The Purpose of English

"He knew everything about literature except how to enjoy it." 

--Joseph Heller

Some opening notes:

First off, I keep three blogs (albeit irregular, despite all attempts to change that), so I clearly love writing, and have no doubts that learning to write is a valuable skill learned in English.

(oh-- last week, I decided to take a small hiatus due to the fact that I was incredibly busy moving into the dorms and downloading LOTRO, but I'm back up again for now)

Secondly, I have about a billion million books that take up ridiculous amounts of space all over the room, so I clearly love reading, and while I get jealous of those people in my classes who always seem to be one step ahead of me in book-reading, I love to discuss books with them that we both have read even more.

And finally, I am an English major, so anybody whining about having to take English classes should know that I have very little sympathy for them.

However, since the uses of English/Literature classes aren't always obvious to those non-humanities people (as opposed to the uses of math and science classes, which are pretty obvious to most people, major or no), I thought I would write a blog explaining my personal point of view on the subject. Anybody is welcome to correct me, add on, or explain their own opinion on the subject.

When I was a senior in high school, I took a course called "Gods and Monsters" that looked at books concerning human nature, and what it means to be human. The course itself was fascinating, and I loved the required texts, which varied from Shakespeare's Macbeth to No Country for Old Men to the Bacchae of Euripedes to The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and more. The varied lit assignments allowed me to see a running theme throughout all of them, of the Apollonian/Dionysian conflicting natures that seem as critical to writers from ancient Greece as they are to authors today, and of the good/evil barrier that doesn't seem to really exist as much in a single person as it does somewhere in the outside world, and of the question of insanity, and the line between that and genius.

I loved it.

Of course, there was that one day where some kid raised his hand in a class discussion and said, "What is the point of English?" in a tone indicating he clearly thought himself to be quite a witty and discerning student. I had seen this kind of thing before, in which case the teacher tended to brush it off with something in the manner of, "Of course you can't live without English, silly! We all speak English, and these books are classics! And you have to learn to write someday, when you are writing big business deals!" However, the mistake with that answer is that this is simply bait for the student: "How come these books are classics? They are so boring! I can't even understand what Shakespeare is saying...and I thought Mr. Hyde was going to kill people. And you don't have to write like this to get by."

I will never forget how my teacher answered. Well, okay, I did forget. I mean, I forgot the words he said, but I remember the marrow of his answer, which I will try and explain.

When you read a book, you're not just reading into the plot, but into the writing itself, and into the author's life, and the lives that the author saw and wrote in his/her text. When books last hundreds of years, they do so because there is something timeless about the writing, whether it's the plot, the content, the characters, or some intangible idea that resonates for some unknowable reason-- they don't last because they sold well at the time. I think it is rare that a book lasts because every aspect of it is timeless. I can't think of a single example off the top of my head. Maybe it is impossible.

But, should a good book fall into thousands of years of unheard-of writing just because some small aspect of seemed to grow dated?

If you say no, then stop reading and go finish up whatever book you are currently reading.

If you say, but the book wasn't that good to begin with, then we're beginning to talk about opinion on what kinds of books we like. I like a lot of classic literature, but I can't stand Jane Austen. That doesn't mean I  think her books have no value-- it's just of a type that isn't for me.

A good book (there are a million billion ways to finish this sentence-- here's my take:) should explain an aspect of nature in a way that is beautiful, thought-provoking, and subtle. You should know when you've read a good piece of literature because it gives you more questions to turn over in your head than answers. Literature doesn't have all the answers, but the questions (for answers, go to the reference section, or the internet if you're feeling particularly brave).

If you're reading for historical reasons, then you want to learn something about the time period. If you're reading because your friend read something and loved it, then you're finding out what (s)he is interested in reading. You can also read to escape life, to pass the time, to think, to or to be up to date with some current subject-- and don't get me wrong, these are all perfectly great reasons for reading, and the majority of reasons, too. But if you are reading literature for the sake of finding out what it has to offer (which can overlap with a number of those previous reasons), than keep this question in mind: What does the author think about humanity as a whole? Once you have that, then you're on the right reading track. Hold onto that thought. Because, ultimately, people are self-centered, and the most you will get out of a book in your entire life-- the book that impacts you more than any other book-- will not tell you about humanity, or nature, or God, or life.

It will tell you something about yourself.

This is what my teacher said: "I hope that in some small way, by the time you finish my course, you will have learned something about who you are as a person."

Here, the books have no answers, because only we have the answers. The books, instead, help us to ask ourselves the right questions, and then once we are able to find them, we feel more comfortable with what we believe, and what we decide to stand for.

