A Medieval Approach to Modernity

One good book leads to another, and another, and another, like a bus tour, and along the way you note places to come back to. I’ve bought C. S. Lewis’s Allegory of Love, after searching for a copy for less than fifty dollars over the past several years. I was quite anxious to read the out of print book. (Incidentally, I don’t know why it is out of print since it is often referred to by contemporary essayists. In medieval studies the book from 1936 is an important reference.) The book is a history of medieval literature, specifically works on the subject of courtly love in the form of allegory. Within the bibliography Lewis reviews (more than critiques) the central works of The Romance of the Rose, Chaucer’s Troilus and Cressida, and Spenser’s Faery Queene.

Reading this book of literary criticism prompted me to search for many titles of medieval works referred to. I am extremely happy that many of the works, in their entirety, are available online at Luminarium.org, Project Gutenberg, and TEAMS Middle English Texts. I no longer must resort to checking out large anthologies that only offer extracts. I am reading John Lydgate’s poetry (an author hardly known and usually categorized as one of a Chaucerian school, but who produced twice as much as his idol). He models himself after Chaucer, but he lacks his predecessor’s originality and diversity. His work is enjoyable, however, especially for expressing the courtly ideal of love. I am also reading The Romance of the Rose, which, as I read more commentaries, was a very influential book during the medieval period.

I must have a subject to the essay, besides a little criticism. I need to have something of an issue, don’t I? The one that comes to mind first is one of self-analysis, one to answer if I hope to have any success in the blogosphere: why read medieval literature?

While I have said in the past that I am an anachronism, not at all modern in thought or lifestyle, there is the exception of the computer and internet that I use daily. With the spread of technology comes the spread of information, which is more accessible than ever before. With this information we have the wider diversity of cultures to learn from, and we may customize our lifestyles. We are not limited to the culture that is common around us, except for those that choose to prohibit the technology. You are able to study religions you had little access to before the information revolution; you can study other countries and could even plan down to the details of moving there; you can complete college courses at home; you can correspond with people around the world easier than ever.

My point in all this is you can choose your lifestyle, or what I would call your own culture. I have built something of a culture of my own in my home. If I can choose my lifestyle from all the cultures I can learn of, without the limitations of space, (for instance, I can love English culture as much as American without living there), why limit myself in time? The spread of information includes a great treasure of history. With all that history offers, why must I be modern? This is why I am a Conservative. It’s not that I necessarily want to prevent change, but change for change’s sake is not a good reason. The phrase ‘change is good’ can only be proven after it is the past. I think the desire of people, en masse, for something novel is juvenile.

So I study history, so I read literature of past times, for good ideas to build my lifestyle, my own culture. Here are a few ideas I have recently discovered that I want to include.

“Be courteous and approachable, speaking gently and reasonably to high and low alike, and when you go along the streets, be sure to make it your habit to be the first to greet other people. And if someone should greet you first, do not remain dumb, but take care to return the greeting at once, and without delay. Next, be sure never to use rude words or coarse expressions: your mouth should never be opened to pronounce the name of anything base.”
Guillame de Lorris. The Romance of the Rose. (New York: Oxford University Press 1994) 32-33.

It would be foolish of me to dispel wisdom given from the past, or to think it wise only for one culture, one situation, one time. If it was it would have been only a novel thought.

Rational Religion

From June, 2005
It is interesting to reflect on how reading coincides with events of life, affecting my perspective, even my actions. A few months ago I was reading the Augustan poets. The Augustan period in English literature, late 17th-early 18th centuries, is marked by Neoclassicism. Authors like John Dryden, Alexander Pope, and Jonathan Swift translated the Greek and Roman authors into English, and added their own writings in similar style, such as their satires. One of the English authors, Joseph Addison, inspired me to start ZED by his version of a newsletter, The Tatler, which he and Richard Steele published and distributed through coffee houses, (yes, the trend in America of reading poetry in coffee houses is not at all new). These English authors worked to improve the ideas, language, and form of English. Works like Pope’s The Rape of the Lock epitomized ‘high’ style in English.

