This post was supposed to have a different topic: how people of various political stripes fundamentally misunderstand the purpose of literature. I was to start by giving examples of how people on both the left and right incorrectly assume that literature is always directly edifying — that is, that the author transmits ideas and values directly to the reader. Then, I would explain how literature is more often indirectly edifying, with the reader learning from the material by placing it within various personal and social contexts.
I had the whole argument laid out — all I needed were the examples. And that’s where things got tricky. I was sure self-righteous arbiters on the left, many of them cultural elites, were seeking to “cancel” works they considered problematic. Finding an example would be easy — I was sure there were dozens.
First, I thought of Junot Díaz. He’d been canceled, right? But no — a little research showed that he was still widely read, and his work widely admired, despite allegations of sexual misconduct. Then I thought of Dr. Seuss. Hadn’t some of his books been taken off shelves for racist depictions? Yes, but that was different — the idea was to protect kids from harmful stereotypes. Besides, it was a matter of images, not words — hardly the perfect example for an argument about literature. I considered the Philip Roth biographer whose book had been ditched by the publisher after allegations of abuse, but the issue there seemed to be the injustice of the expected financial windfall rather than the harmful content of the book itself. Finally, I considered the criticism of To Kill a Mockingbird — but just for a moment, before recognizing that replacing a book on a syllabus doesn’t quite count as repressing it.
And so I was stumped. I couldn’t find a single example to support my argument, which could only mean one thing: My argument was flawed.
And so I scrapped the plan for the article. Then, most importantly, I re-evaluated my views.
***
Forming opinions is easy. Defending them is a whole lot harder. It’s in preparing the defense that we ensure our views are accurate. If I hadn’t set out to turn my vaguely held belief into a persuasive argument, I’d never have noticed its inherent flaw, its (rather consequential) detachment from reality.
Joan Didion said, “I don’t know what I think until I write it down.” Similarly, you can discover what you do think but shouldn’t by trying to explain it.
P.S- I still find the distinction between “direct” and “indirect” edification useful — which is why I slipped it into the introduction.