Of course, in doing this, you (as the reader) can also see the rest of the world in a light that makes a little more sense, because in the end, English isn't about who has read the most books or who knows the most about the "real" classic authors, but instead about what literature has done for you in terms of understanding yourself, and the world around you.


If you read, then at some point, a single author, book, or even sentence will suddenly strike a chord with you and you will immediately realize how the words simply make perfect sense, illuminating life, the world around you, and therefore yourself. You will feel as if you can see the entire world and the way it works and turns as a whole, and how you simultaneously fit into the world and stand beautifully on your own. While this may last a single second, a day, or maybe the rest of your life, that moment is absolutely worth reading literature for, and what I would think of if I ever needed a reason.

Sam's Star (and mini-dictionary of abbreviations)

First post here in a while! I'm still not sure exactly which literary direction I plan to take this blog in, but I'll just try one today and see where it goes from here.

Today, I'll write about one of my all-time favorite scenes from LOTR.

Oh. Um. If you've never met me and you don't know anything about good literature, let me explain some vital abbreviations:
LOTR: The Lord of the Rings (I tend to just say "Lord of the Rings," and yes, I know that's not correct, but go read it fifty billion times, then read The Hobbit, The Sil, CoH, Lost Tales, and several books from The History of Middle Earth, and then you're allowed to come back and correct me. It still doesn't mean I'll pay any attention, though.)
FOTR: The Fellowship of the Ring
TTT: The Two Towers
ROTK: The Return of the King
The Sil: The Silmarillion
TH: The Hobbit
HoME: The History of Middle Earth (I don't know why, but I don't see HOME too often, nor do I see LoTR too often, either...it's just the way it is)
CoH: Children of Hurin
LT: The Book of Lost Tales (I refuse to call it a BLT...that's just undignified. Although it is one of my favorite sandwiches.)

Now, lets talk about Sam's Star. Towards the beginning of FOTR, the four hobbits find themselves in the house of Tom Bombadil, with his wife Goldberry. Goldberry is often associated with light, water (being the "Riverwoman's daughter) nature, and natural beauty.  She is introduced first with her singing, and in the next chapter, the hobbits actually get to see this "fair young elf queen." She brings them into the house, saying, "Let us shut out the night," and the next evening, she appears in the doorway holding a candle, and "shielding its flame from the draught with her hand; and the light flowed through it, like sunlight through a white shell."

Neither Tom Bombadil nor Goldberry are appear again in the trilogy, save for a brief mention of Tom in the very last chapter.

When Sam and Frodo are in Caras Galadhorn at night with Galadriel, Frodo is able to see Nenya, the Ring of Adamant, or the Ring of Water, although Sam only sees a star shining through Galadriel's hand, which is oddly similar to the candle shining through Goldberry's hand. The difference is that Galadriel's light is coming from a Ring of power, while Goldberry's light is coming from something far more natural and easily reproduced. When they leave Lorien, Galadriel gives Frodo the phial with light from the star of Elendil for later use (elen means star in Quenya, which is a form of Elvish). Sam doesn't get any light, only a box or dirt to grow a mallorn tree in the Shire.

Finally, in Mordor, we get my favorite part:
"There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beautify of it smote is heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty forever beyond its reach."

I've always associated this star with Goldberry. Even thought Galadriel gave the phial to Frodo, what she gave him was something physical, something that actually fails later on in the book when he's on Mount Doom, just before he decides not to drop the Ring into the chasm, instead keeping it for himself. She gave Frodo light from the star, but Sam looked at the star itself for hope. Goldberry never gave the group any objects, but represented a place that seemed to be untouched by the evils around them, and above phials and Rings. There is even a theory out there (one that I actually like to go along with) that Tom Bombadil is Manwe, or even Eru, he calls himself "the Master" several times, and at one point, Frodo asks Goldberry who Tom Bombadil is, and she replies, "He is." I've always thought that is why Tom Bombadil and Goldberry were in the trilogy in the first place; they seem out of place, but they are the most in-place characters in the story. They are embedded in Middle-Earth as well as Arda.

I like the excerpt of Sam and the star because of the fact that it's not really about hope with getting through things, but instead, it's about goodness that is simply untouchable. It's the ultimate kind of hope, that even when the very worst happens, even when everything does end up failing, there are parts of the world that are still light; even if they can be hidden, they can't be changed.

