Authorial Intent and Self-Contradiction

Scott (who is not as patient as he looks) took note of a comment I made last year on a post on DYL that seems to stand in contradiction to more recent comments of mine. In the original post, Jessica raises the question of authorial intent in discussing the re-imagination of a prior creator's work. In comments there, I state something along the lines of:

I don’t see any problem with interpreting additional information into one’s perspective on literature and film. When I read a novel, I have almost no interest in what the author intended; my only concern is whether my personal experience of the text is satisfactory.

In response to Rich (Jessica's husband), who suggests that Jessica's lax response to the question of authorial intent poses certain (and potentially heretical) dangers if applied to Holy Writ, I respond with:

Your example, comparing Jessica’s view on lit to heresy if applied to Scripture is akin to comparing one’s liberty to prefer chocolate ice cream over sushi to one’s preference of one religion over another (making it a matter of taste). Because what’s at stake is so different, the comparisons cannot be made.

Scott points out that this seems to be at odds with recent comments I've made regarding the primacy of authorial intent in interpreting a text (mostly here and on Johnny T's site). Specifically, he quotes:

A question for you: if author intent does not concern us when we seek to arrive at Meaning, what does that mean for your biblical hermeneutic. It seems rather destructive to me, not caring what God actually meant. But then, maybe I’m putting words in your mouth.

Now then, how is our fiery The Dane to extricate himself from this tangled net of words? Can he possibly be free of contradiction? Or should we just say that he changed his mind and leave it at that? Or, more palatably, is he some babbling moron who just chooses a position based upon the roll of a d20 and rerolls every time a topic comes up? Not unlikely, but today I think we'll find a slightly different answer to the posed dilemma.

A big part of the answer comes when we consider that in the two places, I am talking about two different things. In the one case, I am talking about discovering a text's meaning. In the other case, I am talking about how I approach reading books and watching movies. The difference lies in one single piece of information: when devouring novels or movies, I rarely pay any thought to Meaning.

It's true. On a personal level, I don't care what literature or cinema means. I imbibe because I enjoy, not because I care to have a window into the soul of a stranger. Occasionally - and this is rare indeed - a story will so affect me that I'll become interested in what it means. In those cases, I doggedly pursue authorial intent. Because. Authorial intent is so intimate with Meaning that it cannot be overlooked.

So there we have it Scott. Where meaning is concerned, authorial intent is king. Where personal enjoyment is at the fore, meaning may or may not play any part at all and so authorial intent mileage will vary.

How this works in the details of my criticism of Rich (that bringing up Bible interpretation wasn't important) and my question to Johnny T (wondering how could he hold to the degradation of authorial intent and still interpret Scripture with "accuracy") is this:

Rich compared how Jessica approaches literature with a heretical approach to Scripture, though Jessica wasn't talking about Meaning but only about what she gets out of literature and movies. Johnny was talking about Meaning and texts. I maintain that they were talking about two different things. And from this, we may gather that yes, I definitely see Meaning and What One Gets Out of Something as being two entirely different creatures - that sometimes cross paths.

Meaning in Space

Over at Johnny T's a discussion/argument has been churning over the past couple months across a number of posts. This conversation has spanned a number of topics, but one of the more interesting to my mind has been our treatment of a text's Meaning and its relation to Authorial Intent. I tie them together inexorably, seeing that each text has one true meaning. Johnny T does not, opting to see multiple meanings per text. In his most recent post, on little horses, he asks me two questions:

How does the reader determine the intent of the author? If the intent of the author is unknown or unknowable, is the text meaningless?

I thought my answer might make good fodder for the thinking among you, so I'm reposting it here. Bon apetit.

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1) How does the reader determine the intent of the author?
I don't believe that the reader has the ability (on this earth) to determine infallibly the intent of any author. I think we interpret somewhere between understanding and misunderstanding. If we were to present this mathematically, it would look like:

perfect understanding > our interpretation ≥ misunderstanding

I think that with people who communicate well together, interpretations will fall more often along a curve dominating the Understanding side of things. People who do not communicate well (or people who know nothing of each other) will more often fall on the Misunderstanding side of things.

