I am a priest

Three years ago I believe that I had the gifting (at that time I would even use the language “calling”) to become a pastor. This might only seem natural given the fact that my father and his father were pastors of a dedicated group of believers. This being said, I decided to study literature, journalism, and culture at a secular, liberal university to understand the world as best as I could before I began pastoring individuals.

At that time in my life and still today, I was well aware and truly frustrated at the number of pastors, priests, etc. that study in a Christian high school, Christian undergrad, and Christian graduate school to then be in a church all their lives. What do they know of the world? Obviously this is a harsh question but one I still ask.

My thoughts since that time of my life have developed immensely. And I must be honest, my thoughts dramatically changed from the first night at university. God (if he/she is "up there" or all around here) will have to throw a pretty big brick for me to be a pastor. Now I believe I have the character, education, communication skills, heart and grit to love people well and to be loved by people, but my heart no longer desires to have such a position. And to be blunt, I am not sure if I believe in the role. We all are pastors, priests, preachers and even the pope. However, I will leave televangelists to a very select group of people. We all are not one of them. Thank God.

All of this said, today, something happened. It was a moment that made me laugh out loud and enjoy true irony for all it's worth.

Today I presented Wallace Stevens and his works to my Modernism seminar. A major concept that is attributed to him is the theory of the “Supreme Fiction.” The Supreme Fiction is the replacement of the belief in God for a belief in something else. Stevens believed that fiction (poetry) was worthy believing in.

In his essay Opus Posthumous, Stevens states:

“The relation of art to life is of the first importance especially in a skeptical age since, in the absence of a belief in God, the mind turn to its own creations and examines them, not alone from the aesthetic point of view, but for what they reveal, for they validate and invalidate, for the support they give.”

The poet or more broadly, the fiction writer is someone who describes and presents the relation between art and life within his/her works. The poet and what he/she creates becomes and replaces the thought of God.

In the same essay, Stevens makes several more statements that might clarify his thought.

“The theory of poetry is the theory of life.”

“The final belief is to believe in a fiction, which you know to be a fiction, there being nothing else. The exquisite truth is to know that it is a fiction that you believe in it willingly.”

“Reality is the spirit’s true center”

This final quote might stick out to a critical eye. If Stevens does not believe in a higher being, why would he use the term “spirit?” The word spirit for Stevens is the essence of the world. This essence is defined by the tension and interconnectedness of humanity and reality and the mind and soul (inner psyche) to name a couple.

However, answers do not come this easy. The poet will always have “a never-resting mind” ("The Poem of Our Climate”) as he/she attempts to speak of this essence. The uncertainty, yet, desire for Stevens to search for the connections between the different facets of the world is seen throughout all his works and is never quite found.

Yet, Stevens is a firm believer of the poet being the creator of the world because the poet presents that essence. Because poetry is the “theory of life,” the role of the poet (according to Stevens) is to “help people live their lives” (The Noble Rider and the Sound of Words.) Due to the replacement of God with poetry and the duty of the poet, the poet becomes the middleman or middlewomen between the world and the human.

Thus, “the poet is the priest of the invisible,” the priest of the world and the priest of reality (“Adagia”).

And again, I laughed out loud when my mind linked Stevens calling for all writers of fiction to assist people to live their lives to an ironic re-imagination of the word pastor.

I am a writer and lover of fictions. I am a seeker of the latent things of this world.

I am a priest.

My treasure map

I recently met with an instructor about my future in academics. She is who I would like to be in a few years so I asked her what and who i should read to enter into the historical and present conversation of literary theory and criticism.

Some questions I have in mind as I read these books:

1. What is the limits of representation and presentation? Dealing particularly with the nature of silence.
   
2. Why is art always trying to completely represent and/or present the world before us when we actually are in "reality?"
   
3. Why do readers still enter into fiction and fiction writers portray the readers world?
   
4. What is Derrida's thoughts on religion when he himself is Jewish?
5. Does language use us?
   
6. The nature of language and the divide between Jacques Lacan and Ferdinand Saussure.
   

Here are the notes from our conversation. I must say that I have also included the books Orthodoxy and The Philosopher and the Wolf, which were recommended by two dear friends. And a personal side note: I am also reading Diary of an Old Soul by George MacDonald daily.

