Man is composed of body and soul; he thinks and he acts; he has appetites, passions, affections, motives, designs; he has within him the lifelong struggle of duty with inclination; he has an intellect fertile and capacious; he is formed for society, and society multiplies and diversifies in endless combinations his personal characteristics, moral and intellectual. All this constitutes his life; of all this Literature is the expression; so that Literature is to man in some sort what autobiography is to the individual; it is his Life and Remains. — John Henry Newman, The Idea of a University
Literature promises — if we shall permit it — to enlighten man’s understanding of himself; acting as it does by virtue of its being a secondary form of experience, garnered from the collective observations of mankind as a whole. It promises to inform our deliberations with respect to our fellow men. And it supplies the basic principles upon which we may develop a policy, through which we may entertain a more humanistic approach toward each other. One that might be conducted in a spirit striving for congruity and an apprehension of our common traits.
An approach that may be couched in a sincere pursuit of objective truth — typified by orthodoxy, which we must untangle from its present associations that we might desire it for what it is, right opinion. If such is possible. But whatever the result of these investigations into the nature of truth, — whatever our formulations and convictions, Literature allows us a window into the coloured landscape of man’s nature and allows us to temper our zeal for what we believe to be true with that charity, “without which orthodoxy is vain; charity that ‘thinketh no evil,’ but ‘hopeth all things,’ and ‘endureth all things’” (Johnson 12, 305).
The fastness of my persuasion concerning the above philosophy has been drawn from a broad — but by no means extent — reading of English Literature, within and without the confines of so– called orthodox Christianity. It has been derived from numerous icons of Literature, both antique and contemporary, and has ramifications throughout my worldview and my peculiar approach to this pilgrimage called life.
As the opening quote would indicate I am indebted to Dr John Henry Newman, whose Idea of a University so perfectly harmonized the demands and orientation of an Oxford-model education within the context of the Roman Church’s particular system of values. It also deals with the obligation of a university in preparing a student for life by the reading of Literature.
I might preface my further remarks by conceding that while Literature is most effective in the purpose thus assigned to it, that is, when it is a “mirror of life” which exhibits “the world in its true form” shewing us “what we are to expect” (Johnson 7, 126), its efficacy as an instrument to that end has too often been dampened by ideological designs to purify it of all wickedness and baptise it into a plaster saint. This is typically by way of censorship or coercion as has heretofore been demonstrated by the long march of history. Need requires only a few, select examples to satisfy: the Index Librorum Prohibitorum of Roman Catholicism, the Soviet Glavlit, the confiscation and partial destruction of Friar Bernardino de Sahagún’s Florentine Codex, the puritanical burning of Thomas Hobbes in effigy and print at Oxford in the late seventeenth century, &c.
This willful abuse of Literature and neglect of its merit – a merit identified and promoted by Dr Newman – has only succeeded in diverting men from organized government and religion, rather than fostering an “ignorance is bliss” devotion. Nevertheless, I believe that with the assistance of those figures most influential to my own convictions in regard to this subject, I have been successful in sufficiently convincing myself that such a dichotomy between Religion and an openness to reality within Literature — rather than an affected idealism — can be resolved.
Newman argues against an ideal, ethically unburdened Literature, by impressing upon his readers that it is,
…a contradiction in terms to attempt a sinless Literature of sinful man. You may gather together something very great and high, something higher than any Literature ever was; and when you have done so, you will find that it is not Literature at all. You will have simply left the delineation of man, as such, and have substituted for it, as far as you have had any thing to substitute, that of man, as he is or might be, under certain special advantages (Newman 229).
A Literature devoid of man’s folly, his frequent wickedness, and his incompetence is a Literature without humanity — for humanity is of its nature defectable, fallible, and imperfect. What can we learn from Utopian ideals, but that they will always crumble beneath man’s inconstancy? The Judæo-Christian scriptures are “profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, [and] for instruction in righteousness,” (II Timothy 3 : 16) because they treat of man as he is and not as he should ideally be . They condescend to teach by way of our iniquities and transport us to a plane wherein we may feasibly struggle against such inclinations as beset us.
