Why Literature Matters

William Styron at the time he wrote "Lie Down In Darkness"

I’m currently re-reading Lie Down In Darkness by William Styron. It’s the book my ‘literary’ book club is reading this month. The other book club of which I am a member is more of a non-fiction group. It tends to read physics, psychology, history, economics, etc. But I managed to convince them to read a novel last time: Hemingway’s The Sun Also Risess, his first novel – and I think his greatest. (In Our Time, a collection of short stories, was his first book, and I think perhaps his greatest book. The strange thing about Hemingway is that he never got any better than his first books. Maybe that’s why he eventually blew his brains out.)

The non-fiction book group absolutely hated the Hemingway book. They found nothing redeeming about it at all. Their chief complaint (as far as I can tell, since they hated the book so much they didn’t want to talk about it) is that it was  about a bunch of characters they did not care about who did nothing but drink, play and bitch at each other. (Drinking being the main motif, as it is in most Hemingway books. No one can make constant drinking seem more natural and right than Hemingway.)

So, this made me re-think why I like The Sun Also Rises so much that I have read it at least three times. (And I do not often re-read books.)  And the reasons I came up with point to why literature is important, particularly to a propagandist. They are:

1. The tone of the book: Hemingway perfectly captures the emotional tone of a particular time,  place and group of people. No book better captures the Lost Generation. I like the Lost Generation because it produced the greatest art of the 20th Century, as great losses tends to do. (Which is the reason why there are so many good Southern writers, the South having suffered a tremendous loss in the Civil War and particularly during  the period after the war euphemistically named “The Reconstruction” by the occupying Yankee forces. I once heard a great woman of Southern descent say, “People say the United States is so fortunate to never have been invaded or occupied by a foreign power. Well, that depends on where you are from!”)

2. The point of view: All Hemingway books see the world through the lens of a stoic, brutally honest man who is committed to engaging with the world – not because he gets any satisfaction from engaging, but simply because it is what honorable men are supposed to do. I like this point of view.

Earnest Hemingway with his first wife, Hadley, and child, Bumby, in 1926, the year "The Sun Also Rises" was published.

3. Deft use of symbols: Hemingway cut something like 40,000 words from The Sun Also Rises in an attempt to capture everything about a particular time and place – all of the emotional, spiritual and psychological aspects – in the fewest possible words. Physicists consider the simplest explanation to be the most elegant. The same applies to art, I think, which is why I like Hemingway’s sparse style.

These same three things are what makes Lie Down in Darkness good, as well.  Styron’s style is more elaborate than elegant, but the style fits the book’s tone and point of view. The point

is, both Styron and Hemingway knew the right type of symbols to use for a particular situation. (There is also a lot of drinking in Styron’s book, but is it presented as anything but natural and right. In fact, it is the tragic flaw in two of the three main characters, madness being the flaw in the third. Lie Down In Darkness is a book about the South, where drinking and madness are venerated traditions.)

Literature is important to the propagandist because it teaches him how to use symbols skillfully to set a tone and present a believable point of view that will connect with his target audience. Not because it teaches us moral or life lessons – the pages of most works of literature are peopled with scalawags and scamps – but because it teaches us how to use words in ways that communicate more than the sum of their face value. It teaches us how to skillfully manipulate symbols to generate an emotional response, rather than a strictly rational one. (And a strictly rational response may not always be the right or health choice. The best choices blend rational and emotional information.)

And I think this goes a long way toward explaining why my “rational” book club did not like Hemingway. The content of The Sun Also Rises is almost entirely emotional, and not even healthy emotions. There are no life lessons to learn from this book. You are not a better person for having read it. You may be a more aware person, but not necessarily a better one.

Since most buying decisions are based on satisfying an emotion that we cover in patina of reason for public consumption, knowing how to generate an emotional response with marks on a page is a very useful skill for the propagandist.

And that is why literature matters.

Fun With Symbols

Propaganda is, of course, largely, probably wholly, concerned with the manipulation of symbols in order to cause a change in behavior. This distinguishes it from other ways of influencing behavior, such as physical coercion. Unlike physical coercion, however, whose effects usually fade when the source of coercion is taken away, propaganda can have lasting effects – because it manipulates the symbols our brains use to make sense of the world. It rewires synapses.

The other difference between propaganda and physical coercion is that the engine of propaganda – the vital force from which it derives its power – can be either love or fear. Coercion uses only fear.

 

A powerful symbol of Love

For this essay, I’ll define love as a force that reinforces reality and moves us toward living in harmony with reality. Fear, the source of neuroses and other maladaptations to reality, does the opposite. It causes us to believe in lies.

Which brings me to what I’d like to write about: the beneficent use of symbols, of which religion, particularly the Catholic Church, is the prime source. Indeed, the use of symbols to communicate ineffable truths seems to have been invented by religion. (Being merchants, the Phoenicians,  inventors of our most ubiquitous symbols, the phonetic alphabet, were largely concerned with keeping track of material goods. Of course, most modern propaganda is concerned with the same thing.)