This is my "for fun reading list" for the next month of two. I am excited and giddy to read these works.

1. Return to Freud by Samuel Weber
a. “The Unconscious Chess Player”
b. “Saussure and the Apparition of Language” (Not sure if in this work)

2. Points...: Interviews, 1974-1994 by Jacques Derrida

3. The Postcard: From Socrates to Freud and Beyond by Jacques Derrida
a. Specifically the “Love Letters” section.

4. Orthodoxy by G. K. Chesterton

5. Deconstruction in a Nutshell: A Conversation with Jacques Derrida (Perspectives in Continental Philosophy) by John Caputo

6. Look for interviews with Jacques Rancière

7. Look for interviews with Hélène Cixous. Read Anthology.
a. “The Gardening of Language” interview.
b. The Laugh of the Medusa (what she is most known for)
c. Three Steps on the Ladder of Writing by Helene Cixous, Susan Sellers, and Sarah Cornell
d. Look for London speech in near future.

8. On Literature (Thinking in Action) by J. Hillis Miller

9. Arts of Impoverishment: Beckett, Rothko, Resnais by Leo Bersani and Ulysse Dutoit
a. Just read introduction. Get at library.

10. “What is an Author” by Michel Foucault.

11. Jacques Derrida (Routledge Critical Thinkers) by Nicholas Royle

12. The Philosopher and the Wolf by Mark Rowlands.

I am An interesting day...

I am a shamed of myself for writing a blog post on Valentine’s Day. Hopefully this isn't too dramatic, didactic and ambiguous. I am ashamed. :)

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The cotton clouds stretch over the horizon. It’s not gloomy, just gray. In a moment, the sheet of clouds will rip and the perfect blue will show through. Water droplets drip from roof to gutter. Couples walk hand and hand. Dogs run. Squirrels find. The rose is already wilting.

Today I awoke to the muse of Death Cab for Cutie’s "A Marching Band of Manhattan" (listen to it.) I took a quick “French bath” and proceeded to prepare for a meal with my Clowes Court neighbors.

In my sandals and socks I moved next door. Still feeling the lines
of Death Cab:
“Sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole
Just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound.”

The pans are cooling, the food is ready. We all sit for re-nourishment.

Laughter, secrets and questionable jokes fill the room amongst the muffins, eggs, questionably chunky bacon and chocolate cake. After the last drop was licked and the last crumb given to the ducks, we all went our way this interesting Sunday.

I now find myself peering outside at the bedlinen-like sky. Cozed by coffee, peaced by pictures, comforted by chair, compelled by fictions. Besides me lies the collected works of Geoffrey Chaucer and next to Chaucer lies James Joyce’s Ulysses. I have been reading. I have been traveling.

Books are my dearest things, dearest possession. I love purchasing books and I have a dictionary that I refer to as my bible (and I am serious.) but there is more than purchasing that takes place with books. I want to move beyond the purchasing and possessing aspects of book collecting.

Books are given as gifts. Books are spontaneous escapes from conscious reality. Books are wisdom and enlightenment. Books assist you in seeing old things new. Books are fun and complex and magically simple. Books are reality.

Each book is dear to me. I have a few favorites that will always be my favorite. These books are foundational to who I am. They are the pastness of the present. I will never throw a book away.

However, I am learning, reading, and discovering books and fictions each day. I have received books as gifts, for courses, and for my own personal exploration. These books are becoming dear to me.

Still there is always that one book that makes you laugh. Makes you tear. Makes you lost for words. Makes you silly. Makes you imagine. Makes you more. Makes you want. Makes you you and I I. You would rather read the book then wake for a coastline sunrise or attend an afternoon tea.

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I am lonely I am lonely I am. I would not be human if I did not state this…
if I did not embrace this.

But I still “am.”

I will never stop sailing in the open sea.
Though that is what has crippled me.

Today is a day of extremes it seems. Emotions heightened, depression deepened, and friendships questioned.

To all,
Happy Valentine’s Day. Live deep within your soul. And live deep in another.