique thing reserved for a special few, but instead a manifestation of the same string of thought that produces the ultra-jaded, ironic attitude that I so detest. Once again enlightenment and the expansion of knowledge throws light on hypocrisy. I don't know that I'll change at all, or even change my opinions, but at least I'm aware they're hypocritical!

Centerless Freeplay...Jacques Derridas' "Structure, Sign, and Play in the Discourse of the Human Sciences"

Wow. I am depending on a few metaphors that I created reading the chapters in Barry on Structuralism and Post-Structuralism. In that reading, so as to get through the articles from last week without frying my brain, I adopted as quick and dirty substitute the idea of paradigm to replace structure.

Then, as I understand it, the structures these writers are referring to are various paradigms (according to these theories/theorists linguistic constructions by their very nature) not only for literature but for life, even reality, as a whole.

Jacques Derridas then (along with other Post-Structuralist) kicks the supports out from under the structures/paradigms, setting them all into motion against a moving background of other moving structures/paradigms. Interesting to me was the deconstructionist's own catch-22. Derridas saying (Ironic how easily the density of his text forces us into a Post-structuralist distrust of our own language and understanding, leaving a language full of conditional qualifiers not unlike his own article) that in this orgy of deconstructing all centers the post-structuralist "ought to extend his refusal to the concept and to the word sign itself" seems the equivalent of telling Descartes that he ought to deny his own existence despite the fact that he is there thinking (Derridas 117). However, just as Descartes sought to deny everything and so get to some starting point and found that he could not deny his own existence because something was there having these thoughts, Derridas admits the impossibility of denying "the concept and the word sign itself" (117).

It seems however, that having reached his Descartesian basic, the sign (as opposed to thought) he did not decide to then move forward proving other ideas, but rather insisted that since everything else can be denied, everything other than the mere existence of "the concept and the word sign itself" can and should be doubted. Or at least approached with caution (117).

Derridas does seem to wrestle further with this concept (and I would love to quote if I was referring to anything other than a vague holistic impression of a general argument, but I am not), stressing that it "ought to be abandoned" (117). For Derridas, the basis, the foundation he cannot deny is a frustration, a symbol of being trapped within a paradigm/structure and being unable to fully deconstruct it, analyse it, or even understand it, because one is incapable of viewing it from the outside.

In finishing, therefore, I would argue that while the deconstructionist is able to go around kicking holes in everyone else's linguistic/literary boats, he/she must disgustedly realize that their own boat is leaking badly and that they are, due to the catch-22 in which they find themselves, unable to bail effectively to keep from getting wet. To do so would require the ability to escape reality as constructed by language, to escape the necessity of the sign. This is after all "precisely what cannot be done" (117).

Deconstruction: Formalism's "Evil" Twin?

Barry points begins his section on Post-Structuralism with the obvious connections to Structuralism. The Post-Structuralists accept the Structuralists' claims about language but attack those beliefs with a philosopher's skepticism, so that where the Structuralist maintains a belief in language as a successful orderly system of communication, a truthful rendering of the world (to the extent it allows for truth), the post-structuralist disowns language as a valid vehicle for the communication of meaning entirely (Barry 62). Indeed in a textual reality (62) Nietzsche's statement "there are no facts, only interpretations" becomes literally true, as all texts are subject to interpretation in the very act of being read. Thus reality itself becomes not only difficult, but impossible to understand, subject to the interpretation of each individual just as a novel is.

Post-Structuralism then, as a reaction to and against Structuralism, is concerned in the long run with things that extend far beyond the text. Any literary criticism from a Post-structuralist is simply the means to an end not an end in itself. That end being the further proof of the impossibility of knowing the nature of our reality due to the slipperiness of language, the medium through which we perceive the world. The deconstruction aimed at in "applied post-structuralism" (68) is not the deconstruction of the text except as a means to a greater goal: the deconstruction of Western civilization itself, or at least of the Western world view (63).