 

The Phonecian Alphabet

The Catholic Church’s  loving use of symbols to communicate ineffable facts about reality came home to me this Easter season. We (I am a Catholic) celebrate Easter over three days, which is called the Easter Triduum. On Holy Thursday, or Maundy Thursday to Anglicans, the pastor washes the feet of people who are joining the Church, mimicking what Christ did for the Apostles at the Last Supper. This is an incredibly powerful symbol of the paradoxical source of Christ’s power, i.e., the power of abdicating physical power, the power of humility.

As others, such as Ghandi and Martin Luther King have proven, the paradoxical power of humility can  change nations – and in a lasting way, unlike physical coercion, i.e., war, which inevitably leads to more war. (Note: I am not a pacifist and believe in the concept of just war, and in the honorable and courageous conduct of my sons, who are just warriors.)

It’s interesting that Nietzsche, who called Christianity  a ‘slave religion’ because of its paradoxical celebration of humility vs. Greek mythology’s more rational celebration of physical power,  died young in an insane asylum. Though Nietzsche was certainly a brilliant man, perhaps the best writer ever to philosophize and a courageous warrior against conventional thought, my personal mythology about Nietzsche is that he lost touch with reality because he deliberately ran away from the ultimate reality communicated by Christian symbology. He embraced symbols of fear instead of love.

 

Crazy old Nietzsche

So, to get back to the point, some symbols are more powerful than others and the trick is to know when to use which symbol. Words are symbols, often quite powerful ones. But if our pastor has simply talked about the power of humility on Maundy Thursday, or even talked about how washing someone’s feet is a strong demonstration of humility, it would have been much less effective than simply washing someone’s feet.

There are parallels here with modern, secular propaganda techniques that use symbolic actions instead of words, such as lunch counter sit-ins.

Art, of course, is the ultimate source of effective non-verbal symbols. Christo comes to mind, with his Gates in Central Park being an excellent and recent example. And, as Christo’s name suggests, there are strong connections between art and religion. Indeed, I doubt art would exist without religion. The banality and deliberate ugliness of much modern art can probably be traced to its divorce from religion. (Note: I am a big fan of modern art, particularly abstract expressionism and field paintings, and not just from 50 years ago. Currently, Carrie McGee is doing incredible things here in Nashville. But have a look at art magazines these days to see what tripe is passing for art. Or attend the Whitney Biennial, but bring an air sickness bag. I blame it on Duchamp. If you are a genius, as he was, you can pull it off. Unfortunately, he has spawned two generations of copyists who are anything but geniuses.)

 

Chisto's Gates

 

Earth Elements by Carrie McGee

From the 2010 Whitney Biennial

Getting back to the Triduum, the next night, Good Friday is replete with strong, non-verbal symbols. The priests begin the Mass by lying prostrate in front of the altar, another sign of humility, and, to me, of great sadness, because the greatest murder in the world’s history was committed on this day. (Of course, the world’s salvation resulted from this death – because it was followed by a resurrection – which is what makes it a Good Friday.)

At the end of the Mass on Good Friday, a cross is brought forward and all are invited to venerate it, an example of how the Church has turned a symbol of death into a symbol of life – which is proof that symbols are not immutable, and that they have no meaning outside of the history attached to them, and the interpretation of that history.

 

Symbols can move from good to bad connotations...

The swastika – also a type of cross – is an example of a symbol whose meaning was changed in this way, though in the opposite direction. In India, where this symbol originated, it stood for “well-being” and was a good luck charm. (Perhaps it still does. My collection of Kipling, which was published after WWI, I think, is decorated with swastikas on the spine.) Indeed, the positive, life-affirming associations with the swastika is why Hitler chose it as the symbol of Nazism. The National Socialists’ actions, which were

... or from bad to good.

anything but life-affirming, turned it into a symbol of evil – probably the greatest symbol of evil in the world today, at least in the West. As the cross was probably the greatest symbol of evil in the Western World before Christ was crucified.)

 

 

All lights are extinguished in the church on Good Friday, light being a universal symbol of life and vitality. On the last day of the Triduum, the Easter Vigil or Holy Saturday, the light returns in one of the most moving uses of symbols I’ve ever witnessed – because the symbol’s effectiveness relies on the participation of everyone in the church and the way in which they participate communicates the reality behind symbol.

 

 

Here’s how it goes: The Paschal Fire (which symbolizes Christ’s resurrection) is lit outside in front of the church. All of the people have a candle. One person lights his candle form the Paschal Fire and turns to the person next to him and lights her candle. Soon, in exponential fashion, the entire congregation is holding a lit candle and as we walk into the darkened church, the darkness is driven out.

This is just scratching the surface of the many and multi-layered uses of symbols during the Easter Triduum. The cumulative effect is transforming, and it would be if not a word were spoken.

And that is fun with symbols.