Tuesday, September 23, 2014

A Cautious Defense of Critical (or Analytical) Thinking

Often, and particularly recently, I have been faced with distaste at the idea of critical thinking in a life context and an arts context. Given this, I offer a cautious defense of critical thinking (hopefully, it doesn’t get too bogged down in theory and lit crit jargon [oops] that it becomes inaccessible. It should be pretty clear, but maybe pray for understanding before you start to read ;) ).

So this is going to have two basic parts, one that’s more general and religious and a second that will be more about analyzing books, film, etc., what we can refer to as close reading, with some religious overtones. Ok, so I’m clearly partial to this approach to life and entertainment, partially because I analyze literature for school and my planned future profession, but that just means I have skin in the game, as they say. A passion driving my commentary.  Anyway, here we go.

First, I have found great value and insight by thinking critically. Now, by this I do not mean thinking negatively or thinking in a way to criticize (although I probably do my fair share of that, snarkily tearing down what otherwise may have been thoughtful and sincere commentary). Critical Thinking in this context means looking at things with the eye of an analyst, trying to understand how things work, how comments fit into a larger framework of ideas and perspectives, how the argument is structured, how the logic flows from the assumptions to the propositions to the conclusions, etc. This type of thinking relies on asking questions and seeking understanding. Some claim that the Church discourages such thinking, which culturally is true to a certain extent. After all, there is a danger in beginning to think critically, if you do not understand the proper application of the skills. To borrow a phrase from Bruce C. Hafen, it can become like a shiny, new pin of skepticism used to burst the bubbles of faith and sincerity of all around us.
 
Look at that menacing, shadowy hand preparing to pop this innocent, well-meaning balloon.
I know because I have been guilty of wielding my critical thinking skills like a shiny pin of skepticism. While it would be awesome if everyone understood logical fallacies and proper argumentative structure, they don’t (I'd like to think that basic argumentative structure is a key to fully grasping celestial knowledge, but don't know of any such strict requirement). So people can teach and make comments that are illogical or can be picked apart by those of a more intellectual bent, such as myself. However, to do so frequently misses the point of having such comments and conversations in the first place. They aren’t meant to convince us logically of something, it’s meant to convey a set of feelings and experiences that the individual feels are right.

So, why is it good to think critically if we shouldn’t at Church? Well, the Truth withstands critical thinking. So, while we shouldn’t let it distract us from the sincerity of others, we can use our critical thinking skills to process information and fit things into our own understanding. We can realize how the scriptures work together, the relationships between individuals and stories and principles, piecing together an understanding of the entire Gospel framework.

Having questions can spur our study. As we all learn from primary forward, questions spurred Joseph Smith to action and without that, I wouldn’t be writing about this right now at BYU (questions for the win, despite any later cultural pressure against asking questions).

Now, on to Part Two.

This bit may be slightly less accepted. I think analyzing and looking for themes and messages in books, songs, films, plays, etc. is valuable. I mean, of course I do. Would I study English if I didn’t?

An important question and argument comes up here about authorial intent, which has been happening for a long time and has a variety of answers. The main facet of the argument, at least for my purposes, is two-fold: one, that it matters what the author intended and two, that any interpretation of a work should be based around the intentions of the author.

Those who dismiss any attempts at reading into a work as frivolous, often suggest that the author never intended for that meaning. That may very well be true, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that the meaning is no longer there because it was unintended. To illustrate think of a time you said something that carried a different meaning than you intended for the people that heard it. Is the meaning that others interpreted less-valid because you didn’t mean it that way? No. Once a work involves an audience, it becomes something separate that relies upon the audience in part to create meaning. An author may have intended for something to mean one thing, but if no one ever reads it, it is meaningless. At least in part, meaning is derived from the reader interacting with the text.

That got a bit bogged down with some critical theory, but hopefully we mastered the secrets of the fire swamp and made it out alive, unless you found it comfortable enough for a nice summer home.

The point of all that is to say that the author’s intent is much less important than the reader’s response. However, the best response is an informed response that understands some of the author, her background, his cultural context, her societal and historical pressures, etc. All of us are shaped by the time we live, the cultures we surround ourselves with, etc. so to ignore the impact that they have on a work of art is to do a great disservice to the labor that went in to producing it.
 
All these books, waiting to be read. And ANALYZED, while using that glorious spiral staircase. 
Some things may be created primarily to entertain, but they still convey messages implicit or explicit that we receive. To not analyze our entertainment is to be intentionally ignorant of what we partake of and what cultures are influencing and shaping our own thoughts and behaviors.