That said, I think that if the reader is interested* in receiving the communication effected by the author, he should engage in those activities that general lead toward a better understanding of intent. Some of the tools of such readers are research into an author's context, understanding of "common usage" of whichever language the author chooses to communicate in, a familiarity with potential deviations from common usage that the author is likely to engage, and best of all, some explanation or clarification from the author himself as to what he intended. These tools, while aiding in interpretation do not guarantee a correct interpretation**; they merely give us the best potential for running into the correct interpretation.

* I think it's fine if readers aren't interested in receiving the effected communication. There is nothing wrong with this. But. We cannot say they are interested in the text's meaning. They are rather more likely to be interested in giving the text meaning - which is an entirely different endeavor.

** by "correct interpretation" I'm speaking of author intent.

2) If the intent of the author is unknown or unknowable, is the text meaningless?
The text is not meaningless, but if we cannot ascertain intent then we cannot discover the text's meaning. Of course we can add whatever meaning we want, but that's our meaning, not the text's.

As an example, let's say I am in the depths of the Pacific, searching for the lost civilization of Mu. I find an ancient tablet and discover a symbol that looks roughly like this: <o>

Now I could add meaning to that and say that they Mulians must have some connection to Milo Rambaldi. But that would be me, the reader, transmitting meaning back upon the author. And as funny as that might be, it doesn't help me figure out what the symbol means. Not knowing anything about the author (who or when they lived, whether they were human, whether the mark was made by sentient beings or whether it was carved by time and chance), I cannot possibly decipher the symbol's meaning. It may be absolutely packed with meaning but none of that transmission of meaning reaches me. It's been obscured by its sheer lack of context.

So the short answer: if author intent is unknowable, then the text is not necessarily meaningless but meaning has been lost, perhaps irretrievably.

Christ Figures in Literature

(a.k.a. the post that will never be read)

Recent conversation over at DYL on the possibility of Harry der Potter as Christ-figure got me to thinking what we mean when we say this. Honestly, I think the term is used (in the circles that care to use it) pretty loosely and with a bit more abandon than I'd prefer. Part of the problem is that anytime a protagonist bears the remotest similarity in deed or circumstance he is labelled Christ-figure. And this - this just isn't a useful way to go about things.

Really, there are a few ways and nuances in which we can intend the term, so let's explore those before moving on.

Authorship with Intent
The first question we've got to answer is the question of author intention. I think that conversation about "Christ-figures" almost immediately breaks down at this point. I think I've argued with Johnny T to some degree about this in the past (though not in connection with redemptive pictures), with me taking the position that for the reader to say that something in a story represents a particular object or idea, the author must have intended such an interpretation for it to be valid. Now I could be horribly misrepresenting Johnny T here (though I don't believe so), but his position was that authorial intent, while important, is not necessary in the interpretation of literature.

I believe meaning is transmitted only through intentionality, though in both conscious and subconscious intentionality. That is, I believe that when we speak of the meaning of thematic elements in literature, we should only be speaking to the question of authorial intent. Our order of discovery is to uncover what the author is both consciously and unconsciously implying. This is what I mean when I say that meaning is transmitted; it comes from the author and arrives at us to some degree (depending of the forecast for communication that day).

Some people like the flavour of the Elevation of Inference. They like the idea that anything one can draw out of a text is a valid interpretation, the idea that meaning stem's from reader response. I believe Johnny T likes this view, or did at one point, as I seem to remember him arguing in favour of post-structuralism.

