much and earnest

When reading an ancient text…we have to start somewhere, and in the end, I’m not sure that it matters much where. Should we begin with the contexts and assumptions of the ancient world and work our way towards the present situation? Should we begin with present forms of understanding and work our way back towards the ancient text’s lifeworld? Though we are accustomed to the idea that readers need to be governed by the right hermeneutic, in fact theory and method mean next to nothing in reading. [...W]e may not have as much choice [about the "tools we bring to the task of reading"] as we think we do anyway.

- Alan Jacobs, “The Genesis of Wisdom,” an essay on Leon Kass’s The Beginning of Wisdom: Reading Genesis, originally in First Things, but reprinted in Shaming the Devil: Essays in Truthtelling (Eerdmans, 2004). My emphasis.

The countrey parson preacheth constantly; the pulpit is his joy and his throne…and with particularizing of his speech now to the younger sort then to the elder, now to the poor, and now to the rich – ‘This is for you, and this is for you’; for particulars ever touch and awake more than generalls….

- George Herbert, A Priest to the Temple, qtd. in Maltby’s Prayer Book and People, ch. 1

Literary people like to emphasize the complexity of texts. We expect readers to acknowledge this complexity, and formulate similarly complex hypotheses regarding our objects of study.

I’m in this camp. I urge even my first year comp students to argue complex ideas in their essays. But a troubling thought just flitted across my mind: by insisting on complexity, do we (sometimes, at least) encourage, and satisfy ourselves with, incoherence? Although it is true that life and literature are complex matters, should we require everyone to address life and literature accordingly?

In a perfect world I think I would answer, without much hesitation, yes. But in the far-from-ideal world of the modern American university, which often will not (and probably cannot) provide its students with a single, coherent ‘world view,’ I am not so sure. Perhaps it would be better to be less ambitious, and accept our students’ ideas, even though they don’t always meet our own standards for complexity, rather than unsettle them so much that they become radically skeptical about all simple statements.

(Perhaps I am attributing far too much power to my own instruction; maybe my students don’t, or at least don’t often, apply the ideas I advance in class to their lives outside English 101.)

I’m trying to make myself study modernity (and post-modernity), in order to overcome the backwards chronological snobbery to which I have been subject for some time. As an undergraduate, I told myself I’d be happy to get lost in old books, old ideas, old debates. I think I’ve found two good reasons to turn over a new leaf:

1. To acquire the ability to critically examine others’ and one’s own philosophical principles.
2. To be more attuned to my students.

What others can you think of?