~It is a good thought to keep in mind sometimes~ 

Update

I realize I haven't posted in a billion years. I've changed around this blog-- once I start posting again, it will involve reviews of various books (most notably LOTR, of course), lecture summaries, and various thoughts and ideas (mostly revolving around literature, and possibly some religion). Send me ideas for discussions, posts, books, whatever! I will begin updating it again this Wednesday (8/08) with a Tolkien-related post! And possibly more of an explanation on what to expect for future posts.

Lecture on Forgiveness in Scripture 2/28

We had a speaker come to Trinity on Monday, Dr. David Kostan from Brown University, who gave a lecture entitled "Before Scripture: Forgiveness in Classical Antiquity," to which yours truly took some detailed notes. :) I wanted to share this because I thought it was a fascinating lecture, and by the end of the presentation, he really made an incredibly astonishing and fascinating point on the definition of "forgiveness" combined with the origin of the concept.

Because I am Emily, I was a couple of minutes late to the lecture (had to find the room it was in), so there will be no catchy introduction/funny icebreaker joke to start off. (btw, yes, I've gotten behind in this blog. I swear I will make up for it by writing a couple of posts around this weekend) Also, I could litter this posts with "he saids," but I'm not going to, because that would get tedious. Just assume everything I say is preluded with a "he said." Because it really is. He begins with describing what types of forgiveness existed in Ancient Greece, then talks about forgiveness in the Bible as a comparison, and finally where our modern day word comes from. It's long, but it's worth it.

Ok, so to start. Dr. Konstan began by analyzing the modern-day definition of "forgiveness," and the required circumstances for one person to forgive another. Forgiveness must be the result of an intentional harm, for which the wrongdoer feels guilt. You can't forgive someone if they do something unintentionally, because then they really didn't do anything wrong. Even if they feel guilt, forgiveness would imply that they did something quite intentional and voluntary. An example is someone committing a crime. If you rob a bank and later feel remorse, the owner of the bank may forgive you. However, if someone held your significant other to gunpoint and ordered you to rob the bank in order to save your their life, then it really isn't your fault at all, and you don't need to be forgiven. Neither can you be forgiven if you commit a crime and later feel no remorse. What both of these scenarios have in common is that the you-- as the criminal-- would do the same thing again if similar circumstances came about.

Now, this is theoretical. In reality, nobody distinguishes between these different circumstances. Perhaps slightly (a criminal acting under gunpoint may win more sympathy than a criminal committing a voluntary crime), but forgiveness is really up to the person who was wronged. Indeed, it is viewed as noble if the victim forgives the remorseless criminal for the crime.

In Ancient Greece/Rome, the difference between an intentional and an unintentional act was very clear and understood. The Greek word signomi means "excuse me" today (as in, "excuse me, sorry for bumping into you"), but the ancient definition was quite different. It was a word of forgiveness for an excusable ignorance, actually somewhat comparable to the word for "pity." Involuntary acts are performed under force or ignorance; an evil tyrant tortures you and forces to give you names would result in an act worthy not of praise, but of signomi. Plato called an act like that (something you wouldn't regret later-- while you regret it, you would do the same thing again), not involuntary, but "not voluntary," and there was a difference between the two. An involuntary act could even be praised, but a "not voluntary" act removed the blame from the doer.

An example of something a bit different from our modern-day ideas of excuses would be the actions of an inebriated person. Being drunk does not justify your actions-- Aristotle himself said that you chose to be drunk-- but it does introduce ignorance into your system. When you are drunk, you are less aware of your actions, and therefore you may be allowed signomi.

The idea behind this is the Greek metastasis which means the passing of something onto the next (ie, putting the blame on something else). Today, this act is rather frowned upon. Someone who tries to put the blame on something else is trying to get out of a situation. But it meant something different at the time: if you could put the blame on something else, you still committed that act, but you were no longer responsible for it. The alcohol is responsible for your actions when you are drunk, even if you chose to drink. Other excuses used were madness (such as in the Aenid, during which an evil tyrant tortures his subjects; Aeneas calls him mad. The tyrant is still evil, but he may have signomi because his madness keeps him from being completely responsible for his actions). A good translation of signomi is "excuse," or to "exonerate."

Two other proofs of signomi in Ancient Greek lit:

1. Agamemnon in Homer's Iliad, who says that Zeus made him "mad" so that he wasn't responsible for humiliating Achilles in front of the other soldiers, and he apologizes by showering Achilles with gifts. In shifting the blame to Zeus, he makes himself more understandable, and while he isn't absolved of his crime, he doesn't want forgiveness, he wants signomi.