This seems to travel against the grain of simple semiotics. Stepping away from literature for a moment, let's look at how signs function. When I create a sign, say a red plus sign on a white field, I am signifying something. And I am signifying something to a "reader." Now what that reader interprets my sign to be signifying is anyone's guess. But if he infers anything other than what I've signified, he is, despite good intentions to the contrary, mistaken. Perhaps he comes from a culture that sees the red "cross" as a religious symbol, so he reads religious import into my sign, believing its signifier to have some sort of affiliation to that, when really, all I mean is Medical Aid. Despite the validity of his cultural values, he has allowed his biases to lead him astray in the interpretation of my sign. Now while we understand where he's coming from and don't really fault him on his interpretation, I would be quick to point out that he was, alas, wrong.

Another illustration is the Christian sacrament of bread and wine. Scripture gives the sign and explains what it signifies: the body and blood of Christ. It is, of course, possible for me to add my own meaning to the sign - perhaps the bread reminds me of sustenance and the wine reminds me of joyfulness - but we cannot say that the Lord's Supper is a sign of the joy and sustenance that God offers. We cannot because Scripture does not say that and we aren't allowed to give signs our own meaning. We either interpret it rightly (as it was intended to be interpreted) or we interpret it wrongly (any way other than intended).

Now translated this across the massive complexity of signs that authors signify through the written word. The essential function remains the same. The author means to say something, either consciously or unconsciously, and communicates this through the literary signage we call the text.

The signs are definitely more complex, more ambiguous, and may even be contradictory. Just like people. But their meaning can never be anything other than what they signify. And note that I do think that an author's inability to communicate well in the language of the people will usually end in confusion of his signs' meanings. Using the example of the red plus sign, if I went to that land where the red plus had deep religious symbolism, I should not be surprised that no one would interpret it as meaning Medical Aid.

So then, when speaking of Christ-figures in literature, I believe we should only be speaking about those figures who were crafted intentionally as a Christ-character. It's fine and all to ask, Which characters remind you of Christ? but that's quite a different question than dealing with Christ-figures.

The Quest for Consciousness
Next, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that we really only want to talk about those figures who are intended to represent Christ by conscious action of the author. I'm not disregarding the possibility that someone might not write unintentionally a character who resembles Christ, but really, how valuable is it that we recognize those characters - since by pointing them out as Christ-figures, we would merely be pointing out what we already know from Scripture: that every story reflects in some way The Story, that all that exists declares in some fashion the glory of the Lord.

My point is that if in some unconscious way everything says something like, "Apples are not snakes," then it hardly seems worthwhile to point out that something said, "Apples are not snakes," but did so unintentionally. People who point out the everyday are one of two things: boring or comedians. Or maybe both.

So then, really what we're talking about when we speak of Christ-figures, we're talking about authors actively intending their protagonist to fit a certain role, to be identified with Christ. We see this for certain in the case of Aslan. C.S. Lewis set out to tell a story about Christ, so he makes one of the characters into Christ. He does so unapologetically and he does so clearly.

Through a Glass Darkly
The next question, then, is how clear must our vision be? How closely must a character resemble Christ in person or work to merit the term? If the character sacrifices himself, is that enough? Does he need to then raise from the dead? How many must his sacrifice save? Does it matter from what they're saved? Does he need to be a good person? How good? Must he be supernatural? Should he be better than anyone else?

I've referenced the cloudy window of 1 Corinthians here and accordingly, I think we're entering into a dark and murky territory here. And by dark and murky, I mean a realm guarded by that most ferocious and indefatigable of beasts, subjectivity. While I might feel that a Christ-figure must meet more strictly with the reflective criteria, others might (and do) feel that less stringent guidelines are perfectly acceptable. Others still, are willing to bend the rules a bit in order to shoehorn in an otherwise unlikely prospect - just so they can add one more to the ranks of literary Christ-figures.

My personal general rule is to look for characters who are more thematic of Christ than they are less thematic of him. If a character dies to save a nation, fights with religious leaders, and is popular with the masses, but is a foul-mouthed drunkard and pedophile, then he certainly doesn't fit very well the image of Christ.