That we must enter into — as William Law advised — a “catholic affection” for all mankind and delight in truth “…wherever it shines, or from what quarter it comes,” seems to me compelling. Like Professors Lewis and Tolkien we must acknowledge it Goethe’s words that “Literature is a fragment of a fragment,” but it contains within its auspices a vision of reality that while being flawed ultimately edifies. Neither Vergil nor Cicero is irrelevant for the Christian, neither Augustine nor Aquinas is inconsequent to the Secular Materialist, the Qu’ran and Rabbinical Talmuds are not germane if the Buddhist monk really seeks holistic fulfillment.
Whether we finally dismiss a portion of the canon or not, each portion of our Literary inheritance is a valuable asset that must be mined for those slivers of truth that might enlighten and guide us in our mutual co– development as members of a sorely divided race. In studying English Letters I am convinced that my contribution to that diverse fabric will be one of willingness and openness to learn, to live, and to thrive by giving a vote to the most obscure of all sets, our predecessors. Having taken that poll and illuminated our present condition with the parallels of the past, perhaps we can avoid those mistakes which thwarted our best efforts to co– exist peaceably and plunged us into endless conflict.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Johnson, Samuel. The Works of Samuel Johnson. New Ed. London: A. Straban, 1801.
Newman, John Henry. The Idea of a University. Rev. Ed. London: Longmans, Green, & Co., 1907.
The PDF file that was submitted through the Common Application and the Supplemental Writing Portfolio accompanying it can be found here and here, respectively.
{ 13 comments… read them below or add one }
Altogether very good. My only suggestion for this and future college writing is that you use standard, modern, American spelling and grammar (baptize rather than baptise) to avoid the impression that you are a literate fussy-pants or eccentric (even if you are, you don’t want to give those in authority the impression that you are.)
Also, personally, I’d replace “i.e.” with “that is” where it appears in the fifth paragraph for the sake of ease of readability.
Just the suggestions of a man who spent too much time in school.
Best Luck,
WAC
Thank you, Mr Cubbedge,
I tailored this essay to the “charism” of the schools to which I am applying. Ultimately, it will remain as it is within the context of this forum, but I am always forced to “Americanize” before submitting such things… since I rarely depart from a strict rendering of Fowler’s English, do so naturally and not deliberately, and need always scan and modify to bring it up to standard. As for the Id Est, I agree… I did have “That is,” but it looked textually messy, so I swapped it out. Eh, I’ll probably re-replace it again, because you are right… unfortunately no one delights in academia’s tradition of Latin acronym and abbreviation. Oh, well, at least I no longer invert single and double quotation marks. “[L]iterate fussy-pants or eccentric”? How did you guess?
Cordially,
Mr Fussy-pants
The police have been copulated.
Is that supposed to be a cryptic mark of approval, Mr E?
I think that is an NWA lyric, retrograded in order to comply with this blog’s style guide.
Well-chosen theme and a great opening quotation from John Henry Newman. I have no problem with the broad range of literature you allow and agree that sanitising books and subject matter in the way you outline is to deprive literature of its benefits. My criticism would focus on the expression. In past pieces you have mimicked 18th century English style surprisingly well with a nice touch of your idiosyncratic irony. The essay you are asked to write as part of the college application process calls for, I believe, ‘plain English’. I think you understand this because there is a sort of schizophrenic tussle between this consciousness and your inclination to go on in an 18th century mode. It doesn’t work. The opening paragraph is especially convoluted. Books on plain English will advise the writer to keep the sentences short without too many subordinate clauses. Clarity is the object rather than individual style. They also advise to keep clear of woolly Latin-based words in favour of the concrete Germanic/Anglo-Saxon word, for example, ‘truth’ instead of ‘verisimilitude’. I also agree that you should stick to American spelling. As you can imagine, I felt a little shudder as I wrote that recommendation. But it is all about the appropriate style of writing to the purpose in hand. I hope I do not sound too critical. It is best to read criticism in this space than not to hear it going on in the head of the reader of applications.
I think that you are correct Mr Cubbedge, in fact – since it is an inside joke – I am certain that you are correct.
Thank you, Gerard, the struggle between my inclinations and what is appropriate ultimately led me to make the appropriate emmendments.
I too felt that the first paragraph was convoluted, I have made it less so. I suffer from too frequent use of the subordinate clause, as you know. I have neither the time nor the energy to make it any “plainer” than it already is. Fortunately, the colleges to which I am applying should not mind too awfully much.
I have made other alterations and I hope that they are sufficient, as it must be submitted tomorrow.