However, in practice a deconstructive reading has far more to do with Formalism (liberal humanism) than Structuralism. While structuralism is focused on getting beyond the text as quickly as possible to larger patterns and shapes of meaning etc., Deconstruction turns to Derridas's famous statement that "there is nothing outside the text" (qtd. in Barry 66). While I grant that this is taken out of context (as Barry himself warns [66]), it sounds intriguingly formalist. In fact, I would argue that, approaching from extremely different vectors, Formalists and Post-Structuralists arrive at the same point: nothing matters but the text; it exists alone in a vacuum, or at least should be treated as if it does because of the impossibility of knowing what surrounds it. Barry goes on to state that a deconstructive reading (at least in the initial stages) "is very similar to ... more conventional forms of close reading" (71). In fact, it applies the same means and techniques to different ends. While Formalism "demonstrates an underlying unit" even in texts that are "fragmented and disunified," Deconstruction looks for disunity, showing that "what...looked like coherence and unity actually contains contradictions" (74). The interesting thing to me is that the two versions of close reading would seem to turn on the same points of emphasis within a piece. If we need any proof that we are finding what we look for, here it is! The Formalist, as formalism was taught to me, (and I grant here that I do not have the texts from that course, and while this idea could be inferred from Barry, it is not presented by him as such) looks especially for apparent contradictions in the text and explains them in such a way as to make them essential points in support of his or her reading of the piece. In effect arguing that the what are apparently the weak points of their argument are in fact key points in favor of the reading they are positing. Deconstruction would seem to focus on the same points: "contradictions/paradoxes; Shifts/Breaks in: Tone, Viewpoint, Tense, Time, Person, Attitude; Conflicts; Absences/Omissions; Linguistic Quirks; and Aporia" (70). Even at the second and third levels the Post-Structuralist essentially pursues an Anti-Formalist reading, using larger patterns and linguistic quirks within the text itself to prove its disunity (72-73).

So while Formalists argue "Hey now, slow down and look carefully, the poem doesn't really contradict itself here, in fact..."the Deconstructionist argues, "Come now. The author says that they're doing thus and so, but look right here...." If they were engaged in live debate the argument might take the form of "Apparent contradiction? It is a contradiction. It says right there..."

Deconstruction then is only tangentially in dialog with Structuralism. It is far more fundamentally in dialog with traditional formalism, attacking the tradition, and the intellectual basis which formalism seeks to preserve, and using its very own techniques to do so. Hence my post's title...Although, reconsidering, perhaps (since deconstruction is more like a mirror image, raising a left hand to formalism's right, and occasionally slipping into fun house distortion), if we accept its philosophical basis, it might have been titled "Formalism's Honest Twin..".

Sunday, September 20, 2009

On Beyond Zebra! - Exploring the Wild, Woolly, World Outside the Text

If Cleanth Brooks acknowledges the value of non-formalist approaches to literature - as he repeatedly does: "There is no reason...why he should not turn away into biography and psychology. Such explorations are very much worth making" (Brooks 27), "The various imports of a given work may well be worth studying. ...But such work valuable and necessary as it may be" (28), "I did not and do not now mean to deny value to other literary studies such as the biographical, historical, those describing the cultural setting of the work, etc. They may prove necessary to an understanding of the text...(30), - than why can't he admit it's literary criticism?Even in the note from which the final quote is taken, he refers to non-formalist approaches as "literary studies" (30) and saves "'literary' criticism" (30) for the formalism that is the focus of the article. This smacks of the semantics of Quintillian: he may be good at speaking, and he may convince a lot of people, but if I don't approve of him he's not an orator. It seems childish to deny the title of literary criticsm to these studies whose value he professes to recognize, unless because the critic doth protest too much we are supposed to believe that he is being politically correct and covering a divisive belief that these other "literary studies" (30) do not in fact measure up. It is perhaps telling that he denies any of them the right to "determine literary value" (30) implicitly saving this key ability for formalist criticism.

In one instance I must agree with Brooks despite his qualifiedly ungenerous attitude toward any theoretical approach not his own. Theory does inherently move the reader on beyond zebra, to discover new, strange and wild creatures that one can only find by going beyond the text. Structuralism has as its object "not [the] literary works themselves but their intelligibility: the ways in which they make sense, the ways in which readers have made sense of them" (100). Indeed in Culler's and Peckham's articles, if I understand them correctly (which is apparently impossible to determine [Peckham 108]), semiotics/structuralism functions almost as a theory of theories, or a study of theories searching for all the various semiotic matrices that might shed light on a text, none of which can singly "be successfully used to controlt he interpretation of a work of even slight complexity" (Peckham 111). These matrices simply equate to the limits we, as readers, place on the signifiers in the text. That is, the critical lens with which we study it. As those limits stabilize the possible meanings of the signifiers in the text (108-109) they shape what the user of a particular matrix will find in the piece. One who wears rose colored glasses will see the world with a pink tinge, and, just so, a marxist will see the vestiges of power structures running throughout everything everywhere. Structuralism, theory of theories and system of systems, seems to be the study of why all these various colors of glasses are formed from the same text.

If the matrices discussed here are indeed the nearly limitless variety of critical approaches that can be taken to a text, and all are equally valid (again Peckham 108) perhaps we are spending more time in academic game playing with no real purpose or benefit than I thought. I will not deny theoretical approaches the title of literary criticism, simply because their concerns are not limited to the literary the way formalism is. I prefer John R. Trimble's implicit definition of criticsm from his text Writing With Style and found in the chapter entitled "How to Write a Critical Analysis." While Trimble presents a very formalist approach to analysis in his examples, his definition of the critic's job implies the definition of criticism to be work that helps an already knowledgable reader to better understand a given text. This broader definition embraces all of Brooks' "literary studies" on an equal footing. However, as we travel off beyond zebra into abstract realms of pure thought, I am left to ponder what I took to be Brooks' key question: What happens to the text we've left behind?