Now That's an Awkward Fit
I suppose if we determine, through whatever Byzantine means and arcane sources, that an author has indeed created a Christ-figure intentionally - the real question (one of them) is how well they succeeded in their chosen task. Now C.S. Lewis did pretty darned well. We look at Aslan and nod in affirmative, saying, "Yup. He's a Christ-figure alright. Good job, Mister Lewis. Next!" Others don't fare quite as well on this count. How about Simon from Lord of the Flies? Well, he was certainly killed by his culture. And he does run into the devil somewhat while wandering in the wilderness. But then again, as good as he is, he doesn't save anyone by his death or otherwise. And his death was really more accidental by product of madness then the malicious murder of Piggy. So then, "Mister Golding? Were you serious? You can do better than that." I just read something that posited Gandalf, Frodo, and Aragorn each as aspects of a Christ-figure (prophet, priest, and king respectively). Now let's say Tolkien was attempting this (despite the fact that I'd like to give him more credit than this). I, er, well, honestly I have no response to that. It just seems too desperate to me.

To the figure at hand over at DYL, let's pretend that Rowling really was attempting to craft Harry in the imago Christi. How well did she do? Well, as pointed out by Rich:

• Rowling, the author, references her Christian beliefs as somehow contributing to the series' climax.
• Harry had humble beginnings, like Christ.
• Harry was marked by Voldemort in a potentially bruise heel/crush head sort of way.
• Harry is part wizard/part muggle (75%/25% or something, it's hard to determine wizard to muggle blood ratios as they do not behave as simple ethnic genotype does) and Christ was part man/part God (100%/100%).
• Voldemort hunts Harry as the result of a prophecy as Satan hunts Christ due to prior knowledge.
• After his second encounter with Voldemort, Harry is comatised for three days, the same number of days for which Christ was dead and buried.

Also, it is presumed that Harry will die (to some degree) to save his friends in the last/next book.

So... what about the case against?

• Unlike Christ, Harry is a jerk. He is a petulant little temper-tantrum-throwing boy who is currently motivated by typically teenage selfishness. His actions frequently lead to rifts between himself and his friends and occasionally to horrible things like death. Despite having something of a messiah complex, Harry does not have the character to be any kind of Christ-resembling messiah.
• Unlike Christ's dual nature, both of Harry's nature's are marked by corruption.
• Unlike Christ, Harry's greatest powers comes, it seems from his mother and his enemy, rather than from his nature.
• Unlike Christ, when Harry dies to save the wizarding world, he does not really save anyone but merely vanquishes one foe. Voldermort is not the worst enemy of the wizarding world; the wizarding world is.*
• Unlike Christ, it is unlikely that Harry's death will be any sort of justice.
• Unlike Christ, Harry is a foreigner to love (as yet).

Personally, I think the evidence weighs against the Christ-figure theory, but if Rowling does intend us to read Harry in this way, she's not doing a very bang-up job. This is not to say that there aren't themes that reflect The Story in the Harry Potter story, but that if there are, they are more general, incidental things.

You've Got a Look that Makes Me Think You're Cool
And then again, really, what's the point? Why should we care about Christ figures in literature. It doesn't make the stories better or worse. It doesn't redeem an illicit read, somehow forging it into a now-licit read. It doesn't rectify inadequacies in stories. It doesn't sanctify, in any way, a story.

In the end, Christ-figures in stories are trivialities.

We shouldn't rejoice when we see them anymore than we do for any other type of character. We might even groan a little at the cliché - for, since the absolute Christ-figure (Christ) has come, all other such characters are cheap rip-offs. We shouldn't imagine that good is being accomplished any better through this character than through the existence of any other well-written character. Seeds for understanding the true Christ aren't being sown any better through Aslan than they are through Reepicheep or through Jadis.

