What Makes Literature Morally Valuable?

Deciding on one’s own personal ethics of literature inevitably concerns anyone interested in reading the greatest works in any language. This is because literature deals with the grit of life. And the grit of life can be messy, and sometimes downright uncouth. There are some that would offhandedly dismiss any literature that contains profanity, vulgarity, immorality, violence, or themes that oppose a deep set belief or system of beliefs. Yet, if we were to sterilize all literature from any of these “questionable” things we would sterilize the life changing parts of the literature right out. The issues involved are much more complex then we might like, and are thus much more difficult to treat than one short article or blogpost can sufficiently accomplish. My purpose in writing this post is simply to inspire others to start asking some hard questions about literature itself.

I used to think that it would be easy to decide what literature (and for that matter movies, music, television programs, etc.) had moral value. After a lot more reading and thinking I have begun to realize that the issue is not as clear as I had once thought. In order to see through the confusion one must first decide what they believe to be the purpose of literature.

I have a student who thinks that literature is simply a form of escapism. She claims that it is a healthy form of retreat from the pressures of our daily life. I agree that literature can function as an escape from reality. And although I believe we should “sharpen the saw,” I also believe that we should face the realities of life in a healthy, confident way. If life is so difficult that we are constantly seeking escape then something needs to change. Or if we are simply becoming addicted to escapism through literature (I recognize I am using the word literature quite loosely in this post), we are living an unhealthy lifestyle. If we prefer the reality of literature to the reality of our day to day routine simply because it’s not our day to day routine perhaps there are significant changes that need to be made in life.

Literature provides vicarious experience for the reader. This is a topic that I would like to discuss more in another post; but suffice it to say, I believe that this is one of the major purposes of literature, and one of the reasons that literature is so profoundly important for our human experience. I also believe that because of literature’s vicarious nature we should have a strong interest in selecting morally valuable literature. This is a result of the fact that if literature provides vicarious experience it could have grave moral implications for our lives.

There are different ideas about how literature affects us. John Milton said, in his famous treatise on the ethics of literature, Aeropagitica, “Knowledge cannot defile, nor consequently the books, if the will and conscience be not defiled.” In other words, nothing we read will “defile” us unless we are already defiled. Is this true? Some people believe that they can, in good conscience, read anything if their intent is right and their heart is pure. This comes from the idea that we are purely self-willed beings. This idea would not be compatible with a determinist or behaviorist conception. On the other hand, some believe that books, knowledge, etc. can defile the viewer. This may appeal more to the determinist or behaviorist conception. Between these two ideas on literature lies a continuum of possible ideas and beliefs about the moral value of literature.

Finally, I want to reiterate the fact that literature is extremely complex. Take for example a comparison of Beloved by Tony Morrison and The Bible.  Both contain depictions of violence, murder, incest, adultery, infidelity in general, slavery, mysticism (even if you accept The Bible), and the list goes on and on. Some simultaneously believe that The Bible is morally valuable but that without question Beloved has no moral value. You may believe this is the case, but you must ask yourself what does The Bible have that Beloved is apparently missing. Or visa versa. There are no simple answers when it comes to literature (or any other medium).

Although this post was extremely short, and may feel rushed, I hope it helps you see the importance of the issue. I am extremely interested in getting your feedback. Here are a few questions for thought.

1)      What is the purpose of literature?

2)      Does the intent of the reader affect the moral value of literature?

3)      Does the intent of the author affect the moral value of literature?

4)      What do I believe makes literature morally valuable?

Ten Thousand Hours

            When I was a little boy I always thought that I would end up being some sort of scientist or engineer. Building complex structures, spaceships, and cars with my legos was my favorite pastime. I even dreamed that perhaps someday I would be a rocket scientist, which was the ultimate scientist according to any informed eight year old. But now I’ve decided that I am going to be a philosopher/writer/teacher when I grow up. Somehow it still seems glamorous, even though I am already in the trenches and know that it’s not. There is still something romantic about the idea of reading, thinking, and writing and getting paid to do it. Yet the very real problem arises: I have no idea who really wants to pay a 25 year old kid to write stuff that most people don’t want to hurt their brains enough to think about. But I have a passion, I have something I love, and I am going to go for it even if I get slapped in my naïve face.

I recently read the book Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell, in which he states that the magic number of success is ten thousand. He argues that anyone that spends ten thousand hours doing something will be an expert at whatever it is. A musician that practices for ten thousand hours will be magnificent, regardless of any natural talents that he or she may or may not have; a computer programmer that spends ten thousand hours is bound for programming success, and so forth. If it works for musicians and computer programmers, then I hope it works for writers and philosophers too.

            Based on this idea of practicing something for ten thousand hours, I have decided that I need to spend some time every day writing something. The discouraging thing about this is that I am constantly thinking up new ideas to write, but I am seldom, if ever, motivated enough to actually write them down. It’s not that writing down my thoughts is hard; it’s just that I always have something else “better” to do. It’s not a priority, and so writing gets pushed down the list of to-do’s further and further until it isn’t on the list any longer. Because it is so easy to fail to hold myself accountable in my own writing, I have decided to make an attempt at writing a blog. My idealistic self says that I should try to post something every day, but my realistic self says that I will probably post something a little less often, but hopefully with more substantive content.

            Starting a blog is intimidating. And the intimidation creates hesitation. Partly because I want to offer something of value on a blog, while simultaneously feeling like I don’t have anything of value to offer. And partly because what I really want to write for—journals and the like—offers so much more professional appeal than a blog that writing on a blog feels like a second rate approach to being published. Because of these two major obstacles of total emotional engagement the beginning may be a little rough.

            Everyone believes that they have something important to say, and even when they don’t think that what they are saying is important, they believe that they are important so people should listen. This is why writing a blog for pretty much no one but myself doesn’t sound quite as exciting as believing that you have an audience of thousands, or tens of thousands. Because I fall in the category of believing that I have something important to say (albeit I am not sure what yet), I think I might write better if I work under the delusion that at a minimum a thousand people will be reading my blog. There’s just something wonderful about working under delusions of grandeur; it just makes things feel more real.

            So, if you’re still reading, I wish both you and me luck with any future writing that I produce. Thanks for joining me on the adventurous trail to becoming a better writer (which is really the whole point of this thing).