Friday, September 11, 2009

Erasmus, Luther, Augustine...and truth.

We have certainly found ourselves in a predicted connundrum through the study of rhetoric over the past few weeks. The pursuit of rhetorical excellence, and through a solution to problems and disputes through rhetoric leads by the admission or the charge of most of all of our writers (the majority admit it, Plato angrily asserts it, as do other more dogmatic writers) that we are "ever learning, and never able to come to a knowledge of the truth" (2 Tim. 3:7) While Paul made this assertion with the big T truth of the Christian gospel in mind, it nonetheless applies well to the repetitive, circular arguments in which we have immersed ourselves in both the texts and the class.

In another Pauline passage, one that has come up in class already, most of the writers we have studied and, I believe, all of us in class have admitted that "for now we see through a glass darkly" (1 Cor. 13:12). I have no problem with the idea that we, as human beings, have an extremely limited perception of the realities of existence, of the truths that I believe are somewhere out there. We are unable through our own searching and learning to reach any truth that we can have confidence in. There are two simple possibilities: either truth is available from a source outside reality as we are able to perceive/receive it, from the other side of Paul's dark glass, if you will, or there is no truth and we live in the meaningless, absurd universe of the existentialists. Neitszche can call me a coward if he pleases, and despise my weakness as a follower of Christ (as I am a Mormon and most "Christians" refuse to let me into their club, I am hesitant to adopt that title as my own), I refuse either out of hope or fear or pure obstinacy a purposeless, meaningless world.

I read a book recently by Neal Stephenson that hypothesized that human beings search for a narrative in which to fit themselves, a larger story they can be part of and the character framing this idea suggests this is part of the reason for religion's success, it provides a powerful narrative. Perhaps that is what drives me. While I have an absolute faith in my own position, (by which I mean that despite a lack of knowledge in the traditional, rational, scientific western sense I have a basic certainty of underlying principles) I like to think that I am closer to Erasmus, hesitant to assign myself any special knowledge ("Erasmus does not claim knowledge but has only questions and some tentatively held opinions" [Conley 123]) about the nature of the universe or truth beyond a few basic tenets of my faith.

Erasmus is perhaps the most appealing of the three, in that he argues as a scholar, despite defending a religious position. He does not claim to have some superior infallible knowledge of the meaning of scripture, or to be "adhering to the simple, pure, and natural meaning of the words" (Conley 123) as if any text, including the text of scritpure, could be read withtout interpretation as Luther's comment implies. Instead, Erasmus pursues the best of the Socratic position in arguing. He "does not claim knowledge," and "does not attempt to construct watertight proofs" (Conley 123). Instead he uses in utramque partem and argues his case by making both arguments, pointing out the probablities, and leaving the ultimate decision with the reader.

An aside here: the ability to argue both sides does not necessarily make one an amoral, unethical opportunist. Specifically using a presentation of both sides, arguing in utramque partem, to make your point doesn't either. It is too easy to point a finger and say oh, you just switch positions on any important issue when the wind blows and to yell "hypocrite." The best debaters, speakers, literary critics, and scholars in general take this approach to any problem even if they don't frame their argument in this fashion, learning both sides so that a decision can be reached, a side taken (if taking sides is necessary), or a third way found with the fullest possible knowledge of what is going on in the debate/discussion etc. It's not as simple as being a slimy lawyer with a gift for delivery.

Erasmus is clearly erudite and knowledgable in the best of both traditions, without losing either his faith or his scholar's edge. His rhetoric, which Conley describes as the "old humanist" at least once (I can't find it in exactly those words just now, but such a characterization is at least implied where old is understood to refer to a rhetorical theory and approach more in line with the classical tradition), is based on controversia and recognizing clearly the glass before his eyes makes no special claims for his arguments over anyone else's. He plays by traditional rules. I would like to think that I function as a scholar in a similar fashion, keeping my faith out of my academics, and arguing based upon the material at hand and with no claims to special knowledge from beyond.
I would assume (despite what assuming does) that Erasmus, in the modern world, would balance faith and skepticism, choosing faith where faith and science are apparently in conflict and waiting for a clearer view through the glass. I like to think that is how I handle any apparent conflicts that I encounter.

Luther, who is less spoken of because somewhat less relevant to our discussion, plays the game in an entirely different manner. He "asserted, and [would] still assert," leaving no room in his text for the reader's intellect to participate in the conscious creation of meanings or solutions. Instead he is ready to dictate to us from his enlightened position and help us escape our benighted understanding. Having read a portion of this argument before in which the reading focused on the argument itself rather than on the argument's rhetorical aspects, I can say that I was turned off by Luther's paternal condescension toward anyone who didn't agree with him.