Thank you all for your criticism, it was appreciated.
Mr. Bond-I, too, had a misspent youth.
All– Let’s go easy on our young editor. While his writing may be stylistic and may, to some, come off as strained or affected, it is obviously the writing of a well-read deep thinker, and the people reading this essay will get that. They will also get the fact that, while the author writes like he’s 268-years-old, he is not yet (mark this!) even a Feshman. The academy has years to refine his syntax, get him to use the active voice, and, generally, make him as dull as a bag of hammers.
I am not comfortable with the role of the gratuitous unfeeling critic. Come on, Mitch, defend me. You did particularly ask me for ‘frank commentary’ and ‘blunt protestations’, did you not? I would not have said anything unless I had been asked.
Indeed, Mr Cubbedge, I was not so much suggesting that you would be unfamiliar, but that you are not expected to be familiar… but your guess was at least very good. Misspent youth, yes, that is a good description.
Thank you, for your support, by the way, though I did ask Mr Wilson to be brutal.
Furthermore, Mr Wilson, you are not to be held to blame and I thank you for being brutal.
As I was a teenager when the album “Straight Outta Compton” was released, and you were most likely not alive, why would you not expect me to be familiar? It is I who, in justice, should be amazed that your generation is familier with The Bards of South Central.
But a classic never dies, I suppose.
And, by the way, were one to steal my iPhone, one might find there remnants of my misspent youth.
Hello, chaps,
Since I now see that you wrote that you are “not comfortable” playing the role of “cruel, callous, uncaring Cerberus”… Wait? Oops, I see that you wrote, “gratuitous unfeeling critic.” That’s my mistake. I wonder where I got that little piece of alliteration from, maybe the back of breakfast cereal box?
Anyway, since you did ask me to defend you in your uncomfortable state, I will – because you are right. A “schizophrenic tussle” between so-called “plain” English and my typical stylistic choices is occurring in the above piece, which still needs to be edited a little bit.
I find that when I write naturally and tap whatever source of inspiration it is that serves me, no matter the style it does not seem “strained or affected,” however, even though the underlying ideas came to me with very little difficulty, the writing them outside of my typical style (which owes more to Newman, that to Strunk & White) left everything very out of sorts and unhappy with itself. If this essay were sentient and rational it would probably be like those people with gender-identification issues and I’m sure it’d be sozzled to the gills on most occasions.
As for the painfulness of Americanisation, I just realised I forgot to do so.. so I must before I submit it. I wouldn’t worry Gerard, the archival version will be preserved in it’s unspotted Britishness or Brutishness, depending on whether your slipping into a puddle of Freud or not.
As for knowing the N.W.A. (Negroes with Affectations) and the album We’ve Come Directly From Ol’ Compton, I plead ignorance and shamefully admit a cursory awareness, indicated by the following lyric (excuse the tyranny of my House Style and how very doggerel the following verses are):
We’ve enjoy’d a commerce,
Sodomy, though it be,
We’ve copulated Officers,
Off Platform Twenty-three.
They think that we are dark,
As black as a tinker’s pot,
Nigrescent and not Lily White,
And worthy to be shot.
By Jupiter, I curse the Law,
I tell it that Miranda’s dead,
The Rights that I’m suppos’d to have,
Snapped like the Fate’s portentous thread.
They roundly sock me in the face,
Those silly helmets on their heads,
The billy club, the badge, the gun.
Can they compare to a Negro’s dreads?
Let’s procreate in their face,
Your’re justah patsy in liv-er-y,
Waitin’ to get shot by an ol’ Tommy,
Whose firin’ Martini just doesn’t agree.
For those who have no idea what the above madness is, it’s based on a song called “F – k tha Police” by N.W.A. (Niggaz wit Attitude), ranting about police brutality and the ill treatment of minorities.
By the way, “Tommy” refers to Thomas Atkins – the stock-name for a British soldier – many of whom were malign’d simply for being soldiers, not least of all those natives serving that were Negroes. Furthermore, a Martini-Henry was a rifle used by Great Britain and Her Dominions in the Second Anglo-Afghan War, the Anglo-Zulu War, the Boer War, the Mahdist War, World War I, &c.
Affectionately,
Mitch
Frankly, Mr Bond, your essay is among the finest mine eyes have beheld, my stomach rubbed against, and mine engorged flabby chin displaced.