The Definition and Practice of Literary StudiesAuthor(s): Wesley TrimpiSource: New Literary History, Vol. 2, No. 1, A Symposium on Literary History (Autumn,1970), pp. 187-192Published by: The Johns Hopkins University PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/468596 .Accessed: 01/03/2011 17:15

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The Definition and Practice of Literary Studies *

Wesley Trimpi

F ONE could converse with a text, ask it specific questions about its composition and meaning, and receive accurate replies in return, the discipline of literary studies could take less modest forms than

the one I wish to propose here. It was observed by Plato that writ- ten composition "is very like painting; for the creatures of painting stand like living beings, but if one asks them a question, they preserve a solemn silence. And so it is with written words; you might think they spoke as if they had intelligence, but if you question them, wishing to know about their sayings, they always say only one and the same thing. And every word, when once it is written, is bandied about, alike among those who understand and those who have no interest in it, and it knows not to whom to speak or not to speak; when ill-treated or unjustly reviled it always needs its father to help it; for it has no power to protect or

help itself" (Phaedrus, 275D-E).1 Writing is but an image (E'••.Xov) of living speech, and, like all images for Plato, is fragile and fluctuating

and will perish if the author is not there to reassert its meanings when it is abused. Though Plato is distinguishing his philosophical dialectic from artistically written speeches, codes of law, and poems, he is indi-

rectly drawing attention to the precarious existence of literary compo- sitions, which, in turn, suggests the principal functions of literary studies.

A working definition of literary studies can be stated, like an old- fashioned telegram, in seven words or less: The understanding and pre- servation of literary texts. Most would accede to such general objectives, but perhaps without realizing the most important corollary: that under-

standing and preservation are mutually prerequisite, and hence correl- ative. For, if the meaning of the text be misunderstood, its lexical form will gradually vary, through emendation, in accord with the subse-

* This essay concerns the general objectives of literary studies rather than their

practice at any specific university.

I Plato, trans. H. N. Fowler, Loeb Classical Library (London, I913), I, 565,

567-

188 NEW LITERARY HISTORY

quent meanings attributed to it; if the text becomes corrupt, it will cause mistaken interpretations of its meaning. Plato's great contribution to

literary studies, however trivial he may have considered most of them, was his insight into the nature of the word (logos): that its preserva- tion is coincident with its intelligibility, and that permanence and in-

telligibility exist in an eternal present where they are continually re-

experienced as functions of one another. The mind seeks self-preserva- tion in what can be understood, however little that may be, and its

self-expression, however briefly, strives for permanence, whether exper- ience be contemplated by a Platonist or a pragmatist.

Any understanding of a text, however, involves an interpretation of it, and there are as many kinds of interpreters as there are attitudes to- ward the texts themselves. For instance, in his Seventh Epistle (343B) ,2

where he describes the instability of diction and syntax in all description, Plato points out that written words, as shifting images of speech, are part of the world of apparent "quality," which in our search for knowl-

edge of the "essential reality," confronts "the mind with the unsought particular" and leaves it prey to complete uncertainty. For Plato the context of "qualities" is a deceptive fiction to be interpreted in order to

apprehend the "given" intelligible and permanent order which lies be- hind it. On the other hand, the modern empirical tradition has re- versed the terms. The pragmatist accepts the predicated "qualities" (sensations) as given or "real" and postulates that fictional "subject" which might best be host to, and hence render intelligible by its coordi-

nating power, the greatest number of predications. For Plato, written words signify (unreal) "accidental" qualities in an effort to reveal a

permanent essence accepted as real; for the pragmatist, words signify (unreal) "essential" subjects in an effort to receive and coordinate

sensory qualities accepted as real. In accord with Platonic assumptions, the Neoplatonic and Christian exegetical traditions, as well as certain attitudes of Freudian psychology toward dreams, all seek a meaning believed to lie beyond, above, or below the literal statement of the text. This "allegorical" meaning is regarded as truer or more extensively ap- plicable, permanent, or significant than the literal meaning it must transcend. The empiricists, on the other hand, would avoid positing such a meaning (except for its temporary instrumental value) unless it could be assumed or shown to be an agent in the historical process. The archetypes of myth and ritual, for instance, often cited now to account for the ethical coherence of a literary work, although they share certain functions with "higher" meanings in Scriptural exegesis, are actually manifestations of psychological history revealed by a partic-

2 The Complete Dialogues of Plato, ed. E. Hamilton and H. Cairns (New York, 1963),p. 1590.

THE DEFINITION AND PRACTICE OF LITERARY STUDIES 189

ular method of cultural historicism. A way of reading based on such

presuppositions is as "exegetical" as that of the Biblical commentator. Both could first influence an interpreter's understanding of a text, and, subsequently, his growing conviction of what it should say could lead to its emendation.