Perhaps Luther should have read Augustine more fully before leaving his vocation as a Catholic monk. I wrongly expected to find Augustine more doctrinaire, closer to the lines of a Lutherian absolutism. What I found in Augustine's text was quite different. I emphasize the I because I am certain others will read Augustine differently. Granted that it would seem logical for someone with Augustine's background, but we finally have a rational resolution of the vir bonus dicendi peritus. Augustine makes no attempt to argue that an evil person cannot be rhetorically effective. In fact, he points to the potential effectiveness of a hypocrite arguing in favor of a "true" proposition (in this case the gospel) because of the naturally appealing nature of truth. However, he comes down on the side of the vir bonus dicendi peritus in his arguments for wisdom over eloquence, and the increased effectiveness of the good man whos life doesn't argue against him as he speaks. Wisely, there is no special moralizing power attached to rhetoric (as is vaguely hinted at in some of our other readings), nor is there any argument that something in the nature of either evil or rhetoric would prevent its use by someone whose morals Augustine wouldn't have approved of.

Of particular interest to me was his emphasis on the power of truth to appeal of its own accord regardless of the speaker. (Granted, my intereset assumes the possibility that truth of some sort is enough within our reach to have a statement about events that would be generally accepted as "true.") This would indicate that truth is truth regardless of who the presenter. Augustine's willingness to admit that someone batting for the other team might present truth as well, (an interpretation and stretching of the argument, but nothing in this excerpt seems to contradict it unless non-textual biases toward a religious position are allowed to take the place of textual evidence) that "they [might be] heard with profit" by believers is a refreshing stance that Luther could have adopted to his credit.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Once More Into the Breach

I was fascinated by the ending of this week's reading in Quintillian and Tacitus.

First, Quintillian and the Orator Perfectus. Quintillian demands a philosopher/rhetor, combining the two within his definition of orator, or a good man speaking well. He refuses the title to anyone who is dishonest, or otherwise immoral, seeming to rely on the reader's judgment that by definition such a person could not speak well. What seemed a ridiculously vague and naive definition, then becomes clearly an ideal, and a moral stance. And, frankly, makes a lot more sense than it did when I first encountered the idea out of context. For Quintillian, the orators of the current day have ceded much of their work to the philosophers, becoming content with the study of specific techniques of public speaking. As Phlodemu's critique of rhetoric makes clear (and as Quintillian is also at pains to clarify) the study of speech making alone does not produce the "good man speaking well," the statesmen etc. that is the professed goal of rhetorical training. In fact the training in eloquence (what many of the other writers seem to see as the whole or at least the primary focus of rhetoric) is a garnish on a person of immense education and training. One who is, in fact a philosopher. Interestingly, in Quinitillian's De Institutione Oratoria the philosopher seems to be an orator who quit just short of the top, where he/she might have gained the skill to make their knowledge of the truth of some practical value to themselves and the community of which they are a part. In other words, the true orator is both philosopher and rhetor, and, therefore by definition a good man speaking well. Notice which part comes first, as Quintillian emphasized. By implication then, the philosopher alone is a lazy, selfish person, one quite well educated and capable putting his/her gifts to good use but refusing to do so in any practical fashion. The accusation seems to be of a willful naivetee as to the philosopher's role in the community/state. The rhetor on the other hand fails in an even more basic manner, he/she has not done everything required to meet Quintillian's greater foundation, "the good man."

On a completely different tack, the account of Tacitus in the Dialogue on Orators is of great interest. He traces the need for great orators to the unsettled state of affairs in the government. He points to times of democracy (or at least some semblance of democracy or representative government) in the Greek city states and the old Roman republic as the times when rhetoric was most needed and at its most powerful. He attributes the fall in the power and glory of rhetoric to the stable government, even to the citizens' willingness to obey their rulers. The final section which delineates the lack of necessity for rhetoric in the peaceful days of the empire are almost frightening. They could equally be interpreted as the lowering of people's freedoms, and a corresponding lack of action in deliberative bodies, bereft of any power by all-powerful rulers. Rhetoric fades as the power of the individual to effect change through the convincing of others fades could be an equally powerful statement drawn from this text, but Tacitus prefers to see the blessings of stability. Certainly stable government is a blessing, and the peace that Rome enjoyed for long periods, must also have been deemed a blessing to its citizens. However, I am powerfully reminded that the pax romana was largely the result of the absolute destruction of any people or civilization with the potential to threaten or even vaguely annoy Rome. I will take troubled times and great orators over a peace consisting of the destruction of everyone but us any day.