"For as it is dislocation and detachment from the life of God that makes things ugly, the poet, who re-attaches things to nature and the Whole,--re-attaching even artificial things and violation of nature, to nature, by a deeper insight, --disposes very easily of the most disagreeable facts."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson, "The Poet" (Norton, 730)
Any "good" English major knows not to look at a line out of its context. If I am to be a "good" English major, I should not merely tangent off of this line; instead, I should incorporate the following lines into my response to the above passage. However, what struck me was not Emerson's description of nature adopting technology/industrialization "into her vital circles." What caught my attention was the line quoted above.
In the fashion of a true poet, Emerson has presented me with a new insight: "it is dislocation and detachment from the life of God that makes things ugly." It is a simple thing for me to agree with his statement after reading it. From a Christian standpoint, the truth of his statement is quite obvious. Detachment or dislocation from the life of God could easily be renamed sin, and sin, by its nature, is ugly. Simple? But I could not have explained it, written it, penned it as Emerson did.
While I am struck by the truth nestled at the beginning of his sentence, what really caught my attention was the end: "the poet, who re-attaches things to nature and the Whole,--re-attaching even artificial things and violation of nature, to nature, by a deeper insight, --disposes very easily of the most disagreeable facts." Earlier we outlined and discussed our definitions of Literary Theory, and Reading, and Author, etc. for class and in class, and during our discussion we raised many possible definitions and facets of what makes for Literature. Though my initial definition will undergo countless revisions as we learn and grow in class, one portion of my definition that I will stand behind is my belief that literature must contain truth about the human condition, its vices as well as virtues.
Have you ever read a book where the characters are just so good that you can't stand it? As a fan of Louisa May Alcott's Little Women, I was delighted when my cousin loaned me a copy of Alcott's first novel, The Inheritance, written when she was just a teen. Although I enjoyed reading her first novel, I was aggravated to tears by the protagonist, who was so perfect it set your teeth on edge. Readers were reminded almost every line of Edith's goodness and humility and kindness and beauty. Beauty is all well and good, but for me, I prefer reading a text where the characters are flawed, are ugly in some way. I cannot relate to total goodness, to angelic perfection. It is not something I can find on this fallen earth, it is not a quality I possess. I am a fallen creature, made ugly by my separation from God. I can relate to and learn from characters who are flawed like I am. (The don't have to have my exact flaws, mind.)
To me, it is more important, more "interesting" (for lack of a better word), more truthful to write of ugliness and imperfection. One of my favorite authors is Flannery O'Connor. I read a few of her short stories for a class in high school, and was drawn to her depiction of ugly, flawed, twisted characters. Though I was partially repulsed by the characters I found in "Redemption" and "A Good Man is Hard to Find," I was also partially drawn to them, drawn to their vices, drawn to her honesty in writing the characters she did. I think we can learn more from her flawed characters than we can from characters such as Edith. Whether we take away a simple template of What-Not-To-Do, or whether we take hope from a flawed character's redemption, or whether we take away something else entirely, I believe we take more away from a work that presents fallen characters for our pity, amusement and edification.
My fascination, and problem, with the second half of Emerson's quote, is that I am not sure how it relates to my beliefs on "Literature," mainly because I am not sure what--precisely--he means by it. Could he mean that the poet, by writing of ugliness, by addressing it, by dealing with it in some manner, re-attaches it to nature? By illuminating it for those of us with blurred sight, does the poet redirect us towards the proper path? Or does he mean that the poet, using his (or her) greater insight, using her (or his) talent with language and truth--transform the ugly? Does the poet hide the ugly from view, and present us only with that which is whole with nature?
Perhaps it is because I have stared at this passage too long, or perhaps it is because I have not the poet's sight, or perhaps it is because of the late hour--but I cannot come to any conclusion.
2 comments:
Hey. I really enjoyed your blog a lot. I feel exactly the same way about characters in books needing to be flawed in order to be interesting. During class on Tuesday Dr. Powers talked about how the Romantics have influenced us, and I think this is one area where that has happened. We were talking in Romantic literature the other day about how Blake, a Romantic poet, was the first to openly claim that the Devil is the true protagonist of Paradise Lost. The Romantics absolutely loved Milton's Devil and hated his God, and I think it's for the very reason that you talked about in your blog: Satan is flawed and God is not.
As far as the question at the end of your blog, I think you were on to something when you talked about the poet transforming the ordinary. It reminded me of another part of the The Poet: "Banks and tariffs, the newspaper and caucus, Methodism and Unitarianism, are flat and dull to dull people, but rest on the same foundations of wonder as the town of Troy and the temple of Delphi, and are as swiftly passing away." It seems like he's saying here that the poet can transform even the ordinary elements of life. But yeah. I really enjoyed your post.
Heya,
It's interesting that you brought up the fact that you related more easily with flawed characters than the perfect characters. It's something I agree with, and I believe is true for just about everyone. We were discussing this same topic in Inklings on Friday, actually, and my professor said much the same as you did - that, as flawed beings, we resonate more deeply and are easily drawn to that which is also flawed, because we can understand it. (The discussion, in case you were wondering, was based would the characters of Weston and Ransome in C.S. Lewis' "Perelandra"...as readers, it's easy to relate to Weston, at least in some respects, because of his flaws, and harder to do the same with Ransome, since he has so many Christ-like qualities)
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