To distinguish between "interpreting" and "understanding" a text is not to reject the former; on the contrary, since all mental activity is

interpretation in its most general sense, it is to take it for granted. What one tries to do with a conscious purpose is to understand the text by restricting the types of interpretation available (or even habitual), to limit, that is, the types of significance of which the text may seem capa- ble at any given time. This is precisely to prevent the abuse to which Plato says a written text is most vulnerable: distortion in the subjective flux of opinion by being handled equally by those who know and by those who do not care.

The practice of literary studies-the understanding and preserving of

literary texts-is the traditional function of philology itself. It begins with the selection (and rejection) of methods of interpretation. The selection must be made with regard to the historical conditions most like-

ly to have influenced the original composition; and philological demon- stration, therefore, can seldom claim more than probability.3 The tra- ditional weapon of philology has been to return to the "letter" of the text from a too subtle pursuit of its secondary significance. For the Church Fathers, as for Hugh of St. Victor, the literal meaning of texts, secular as well as religious, had again and again to be emphasized in order to serve as a foundation steady enough to support the allegorical superstructure. For Erasmus, the establishment of the Scriptural text, which had suffered the abuses Plato predicted, was a theological as well as a philological activity, and he argued the corollary (stated above) that the Word of God could be preserved only if it were understood and it could only be understood in a text free of corruptions.

The enemies of literary studies display a remarkable similarity over the centuries. In the twelfth century John of Salisbury describes the in- fluence of a man whom he calls Cornificius, who criticized the disci-

plines of the Trivium upon which literary studies were based. Corni- ficius particularly attacked the reading of ancient authors, and, in be-

grudging the time given to the traditional training in rhetoric and dialectic, he separated once again these two ancient accomplishments which literature had always sought to join. His ignorance might be

3 I have defined and illustrated this type of probability, as well as the ethical implications of preferring one's subjective interpretation to the text's original mean- ing, in "The Practice of Historical Interpretation and Nashe's 'Brightness falls from the ayre,' " JEGP, LXVI (1967), 501-18.

I90 NEW LITERARY HISTORY

partially attributed to his early preoccupation with the pursuit of alle- gorical significance: "What he now teaches, Cornificius learned at a time when there was no 'letter' in liberal studies, and everyone sought 'the spirit,' which, so they tell us, lies hidden in the letter."4 He is loud, active, and "relevant"; he laughs at the learned and offers short- cuts to make his disciples eloquent and wise. He has a "modern" method for winning disputes which sweeps the students into his classes, where they become instant philosophers: "Then the new masters, fresh from the schools, and fledglings, just leaving their nest," fly off together. As a kind of soothsayer, he relies on his natural gifts, not on training in the arts-which, nevertheless, he has "renovated"-and, if

people cannot understand him, they reveal their own limitations. John is, incidentally, echoing the criticisms of the ancient sophists by both Plato and Isocrates, as well as the quick professionalism of Lucian's teacher of public speaking. Later, the Renaissance humanists will make similar comments about the late scholastic educational practices. And today characteristics of the subject of John's vignette are common in

departments of literature: the applauded knack, the steady "renova- tion" toward a contentless curriculum, the cultivation of natural bril- liance reflecting in ennui upon nothing but itself, and the supercilious fraternization with other subject matters by those who have abandoned their own.