So take joy in finding Christ-figures if you like, but only do so for the same reason that you take joy in discovering that e.e. cummings doesn't capitalize. When you find one of these messianic archetypes, just shrug and say, "Huh. Neat. Oh and look, this book also uses the scapegoat archetype."

*note: this reason will be eliminated if Harry's sacrifice really does destroy all magic in his death.

How Do You Think?

Think about how you think. Now tell me about it. Do you think primarily in words? In pictures? Sounds, smell, textures, tones? Do your thoughts have colour and do they favour certain parts of the spectrum? What about flow? Do you thoughts proceed logically, analytically, one from another? Or are your thought processes more frenetic.

Personally, I believe I slightly favour thinking in words over visuals, but only slightly. Pretty evenly divided on that score. Though I'm almost constantly singing or making "music" with my voice or percussively, that aspect seems to exist almost subconsciously, for I rarely think in sound. As far as processes are concerned, I think that for the most part, my thoughts follow an even flow (interrupted and redirected constantly by outside stimulus). The only times really when I forego logical progression is when I'm actively aiming for wackiness or creativity; in short, I have to try to be imaginative in order to imagine.

So please, tell me how you think. And if you think of it, please direct your friends here to do the same. I'm trying to get the broadest range of understanding on thought processes as I am able. Feel free to include examples if that helps.

Dirty Pretty Things

In writing of D.H. Lawrence and theories of sexual redemption, Leithart delivers an interesting topic and well said. While Emeth (from whom I received notice of the article) focused on C.S. Lewis's point that you cannot approach with neutrality the more intimate processes and pieces of the body (concluding that in every description of said functions, one must either be childish, quaint, crass, or academically detatched), I will focus on something else in the article. Though I'm not quite certain that Lewis is correct (in fact, I think he's rather mistaken, but that's neither here nor there).

No, I think I will take the opportunity to quibble with the article's conclusion:

The result of Lawrence's evangelism [in the favour of the eff-word] has, of course, been less than redemptive. Instead of consecrating "f—–" and surrounding it with the whole aura of connotations associated with passionate, tender sexual love, it has demeaned all discourse about sex. It still brings with it the "whole atmosphere of the slum"; it can enter "polite society," but the result will be to transform the latter into a slum. [note the the eff-word was edited from Leithart's original in order not to offend the more sensitive of our readers.]

And here then is my point of disagreement, that bringing formerly obscene words into "polite society" can be done, but that the result will be to transform the polite society into a slum. I don’t think that the entrance of such words into "polite" society necessarily demeans that society. Instead, I think it renders such culture as "less polite."

I think there is a gulf of difference between polite society and the society of the slum; and within the expanse of that gulf are any number of bedposts upon which one might hang his hat. The introduction to polite society of a word that seeks to realize and recognize "the bodiliness, the messiness, of actual intercourse" wouldn’t be enough to damn the society, but it wouldn't help the society to remain "polite" either.

The thing is, what’s so great about polite? Time and place for it, sure. But really, all we mean when we speak of polite society is a society that clothes itself in lies, half-truths, and fabrications. It paints itself into an unrealistic corner, a facade that ends up fooling, well, most of its participants.

As believers, we value both truth and modesty. We take on our lives in a manner that exalts in truth and glories in honesty. But still, we do not rejoice in parading our inadequacies, in boasting in the effects of the fall. We are caught in between these mandates.

On the one hand, we should desire greater truth in advertising, less abstraction in our descriptions of the body and life. We should hope to be a frank people. Yet on the other, we sojourn in an old and diseased creation, one in which both body and life are the subject of taboo. It is for the sake of a crass and vulgar kingdom that we demure, that we speak so softly and with so little colour; for they would never understand. In their skewed reason, they would see us flaunt their taboos and believe us to be the unrighteous. It is for them and for our witness to them of the reality that subsumes us that we hedge a little and say, "I make love to my wife."

[NOTE: this posts masthead features Ken and Barbie doing what kids everywhere make them do.]