by Cecilia, Saint Emmelia Ministries Intern
I spent five weeks in Romania this past summer, visiting family members whom I had not seen for years. Naturally, everyone asked me what I planned to study after high school, to which I would reply, “English and the Classics.” Judging by their knitted brows and expressions of pity, I guessed that they were less than satisfied with my answer. Desperately trying to find a hope for my future, they would question, “You’re not interested in math?” I would laugh and brush it off, but I truly began to pity those deprived of the love of classical literature.
C.S. Lewis wrote an essay titled Is English Doomed?, addressing a) the notion that English can be taught by just anybody and b) the unfortunate reality that English is no longer as prestigious of a study as it once was and is in danger of disappearing. And this was in 1944! Unfortunately, the situation has only festered in our modern rejection of the world of literature that came before us and gave us the world in which we now live.
Lewis comments that “the Classics have almost been routed. Unless English, seriously studied, succeeds to their place, the English which ‘any teacher’ inculcates in the course of teaching something else will be at best the reflection of his favourite newspaper and at worst the technical jargon of his own subject.” But what does “English, seriously studied” entail? Doesn’t studying literature serve the sole purpose of entertaining and aiding appreciation? Isn’t it just a way to “have laughed at the jokes, shuddered at the tragedy, [and] wept at the pathos”? Lewis understands that this appreciation is necessary and by no means unimportant, but is not the ultimate end. The true end of literary studies is to make the student a spectator of time and existence.
If one gains wisdom from experience, how much wisdom must the literary student have, who has experienced worlds of sorrow, challenge, love, joy, embarrassment, and forgiveness? Truly, one does not only gain appreciation for life by studying literature, but actually gains the experience of having vicariously lived through it all and deeply analyzed it. Don’t we need these spectators of time to guide us and shape us? The student, by “meet[ing] the past where alone the past still lives, is taken out of the narrowness of his own age and class into a more public world.” How beautiful! How necessary!
Lewis says that English can be aptly considered “the most liberal—and liberating—discipline of the three [i.e., Literae Humaniores, English, and History].” But however liberating it may be for the individual person, I began to feel troubled by the prospect of spending years studying something only to better my own person, and not to serve those around me.
A few weeks ago, I had the privilege of meeting and speaking with the head of the Department of English at one of the colleges I am interested in attending. I took this opportunity to ask him how I could serve with an English degree and what I could offer to others. It seemed to me that the only option of service an English major was offered was teaching. However, he told me that, above all, the most valuable thing I have to give is myself. If someone could form herself to be a truly phenomenal person, then what could she not do? How could she not serve? He upheld the value that first the person must be cultivated, then some specific profession. Universities too often factory-produce adults who have deep knowledge of one discipline, but no knowledge of themselves.
He therefore asserted that if someone could shape herself through the reading of the Great Books, then she could have a truly tremendous impact on those around her. Not only would her character be influential, but she would also be able to perform any task required of her. The study of English, especially in a Classical Liberal Arts environment, puts the student in a position to effectively approach any task or problem, thus being able to do whatever is required of her. So, my question is no longer “How could I serve?”, but rather “How could I not serve?!”
So, although slightly ridiculed by my extended family, I plan to study English, which, as Lewis points out, very well may be doomed. If the question is, however, whether I myself as an English student will be doomed, I am determined to answer in the negative. As Lewis lays out, “the true aim of literary studies is to lift the student out of his provincialism by making him ‘the spectator,’ if not of all, yet of much, ‘time and existence.’” What more could one want?