To understand and to preserve a literary work is to be primarily concerned with its "letter"; what the letter means in its particular con- texts is the philologist's particular subject matter. The significance of what the work says for political, social, or economic history, as well as for philosophy, psychology, and theology, is of concern to him pri- marily in so far as it enables him to understand the work he is con- sidering. Today these and other subject matters often become the principal concern of teachers of literature in part, at least, because they have not been willing or able to train themselves in their own subject. For the training and knowledge sufficient to preserve the proper "read- ing" of letters in their context, and hence of the work itself, is more than one lifetime will permit. This training is not purely linguistic. It is historical in the broadest sense. In the Middle Ages it was thought that one must have an encyclopedic knowledge to understand Virgil. In practice the medieval view was naive in so far as it generated all kinds of subjective digression into lore which had little to do with the context of his poems; its method was not historical. But the intention was not wrong, for any information which could help establish a correct reading earned its place. Anyone who has tried to understand a particularly

4 The Metalogicon of John of Salisbury, trans. Daniel D. McGarry (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1962), pp. 14 ff.

THE DEFINITION AND PRACTICE OF LITERARY STUDIES 19I

difficult textual ambiguity today will remember the breadth of material which he searched for an answer. If answers are not found, emendation may take place, and sometimes it is difficult to say who actually wrote the line one likes, or whether, indeed, it is only a product of its textual history.

The modem "scholastic" shortcuts in the study of literature and the professionalism of graduate programs, which determine their curricula in accordance with how long they can pay the student to attend, call little attention to literary studies as defined here. Such studies are not pursued by departments but by individuals; they are not something to complete a requirement in but to practice; they are not an apprentice- ship to a trade but a continuing activity. It has always been difficult to decide what obligation a university has to protect and encourage them when, perhaps, they are not the responsibility of an institution at all. At the least, however, the university should provide conditions favorable to their practice for those students who wish to discover them. Though few will be motivated enough to acquire the necessary skills, for this demands that they take on trust the value of the activity before they can learn what the activity is, it is for these few that the proper objectives must be reiterated and exemplified. In addition to an uncompromised curriculum each department of literature should have on its faculty, though the expense seem incommensurate with the ex- tent of their apparent influence, several who are primarily engaged in

literary studies whom the students may observe and, in a sense, "over- hear." For, though a text cannot respond, all literary studies are an en- deavor to pose those questions which one should hypothetically ask it.

My proposal for literary studies is both more modest and more dif- ficult than some usually offered. It confines itself to written texts, to "gardens" sown with letters (Tobs

' 4iv Ev ypC'cXca aL

K'riTouQ), as

Plato describes them in the same passage of the Phaedrus (276D). These one will "plant for amusement, and will write, when he writes, to treasure up reminders for himself, when he comes to the forgetfulness of old age, and for others who follow the same path, and he will be

pleased when he sees them putting forth tender leaves." To emphasize his preference for dialectic (which plants words in a soul which, in turn, can teach other souls to speak wisely) he compares these literary gar- dens to those of Adonis, which "appear in beauty in eight days." 5 The gardens of Adonis consisted of herbs and flowers planted in pots, brought rapidly to bloom, and then thrown into the sea in an ancient ritual of the birth and death of the god. While the modesty of literary studies lies in their concern with the material and perishable signs on

5 Plato, Loeb ed., I, 567-69.

192 NEW LITERARY HISTORY

the page, their difficulty lies in preserving the meaning of the literal statement beyond the passing of what it signifies, which, in the case of the ritual death of Adonis, may alter with future interpretations of seasonal change. The literal meaning exists only in the specific con- text: in understanding Plato's comparison, for instance, one must con- sider what the phrase, "the gardens of Adonis," means, not what the death and regeneration of Adonis signify.

In conclusion, Plato's illumination that men might attain freedom from necessity by means of the logos, that they might, by means of its

power to abstract, gain a mobility swifter than the eye and elude the obliteration of material things, tightens the relationship between perma- nence and intelligibility. The recognition of this relationship in literary studies may lead to more and more precise methods of textual recovery. As the relationship was essential to Erasmus' Scriptural studies, so it is to the preserving and understanding of any description of experience. In lines resembling Plato's on the garden of letters, Shakespeare recom- mends that the "vacant leaves" of a commonplace book receive the "im-

print" of the mind, and that the mind in turn may recover "this learn-

ing" from the book at a later date.

Look! what thy memory cannot contain Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain, To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.

These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book.

The seventy-seventh sonnet compares the written thought to beauty of the face in their relative power to resist transience. The thought, once

preserved in writing, will increase the understanding, and the under-

standing, the "new acquaintance," will, to the extent that it continues to be reexperienced, in turn "enrich thy book."

STANFORD UNIVERSITY