These authors also praised Reason, or rationality. Deism, the belief in God but not his participation in our world, arose as a rational religion. People of intellect taught religious tolerance, avoidance of extreme thinking, and discouraged personal revelation of God. Suspicion and doubt of any knowledge not gained from empirical evidence led to disbelief in miracles and the supernatural. Thus developed the belief – to put it simply for this overview – that God created the world, then withdrew, no longer interacting with mankind. By removing the miraculous, Christianity became a code of ethics, the Bible became a book of wisdom, or a book of manners, but not the truth of God. Christ’s divinity and his redemption of mankind were nullified.

This is still the problem of Christianity for intellectuals; they must decide whether to face towards a supernatural God, one not seen by empirical evidence. This problem, throughout the centuries, has prompted people to search. At the same time I read the Augustans, I also proofread Edwin Abbott’s collected letters, The Kernal and the Husk, (1886). He accounts of his search for rational religion. Following Descarte’s example, he discarded the teachings of others and sought self-tested truths. While reading a work like his I was reminded of C. S. Lewis, who was a rational atheist turned rational Christian.

Some characterize this kind of search as doubt, and handily offer, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test,” Matthew 4:7. But for those who question, if they do not search, they will always have doubt. I understand their desire for reason.

Yet I also understand that God does not reach the heart by empirical evidence. Such evidence would still leave many unpersuaded. Unfortunately, many will not witness the miracles they hope will convince them. How many would like to believe, but at some time in their lives they gave God a great opportunity to do a miracle and he did not? The truth is miracles, by definition, are rare.

Neither Cliches Nor Conceits

I find, in my own writing, that it is difficult not to incorporate metaphors. I have tried writing haiku, and in such a small space, meant for meditating, I tend towards metaphor. Haiku, traditionally, does not incorporate the device; it is more literal. But a good metaphor does provoke meditation. For instance:

the beloved enters --
the sea of people dissipates
as I see her wave

The challenge is to avoid clichés and conceits. I suppose each writer, in their youth, considers using clichés. From "All the world’s a stage," to "Life is like a box of chocolates," the too-common metaphors were original once, and hold some truth to keep them in the lexicon. They’re not useless today as the poet may use them to set up a twist. But the use of overused metaphors risks losing the reader, and certainly an editor. The cliché may be original to the poet, written with the excitement of a discovery – Eureka! I’ve noticed my love is like an arrow! -- but to the reader it’s hackneyed.

The other problem metaphors pose, beside originality, is the conceit -- a method of metaphor Renaissance poets used to highlight their wit. By today’s standards, their conceits extend a metaphor past the point of breaking. Perhaps the most noted is John Donne’s "The Flea," in which the insect becomes the instrument of mixing the blood of the poet and the beloved, an act then considered synonymous with sex. The flea becomes a symbol for their love and their marriage bed. The poem is amusing, even delightful, as much Renaissance poetry is, but such far-fetched metaphors draw attention to the poet rather than the poem.

Recently I have been reading poetry by Ted Kooser. I enjoy his poetry, personally, because I relate to the themes. His poetry is not so esoteric that I need online searches or the author’s guide to his own poetry to understand anything of what I read. Apart from the personal appreciation I also credit Kooser with creating very good metaphors. I would like to include some examples of his metaphors here. These are from his collection of poetry, Delights and Shadows.

"its shadowy speaker behind a thin lattice like the face of a priest."
From "Zenith"

"a storm that walked on legs of lightning"
From "Mother"

[When writing of a young woman in a wheelchair]
"You have seen how pianists
sometimes bend forward to strike the keys,
then lift their hands, draw back to rest,
then lean again to strike just as the chord fades.
Such is the way this woman
strikes at the wheels...."
From "A Rainy Morning"