2. Theseus's wife Phaedra fell in love with her stepson, who rejected him. She then kills herself, leading Theseus to cures his son, who dies. before his son dies, Theseus gets signomi from Artemis, who says that Aphrodite wanted this sequence of events to take place. Therefore, Theseus may pick up his son's body and receive signomi, but not forgiveness.




Now for examples of forgiveness in the Bible.


1. King Solomon's payer in 1 Kings chapter eight: "When your people Israel have been defeated by an enemy because they have sinned against you, and when they turn back to you and give praise to your name, praying and making supplication to you in this temple, 34 then hear from heaven and forgive the sin of your people Israel and bring them back to the land you gave to their ancestors."


2. Isaiah 55:7: Let the wicked forsake his way and the evil man his thoughts. Let him turn to the LORD, and he will have mercy on him, and to our God, for he will freely pardon.

3. Luke 17:3,4: Let the wicked forsake his way and the evil man his thoughts. Let him turn to the LORD, and he will have mercy on him, and to our God, for he will freely pardon.4 Even if they sin against you seven times in a day and seven times come back to you saying ‘I repent,’ you must forgive them.”

St. John says to commit sin is frightening, but worse to be proud of sin; come to church, repent, and tell God. You don't sin, but you are a sinner. Remorse, then, is perpetual mourning, and grief over your sin wipes away the sin itself. There is no place in the Bible that says forgiveness is unconditional.

To repent, you must first humble yourself; we (as humans) feel calm towards those humbling themselves before us because a humble person can also be perceived as inferior, which implies fear, and a fearful person would not commit the insult in the first place. However, being in front of a fearful person would inspire remission of anger, not forgiveness; therefore.

Now we are faced with a major question. Why is this idea of forgiveness so central to the Hebrew/Christian texts, but completely absent from Classical philosophy? The implication here is that forgiveness is something that only God can do. But that line from Luke says to forgive others! How does that work if the Son of Man on Earth is marked by his ability to forgive others? When Jesus cries out on the cross "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do!" Peter says something similar in another gospel, that the Romans acted in ignorance. This sounds suspicious like a plea for signomi, by laying the blame on something out of those people's control. However, Jesus says "forgive," which implies that there is, in fact, something to forgive.

An excerpt from the Lord's Prayer in Luke: "and forgive us our sins/transgressions, for we ourselves forgive everyone who is indebted to us." While it uses the word "forgive" here, notice that it says forgive those who are "indebted" to us. The word used here is a forgiveness of debt, whereas the transgression is a slip. If someone commits a crime against us, we are supposed to forgive them what they owe us to pay for the crime; in other words, we release them from their debt. No human would ask another human for repentance; to do so would be an egregious blasphemy. Therefore, no human can forgive another human their sins; The Lord, however, can forgive sins, and this is where the concept of forgiveness originated (incidentally, the Greek word used for sin is original, and is never used before the Greek scriptures).

In conclusion, the modern day word for "forgiveness" is a secularization of the original, divine meaning, probably dating post-Enlightenment (or circa Enlightenment). However, it's origin is rooted firmly in the Judeo-Christian scripture. 

Anyway, end of lecture. I thought it was very interesting, and I have so many questions about the words themselves! I wish I could grill the speaker a little more....anyway, hope you thought it was interesting, too. :)

Congratulations if you've read this far! As a reward, you get a cute picture of two cute baby tigers who clearly care about each other very much:

:)

Old Testament as of 2/01

So I've decided that I'm also going to use this blog to update how religion classes are going (as well as book reviews-- see first post for details). This will be my boring blog, I guess. Anyway, again, it will hopefully help me stay on track with my classes. We've only covered Confucianism so far in Asian Religions class, so this will just be OT.

Also, there's a lot of passive voice in this. Apologies in advance.

On the second day of OT (the first being syllabus day), we talked about the two Noah's Ark stories that are in Genesis. They are told at the same time, overlapping, like two slides showing at the same time on one projector. In one story, the flood lasts for one hundred and fifty days, and the water comes from underground, not rain. Noah brings one pair of each kind of animal onto the ark with him. In the second story, there are seven pairs of each type of animal, the flood lasts for forty days and is started by rain.

