What if, rather than critiquing books, literary criticism critiqued reading? That is the question proposed by C. S. Lewis in An Experiment in Criticism. To explain my thoughts on this work, I think it best to begin with something Lewis says at the end, in the Epilogue:

We want to see with other eyes, to imagine with other imaginations, to feel with other hearts, as well as with our own. We are not content to be Leibnitzian monads. We demand windows. Literature as Logos is a series of windows, even of doors. One of the things we feel after reading a great work is. ‘I have got out’. Or from another point of view, ‘I have got in’; pierced the shell of some other monad and discovered what it is like inside.

Good reading, therefore, though it is not essentially an affectional or moral or intellectual activity, has something in common with all three. In love we escape from our self into one other. In the moral sphere, every act of justice or charity involves putting ourselves in the other person’s place and thus transcending our own competitive particularity. In coming to understand anything we are rejecting the facts as they are for us in favour of the facts as they are. The primary impulse of each is to maintain and aggrandise himself. The secondary impulse is to go out of the self, to correct its provincialism and heal its loneliness. In love, in virtue, in the pursuit of knowledge, and in the reception of the arts, we are doing this. Obviously this process can be described either as an enlargement or as a temporary annihilation of the self. But that is an old paradox; ‘he that loseth his life shall save it’.

We therefore delight to enter into other men’s beliefs (those, say, of Lucretius or Lawrence) even though we think them untrue. And into their passions, though we think them depraved, like those, sometimes of Marlowe or Carlyle. And also into their imaginations, though they lack all realism of content. (pages 137-139)

I think this passage illustrates some of what I thought to be the best of the book. An Experiment in Criticism not only provides reading that can be read well, but encourages reading well. It makes people want to read in a way that not only learns what is said but also savors how it is said.

Quite apart from the pleasure of hearing Lewis speak of monads, the first paragraph in the above excerpt is a pleasure to read. One of Lewis’s criticisms of "unliterary" readers is that they only see, and do not hear, the words they read (page 29), that they are insensitive to the rhythm and tone, making no distinction between a well-chosen cadence and a haphazardly selected series of syllables. Paragraphs such as this give an incentive to hear the writing (whether by pronouncing the words in one’s mind or by reading them aloud), and I would encourage you to go back and listen to that paragraph again. Notice the rhythm created by the repetition in the "to ___ with other ___" series. Listen to the consonance (repetition of consonant sounds), such as the ’m’, ’n’, and ’d’ sounds in "monad" and "demand".

Lewis criticizes readers who just read for the what, who "use" books, readers who do not "receive" them and appreciate how they are written, who do not see what the author intends. He criticizes both those who do this in an un-intellectual way, and those who use their intellect to strip the ordinary pleasures from it. He criticizes those who read only what is fashionable as well as those who scorn a work merely because it is popular.

In one sense, I agree with many of his criticisms. However, I think he goes too far. While he does suggest that the what of a book may have merit, suggesting that the story of Orpheus would resonate even if told poorly (page 41), he often reduces what is being said to less importance than how it is said. There are occasions in which the style does sufficiently merit reading something when the content would not be compelling. I have picked up stories whose plots were of no interest to me because someone pointed out a well-written sentence.

However, while style may at times have greater or equal influence than content, content is not neutral. The impact of what is said continues after we have put down a book. We cannot un-read something we have read. An idea suggested may be obvious, a central idea fleshed out through an entire work, or it may be subtle, a choice pronoun sneaked in where it is unlikely to be noticed consciously. While Lewis’s criticism of the "Vigilants" (for example page 126) has some merit in reality, I do not think he gives enough room for there to be some vigilance.

I think my disagreement with Lewis stems from seeing different ends in reading. If, as Lewis seems to present, reading is the ultimate end (he explicitly says "I have also said that, while we read, we must treat the reception of the work we are reading as an end in itself." (page 130)), it makes sense that the artistic value of writing is of at least equal, if not greater, importance than the content, so long as the content sufficiently supports the art. However, I say worship of God is the end to which we should read.

This is not to say that we should never read anything which isn’t explicitly worshipful. In fact, were that the case, I should certainly not have read this work by Lewis, for though he points out his own agreement with deism over materialism (page 86), I would categorize the book as secular, with allusions to Scripture, but more allusions to Greek mythology. Indeed, I think it is possible to read that which is opposed to Christianity to the glory of God (I quite enjoyed Carl Sagan’s The Dragons of Eden and found that it prompted me to worship God when I read it during my college years). If we choose to read, we should inspect what the author is saying, seeking to understand it as it really is rather than just seeking to confirm the expectations we have of it. However, reading, understanding, and acknowledging merit, are not the same as what Lewis describes in the earlier quote of our "delight to enter" into "beliefs" we disagree with or "passions" we find "depraved". We should read to understand, and we should give credit where credit is due, but that does not mean we surrender our thoughts or feelings and accept without question what an author would have us entertain.

A book which is well-written can cause us to give glory to God for the ability he gave to this specific author, to our ability to comprehend and see the beauty, and for the gift of language in general. However it can also tempt us to approve things which are shameful. To "receive", as Lewis describes it, a well-written romance may require that we suspend judgment over adultery (or the socially acceptable adultery of a divorced adult falling in love with and marrying someone besides their spouse), that we go so far as to delight in this relationship even if we should think it disgraceful. While a certain self-forgetfulness may be desirable while reading, I don’t think it would ever be desirable to attempt to remove God from the lens through which we see. We should measure our reading, of even the most artistic prose, with whether the reading prompts us to worship God or rebel against Him.

So how about my reading of this book? It certainly prompted me to exercise my mind. I think my disagreements with Lewis helped me to refine my thoughts. I think it challenged me in ways I could not have challenged myself. It encouraged me to read better than I do, and in the end, reviewing it has caused me to see more clearly that reading is to be done for the glory of God. I do recommend it, even though I often disagree with Lewis in it.

As I began with a quote from the Epilogue, to close my review, I shall treat you to one more quote from the Epilogue, Lewis’s concluding words:

But in reading great literature I become a thousand men and yet remain myself. Like the night sky in the Greek poem, I see with a myriad eyes, but it is still I who see. Here, as in worship, in love, in moral action, and in knowing, I transcend myself; and am never more myself than when I do. (page 141)

Related:

You might find Wikipedia’s article on Leibniz useful, if you wanted a bit of help either pronouncing his name or understanding monads. (Some day Michael may write a monad tutorial, but until then...)

I first heard of An Experiment in Criticism in Tony Reinke’s "The 30 Best Books I Read in 2010".

If you decide to read An Experiment in Criticism you may find DuckDuckGo useful in case you (like me) need to look up Eumenides or another of Lewis’s many allusions.

If this post made a difference in your day, would you consider leaving a comment to let me know?