The Academia Nut | Literature, Snobbery, and Communication
Literature and poetry sadly have a reputation for being snobbish. However, a deep study of these things should leave us shaky and tearful with understanding and gratitude.
I always thought I was supposed to be a writer. When I was young, I felt that I had a gift with words, but this gift was tainted by my grubby, prideful little hands. I derived pleasure from my work being “above average.” My identity was wrapped up in being better than others. We all make this fatal error at many points in our lives—some of us have pride woven into our very character.
As I got older, I had a few key moments of revelation that put me in my place. I realized that no matter how much I learned, I would never even be able to know all the things contained in one library, let alone all the knowledge centers of the world. I saw that no matter how good my writing was, there would always be someone better and that even if I became well-known one day, most people would eventually forget me. I understood that in all of space and time, I was a very small part of a huge tapestry, an “extra” or minor character in most others lives.
"...there is no burden for the artist to be perfectly original."
Then I wondered, “Why the heck should I write?” It was a good question. Fame was superfluous. It wasn’t likely that I had anything to say that hadn’t already been said. Then I saw another area of pride. I had wanted to be original. But there is no burden for the artist to be perfectly original. We are merely playing telephone with our ancestors, passing down old ideas in modern language. I had wanted to stand out as a singular point, alienating myself from my fellow man. Unfortunately, my pride had made me unloving and unreachable.
I saw that God loved people with something more passionate than mere niceness. It went much deeper than that. I wanted to learn to love people. I wanted to understand them and meet them where they were at. As a child, I studied animals out of a great love for the creatures. I began to study humans, not with clinical coldness or humanistic worship, but with a tender love that only God can give us for one another.
I have been privileged to work with children professionally for over 10 years and prior to that began raising my siblings at the age of 12. I became fascinated with our need for and struggle with language. I watched children cry, unable to form words. I saw them make sounds again and again until I clapped my hands when they made the right one. I saw them choose to abandon words for hitting and pushing. There was great joy and frustration with the amazing gift of language—a desperation for communication.
While wrestling with the seemingly frivolous and unstable career of writing, I began to see that the shrinking vocabulary of our culture affected our ability to think and feel certain emotions. I had been raised with poetry and literature that deepened my knowledge of humanity as a whole and gave me access to many “fine,” noble emotions that my peers had not yet experienced. These young people were like frustrated toddlers. They were meant to be adults and yet were relegated to shallow words and emotions that couldn’t fit the eternal expanse of the human soul.
I also began researching the tragic tales of feral children raised with little to no human interaction. These children were wild and had no language at all. They had difficulty learning empathy and were often terribly frightened or frustrated. Not only did they not have language, they did not have human contact—assuring presence, hugs, non-verbal communication, the feeling of being protected, known, or understood. They were abandoned and lost souls, standing on a line between human and animal nature.
"So many modern people are very nearly feral."
So many modern people are very nearly feral. Humans have been told that they are merely animals with no souls and that there is no life after death—no meaning for existence, and no consequence for action. They have had little language given to them. They have grown up without much safe, loving, and meaningful connection. Because of a snobbish attitude towards our “idiotic” and “unscientific” ancestors, they are cut off from the pinnacle of communication—ancient wisdom and the study of God.
I began to understand how writers from the past had shaped our modern culture. Ideas from people such as Sigmund Freud, Karl Marx, and Friedrich Nietzsche had trickled down from the mountain of academia, filtering into our education, our world views, and deeply affecting our daily lives. Authors, film writers, and songwriters greatly influence our thoughts. Many of their views have disenchanted our world, coloring it in various shades of grey.
Our communication has suffered. Our attention spans have shrunk. We are left with short, terse sentences measured out in 250-word tweets. We heap insult upon insult, thinking that if we are just louder than the other side we can beat them into submission. Difference of any kind has become a terrible threat, and no wonder—we have become wild and feral, relying on visual cues rather than intellectual conversation to tell us what is safe.
But why is communication important? Why is feral humanity a tragic thing? The answer to that is this—we are designed for friendship and love with God and man. We are mortals meant to be married to the Immortal God who loves us deeply. But that love cannot be understood, cannot be experienced, unless it is communicated. When we teach children to speak and give them language and art that expand their capacity to feel deeply, we are giving them the tools they need to communicate with the lover of their souls—God himself.
When we speak, or read, or watch things or do anything just to get head knowledge, we can become filled with pride and arrogance which cuts us off from one another and from God. We begin, as I did when I was young, to alienate ourselves from God and other humans because we think we know better or that we are special. But this “specialness” really only creates a lonely little hell for ourselves.
"All forms of communication should lead us to communicating with the God who made us for a relationship with him."
When we understand the tragedy of miscommunication or the lack of communication, we can dive into language of all kinds—literature, poetry, dance, music, art—and see it for the amazing gift that it is! All forms of communication should lead us to communicating with the God who made us for a relationship with him. The whole point of existence is to love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength. We can do this better and more deeply with more words on earth, but we must also remember that words will not always be necessary when we are immortals before God. Music will likely be more essential than books for it can be enjoyed wordlessly.
When I write now, I thank God that it is not about myself, nor snobbery! As I write, He teaches me so many things! Literature should not be about knowing more just to be better than someone else. No! Let the knowledge of human existence pierce your heart and thank God that you have words to teach you ideas and emotions that allow you to have friendship with God and man. Be grateful that you are not completely lost and feral, and be patient and loving as you teach and encourage those around you to communicate with each other and with God.
There are three beautiful films I love that illustrate this kind of loving communication. “The Miracle Worker” is the story of Helen Keller, who was both deaf and blind. She was taught sign language and speech by her devoted teacher.
“The End of the Spear” is a film about a group of missionaries who established communication with a violent tribe of indigenous people after a horrible tragedy.
And finally, “The Woman Who Willed a Miracle” is the story of Leslie Lemke, a blind, paralyzed child who was brought home to die but through the love of his adopted mother and the power of music became a great piano player. This movie is NOWHERE on the internet, so I've provided a video here.
"We are mortals, training to be immortal"
Every moment of the day is structured as a communication between yourself, God, and mankind. Every frustration is an opportunity to strengthen a relationship, either with God or humans. God wants to be in the room with us, to constantly be learning new ways to communicate with Him and rejoicing in His love. Perhaps that is what it means to “pray without ceasing.” We are mortals, training to be immortal. And one day, billions of years in the future, we will be looking at Jesus and looking at each other, knowing and being known perfectly.
Communication is a funny thing. Once you have communed with one person long enough, you (almost) have no need for language. There comes a time when all you want is to be still and enjoy the other person's presence. You understand them, they understand you—words are not as necessary. Perhaps it was like this before the Fall of Man in Genesis. But this quiet peace can only take place after MANY, MANY communications. This is the kind of peace we fight for. The kind of peace that will exist when the rift between God and man is finally and physically closed.
And that, my loves, is why I write.