These two stories come from two "sources" that show up in Genesis: the P source and the J source. The P source (named "Priestly" because of its emphasis on ritual and tradition, therefore meant for the Priests to read and follow) focuses on details of the Law and usually calls God "Elohim" or "El Shadday" or some other variant prefaced with "El" ("El" in Semitic means "god" with a lower-case G). Coogan goes more into variants of "El" later on in the textbook. Anyway, God in the P source is usually more distant and remote than in any of the other sources, appearing in dreams, or messengers, and there are a series of covenants in the P source. The covenants with Noah (signaled by the bow in the sky, Gen. 9:12), Abraham (signified with circumcision Gen. 17:11), and Israel  (signified by the Sabbath, Ex. 31:12) are all in the P source. Also, those long lists of genealogies that come between more specific stories in Genesis are usually attributed to being a P source, which is sometimes called the "frame" of the Pentateuch (also beginning Genesis and ending Deuteronomy).

The major source of Genesis is the J source (the "Jahwist" source, coming from the German form of YHWH, since all Bible source scholars-- and Biblical scholars in general-- are German). One difference with the depiction of God himself in this source (as opposed to the E source) is that God is very personable and anthropomorphic. He walks through Eden with Adam and Eve, he breathes life into them, he comes down to close the door of Noah's ark. The main setting of the J source is in the land later called Judah and ruled by David.  The covenants of Abraham and Israel, as well as on Sinai are prominent themes in the J source; they are in J as well as P (and in the case of Sinai, as well as E); Yahweh's promises to Israel surface again and again in the J sources.

These sources stem from the Documentary Hypothesis, a conclusion reached by the German theologian of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century Julius Wellhausen. The Documentary Hypothesis argues that there are four basic sources that the Pentateuch stems from: the J, E, D, and P sources. While there are many variants on this Hypothesis (usually stemming from differences in opinion on the number of actual sources), and none of these sources have been discovered, most modern-day Biblical scholars accept this theory as legitimate today. It is the best answer to the question that the conflicting stories present. Did God create Man and Woman at the same time? (Gen. 1:27) Or did he make Man first, and then Woman? (Gen 2:5-22) If he made Man first, then he only commanded Man to avoid eating fruit from the tree, and not Woman; did Eve sin? How many days did Noah's flood last? (Gen. 8:3-6)

If there are two sources-- just for these two stories (the next source, the E source, doesn't start until at least Gen 15, if not later), then it suggests more than one possible purpose for the stories. For example, many Christians believe in original sin. Does it originate from both versions of the Creation story in the OT, or just one? Which one? The text itself never uses the word "sin" until Cain murders Abel. While it is perfectly legitimate to argue that there can still be a sin even if it's not named (after all, there is certainly an argument), another idea is that Adam and Eve were meant to eat the fruit, and know good and evil. While there are consequences, they are not the result of sin, but of being human: a species that God himself created. He says after the flood in Genesis 6-8 "I will never again curse the ground because of humankind, for the inclination of the human heart is evil from youth." (Gen 8:21). While this doesn't paint a particularly nice image of humankind, it does suggest that this is what being human means. And God gives this as a reason for never flooding the earth again because of the "wickedness" of humankind; he acknowledges that this is natural. Whether or not it's because of the fruit, he doesn't say.

So now I've gone off topic and rambled, but I find that this class really gives me something to think about. We've just started talking about religions at the time of the OT, so we'll get more insight to different beliefs at the time. But learning about the different sources really makes me think about the ideas that different interpretations might actually depend on the different source that is being read, and therefore be equally legitimate. And I'm not saying that there is only one possible interpretation per version of the story, but the number of possible interpretations doubles if there are two versions of the story, and triples if there are three, etc.

Back to reading! I love this class. :)

My books of Spring semester, 2011

Well, I finally decided to make a blog just for books. "Maer Parma" means "good writings"-- while the books I read aren't all "good" by general definition, I do have my own standards. Anyway, here are the books I'm planning on reading this semester for Contemporary Lit (1-12), and some for fun:

1. The Road, McCarthy (finished; review coming later)
2. A Mercy, Morrison (in the middle)
3. White Tiger, Adiga
4. The Plague of Doves, Erdrich
5. Lark & Termite, Phillips
6. The Year of the Flood, Atwood
7. A Gate at the Stairs, Moore
8. Let the Great World Spin, McCann
9. Solar, McEwan
10. Olive Kitteridge, Strout
11. The Book Thief, Zusak
12. Black Water, Oates
13. Letters and Papers from Prison or A Testament to Freedom (the former is Bonhoeffer's works from prison, the latter the a compilation of his "best" works)-- bought both at B&N recently
14. Guy Gavriel Kay's Fionavar Tapestry (currently in the middle of the first book of this one)

Books for Old Testament class are Old Testament Parallels, by Victor H Matthews and Don C Benjamin and The Old Testament, by Michael D Coogan. For Asian Religions, we are reading The World's Religions by Huston Smith and Siddhartha, by Herman Hesse.