The notion of literary competence or of a literary system is, of course, anathema to some critics, who see in it an attack on the spontaneous, creative and affective qualities of literature. Moreover, they might argue, the very concept of literary competence, which carries the presumption that we can distinguish between competent and incompetent readers, is objectionable for precisely those reason which lead one to propose it: the postulation of a norm for correct reading. In other human activities where there are clear criteria for success and failure, such as playing chess or climbing mountains, we can speak of competence and incompetence, but the richness and power of literature depend, precisely, on the fact that it is not an activity of this kind and that appreciation is varied, personal, and not subject to normative legislation of self-styled experts.
Such arguments miss the point. None would deny that literary works, like most other objects of human attention, can be enjoyed for reasons that little do with understanding and mastery –that texts can be quite blatantly misunderstood and still be appreciated for a variety of personal reasons. But to reject the notion of misunderstanding as a legislative imposition is to leave unexplained the common experience of being shown where one went wrong, of grasping a mistake and seeing why it was a mistake. Though acquiescence may occasionally be disgruntled yielding to a higher authority, none would maintain that is was always thus; more often one feels that one has indeed been shown the way to a fuller understanding of literature and a better grasp of the procedures of reading. If the distinction between understanding and misunderstanding were irrelevant, if neither party to a discussion believed in the distinction, there would be little point to discussion and arguing about literary works and still less to writing about them.
Culler
Weill
The precepts of ENGL 101 dictate that when making an argument it is necessary to acknowledge your opponent’s objections and answer them in a way that ‘blows them out of the water’. The above passage is Culler’s acknowledgment of his opponent.
Culler begins with a very traditional shrug –I understand, he says, some critics will see my approach as an attack on the “spontaneous, creative, and affective qualities of literature.” While this is not the strongest argument to made against Culler, it is, I suspect, one of the most popular, and it is certainly a valid place for him to begin. He continues by acknowledging a second argument his critics might make, “The very concept of literary competence, which carries the presumption that we can distinguish between competent and incompetent readers is objectionable [because of its] postulation of a norm for ‘correct’ reading.” The single quotes around the word correct is a clever choice. Culler is seeking to remind his critics that he has stipulated that there is not an objective, grounded correct reading that holds up across all cultures. The correct reading he is referring to is only correct within the context of the literary conventions of the Academy. He says on page 116, “If other conventions were operative its [a work of literature’s] range of potential meanings would be different.”
From here Culler acknowledges one more argument his critics might make, but at the exact same time he is setting up his own response. It is brilliantly done. “In other human activities,” he says as if he were his own critic, “Where there are clear criteria for success and failure… we can speak of competence and incompetence, but the richness and power of literature depend, precisely, on the fact that it is not an activity of this kind….” I like this move so much because there are two separate clauses here and he bundles them together. There is the clause that asserts there are human activities where success and failure is clearly defined, and there is the clause that asserts the idea that literature is not such an activity. It seems to me that unless someone is reading very closely, in their eagerness to accept the second clause they will accept the first clause as an innocuous throw away. And if they do that, as we will see in the next paragraph, they’ve kind of trapped themselves.
At the start of the next paragraph, Culler stops shrugging and moves to the offensive. First he completely dismisses his critics, “Such arguments, however, would seem to miss the point.” This is a hard jab designed to create room for the next blow. Academics are nothing if not risk managers. If the critics of Culler are not confident in their own position, this move will force them take a step towards the ropes and reassess their own position (much in the way Fish would describe the reading process). Culler then draws a distinction between enjoying literature and understanding literature. He says people can read and enjoy themselves, escape, even find a nugget of truth that inspires them in some way all without understanding the work itself. He goes so far to say that they can blatantly misunderstand the work and “still appreciate [it] for a variety of personal reasons.” This is exceedingly smart because by making enjoyment personal, and who can claim that enjoyment is anything but personal, he sets up understanding, HIS counterpoint to enjoyment, as universal, or at the very least not personal.
Next comes the body blow. To paraphrase Culler, just because people enjoy literature without fully understanding it, doesn’t mean misunderstanding doesn’t exist. This harkens back to the success and failure of the previous paragraph. If we have accepted that success and failure are externally defined, then we have started to accept the notion that understanding and misunderstanding are also externally defined. For what is misunderstanding if not a failure to understand? He hits the point harder in a few sentences. But first he challenges his critics who would deny the existence of misunderstanding to explain the moment that takes place in every classroom where the well practiced teacher helps the lightbulb turn on above the student’s head. Surely this a moment cherished by many people who are reading this chapter, and isn’t this a moment where their efforts have elucidated, not indoctrinated, a young mind.
Finally Culler throws the haymaker. “If the distinction between understanding and misunderstanding were irrelevant… there would be little point to discussing and arguing about literary works and still less to writing about them.” Here Culler says there must be a ground, even if it is the ground of convention. There must be a way of judging who is right and who is wrong. If not, he implies, how are we, the learned teachers, different from our students.
In the next paragraphs Culler extols the virtues of the Academy and the value of the training it provides to students –the training that makes them competent readers. What he ultimately says is that without his distinction between understanding and misunderstanding, success and failure, then everyone is free to interpret literature all by themselves. And this would make literature class unnecessary.
This is a strong piece of argumentation. It is logically sound, seemingly objective, and it appeals to the vanity of most of his readers. If someone were motivated to take this section of his argument apart, then that someone would have to tread very carefully. And they would have to begin by denying the notion that success and failure have clear, external criteria. This would be a dangerous move, a move that flies in the face of conventional wisdom.