Why I Teach Literature…Yes, Even the Pagan Stuff

When I think of why I love teaching literature, the following selection from Christopher Ruocchio’s Howling Dark comes to mind: 

I sensed then that it was the answer to this question, among others perhaps, that had set him on that throne and set him to pondering all that great art. He had seen much of the outer world, traveled strange highways, sailed strange seas by stranger stars—but the answer was not out there. The answer was within. Within the structure of literature, of art and meaning that we humans had raised about ourselves like an ark, a curtain wall to block out the waters of chaos and the world. That is why we pray, why we build great temples and write great books: to ask great questions and to live—not by the answers, for such questions are unanswerable—but by the noble process of seeking those answers, that we might stand tall and struggle on. 

Literature about literature—my delight exponentially increases. This selection arises in the context of a human who had cheated death for several millennia. The old soul, while surrounding himself with ancient literature and art, raises the question: What happens when we die? 

The narrator aptly notes the connection between this character’s question and love of the great works of literature and art—there are questions for which words alone are insufficient. There is something so characteristically human in not only recognizing the beauty of the world that transcends us but also attempting to imitate the divine by creating works of beauty that serve as signposts to this greater glory, which we can only catch glimpses of in our short sojourn before we return to dust. 

God is the ultimate storyteller. When God speaks, things happen. All of creation and all of history follow after God’s creative word. God, of all available means, chose to communicate Himself to His people through a great story and the smaller stories within that story—the Bible has layers. From the parables of Jesus to the history of Israel as recorded in Kings and Chronicles, God reveals Himself and His purposes through the multifaceted medium of story. 

If God is a storyteller, what does that say of humankind, who is made in His image? James Jordan argues in his book Through New Eyes that a human is inherently “a symbol-generating creature.” God does not create in deistic fashion but rather fashions the world to inherently and intrinsically bear witness to His splendor and beauty. Humankind, made in His image, follows suit. When we are confronted with the meaning-imbued world, we speak our own words about creation, which not only bear witness to the created order but also point beyond it to God Himself. None of us can escape our meaning-laden evaluations of creation; however, we either do this task righteously or unrighteously. Either we righteously build upon the glory of creation or we unrighteously attempt to fashion an idol of our own making. 

At this point, you may share the emotional rollercoaster on which I send my students’ parents. All is well with many Christian parents as I praise the literature of Tolkien, Lewis, Dante, and Dostoevsky. There may be slight apprehension toward the literature of Twain, Faulkner, Melville, and Hemingway. However, I am always certain of at least one email from a concerned parent when I suggest reading Huxley, Ovid, Voltaire, and Shelley. After all, some classical authors seem to have no interest in promoting the glory of God. 

Now, grant me leave to defend my love of literature—yes, all literature—to those who may be in doubt. All humankind, pietist and pagan alike, lives in a world fashioned and created by God. We can never escape this “givenness” of the world and our existence as God’s image bearers. We have an insatiable desire to worship. We turn to created things because they are glorious. We share stories because there is a glory we have seen, and we must tell others about it. We cannot escape it, and the most ardent of atheists cannot escape the glories of the world and their need to share with others what they have seen—humanity truly is homo adorans.  

This is why I read the “pagans” and am glad to do so. They have seen something that transcends themselves and bear witness to it in spite of themselves. Lord Byron teaches me youth’s beauty through the one “as young and fair / As aught of mortal birth” along with the true tragedy of sin and bodily decay as we all venture to the grave. Huxley illustrates for me that beautiful literature leads to insanity when pursued apart from a community with which to share it. These authors’ stories, along with our own, are far truer than we give them credit for. They all ask questions while knowing the answers they suggest are at best temporary. They all enter the great and glorious historical conversation of kings as they seek for the glorious things God has concealed. They all share a perspective on the world that, however flawed, necessarily points beyond the things themselves to the One in whom we all live, move and have our being. 

Bibliography 

Lord Byron [George Gordon]. “And Thou Art Dead, As Young and Fair.” Poetry 

Foundation. https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43822/and-thou-art-dead-as-young-and-fair.  

Jordan, James. Through New Eyes. Wipf and Stock, 1999. 

Ruocchio, Christopher. Howling Dark. The Sun Eater, book 2. DAW Books, 2023.