None of us want that, do we?

There are some caveats to that and some clarifications. First, there are levels of analysis and critical thinking. Not everyone needs to analyze Henry James’ use of free-indirect discourse in Washington Square to create an unreliable and self-undermining narrator or to be dissatisfied with How To Train Your Dragon because the ending undermines the entire narrative arc of the film, destroying what appeared to be the intended moral of the story.

Second, there may be a line where analysis can go overboard and read more into something than is useful. This is particularly true when you begin to see negative frameworks in everything to the point that they restrict your ability to enjoy the works at all. That line varies and is different for different people.


So that’s it. Think critically and much joy will be yours.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Where's the Magic?

I’ve felt recently kind of bogged down with intriguing intellectual questions, wading through a pit of pragmatic alternatives, struggling to find my place in this ambiguous, complicated and grey world. While much of this has been rewarding and reworked my understanding of Gospel principles and realities in a way that strengthened the foundations of my faith, an unnecessary and detrimental side effect has been the loss of the ‘magic’. The feeling of awe and wonder at God’s greatness. The delightful little occurrences that feel like they were caused by wizards and witches from Hogwarts or mutants with extraordinary powers.
 
BANGARANG!
Perhaps an apt analogy can be drawn from the Spielberg classic Hook. Robin Williams as Peter Banning (Peter Pan) is brought back to Neverland and forced to try and remember and recapture the happiness that let him fly. He struggles for most of the film, but eventually taps into that joy. However, this happy thought is more complex and challenging—his children. Illustrating that he has undergone a change, but is now fusing the childlike joy and glee of Neverland with his responsibility and maturity driven by love for others. (The analogy isn't perfect and doesn't extend throughout the film, but I think still has value.)

I’ve had similar feelings to Peter upon his return to Neverland. Bewilderment, thinking that he had achieved a higher state of living than the Lost Boys and everyone else, but this left him lonely and joyless. I occasionally feel similarly at Church, that the comments shared and other things are juvenile or in other ways simplistic and lacking in understanding. While this may be true, my focus on that misses the exuberance for life that their comments and insights convey. Who am I (not 24601) to deride their spiritual experiences and understanding? If what they believe works for them and brings them closer to God, then that’s good enough for the moment (maybe. Obviously, faith needs to be in something that’s true to be faith and not simply empty hoping and wishing, but I think there is probably a range of acceptable beliefs and the intentions will sanctify those that may believe a little wrongly. More thought needs to go into this).

So, as someone with a skeptical mindset, questioning many things and having developed a more nuanced and complicated paradigm for understanding the world and God’s interactions with humankind, why did I lose the sense of wonder? Can I get it back? Where’s the magic?

I think I began to focus too much on institutional and other large-scale problems that are far beyond my ability to resolve. While, it is important to understand those problems and issues, I personally need to focus on what I can do as an individual to bless others. And to look for God’s hand in my life, seeking divine guidance and inspiration—the magic.

Luckily, I had some brushes with the divine magic recently, reviving some spiritual joyous sparks. Like most twenty-somethings, I have been trying to figure out my FUTURE. I spent the summer in DC, which helped and hurt, drawing me towards politics, while simultaneously pushing me away. I loved my experience and the city, but I cannot go into politics, it’ll suck me in and I’ll be forever trapped in its tide, swirling around and around barely gasping for breath. And it doesn’t give me the same joy that reading, discussing and analyzing Dickens or Austen or James or Wilde does. However, it took a father’s blessing and watching Dead Poets Society to drive home what I feel called to do. And just as the wands in Ollivander’s choose the wizard, being an English professor has chosen me.

Yeah, that sounds cheesy and cliché, but it feels right. And, admitting that there can be that sort of guidance, like Inigo’s father guiding his sword to hit the right knot, builds that fire and my faith. Sure, I don’t know if that’s what happened and you can probably come up with a way to explain my feelings, yet I still believe that I was (and ideally am) touched and guided by something divine. That for me is faith. Not knowing, but believing in God’s guiding, sanctifying hand.

And that’s the magic. Pretty simple really. Believing in something a little supernatural. Privileging that belief over the pragmatism that fights with it (a tension I explored about a year ago).

God loves me and you and you, and yes, even you. I choose to believe that because of that love, Our Heavenly Parents guide and comfort us when needed. They reach out letting droplets of divine love and inspiration grace our minds and hearts. That is my happy thought and now I can fly (and fight and crow).