At least, I know I understand and could give utterance to more true principles than I perfectly live.

Don’t we all, Adam; don’t we all.

I like what you both have to say here about irony, Mahonri and Adam. I think we sometimes view irony as a bad thing. In fact, as I write this, Alanis Morrisette’s “Ironic” has popped into my head: now isn’t that ironic… And now all I can hear is her whining about how devestatingly ironic her life has been.

Anyway, Patricia’s got a good series about irony (beginning here) in which she explores the power turns of irony have to move us through the continual processes of conversion and repentance, to help us change our minds, and to push at the boundaries of experience and our understanding of experience.

As Patricia has observed, as Shakespeare has clearly illustrated, and as I’m attempting to explore in my posts (don’t know how successful I’m being…), irony (one form of which is paradox) is central to our experience with the universe and the arts. Hence, the importance of being ironic…

I agree. I once had a teacher who asserted that no Shakespearean wisdom could be separated from the nature of the character who gave it voice, using Polonius as an example. To clarify, she used Polonius’ behavior as grounds for dismissing his advice. While I see her point and agree to an extent, I’ve often felt that fools had a sort of special dispensation of wisdom: the irony of their characters lending greater force to the truth they speak.

Someone once said that many wise words are spoken in jest, but more foolish words are spoken in earnest. If we judge the words we hear based solely on the faithfulness of the speaker to those words, we may interpret the majority of statements incorrectly. At least, I know I understand and could give utterance to more true principles than I perfectly live.

Do you think anyone else would like to join us for a Coke (or whatever your particular poison is)?

And all I can say in regard to your final comments–

The fault, as I see it, lies in the absence of a critical discourse for Mormon letters (which you are trying to address). The criticism I read reinforces what the assumptions Johnston makes in his review. They write criticism exclusively for Mormon audiences, criticism that seeks to reinforce Mormon truth. I have read some brilliant articles by brilliant critics that are useless in establishing a critical tradition that will stand up in the context of other bodies of literature because they bring everything back to “the truthfulness of the everlasting gospel.”

A body of Mormon literary criticism that has relevance both to Mormon- and non-Mormon academics will create a space for a more diverse Mormon literature that does not depend on Deseret Book for its value.

–at least for the time being, is Amen!

At the risk of you thinking I’m brushing you off, I’m going to put off addressing the crux of your comments until a future post. Let me just say here that I admire your commitment to taking “a better stance” in relation to others, to question your motivations before questioning others. I think if there were more people in this world willing to act with such personal responsibility, things would be far more peaceful.

I see where you’re coming from about our general misuse of “to thine own self be true” and completely agree when you say

A little recognition of fallibilism in both arenas [personal and social] always struck me as wisest.

Patricia seems to capture this recognition, and the essence of being true to one’s self, by which I mean being true to one’s potential, in her comments below. Indeed, we must “question everything,” as I state in my comments to Part I, including and especially ourselves and our motivations.

I’ll say it once more, but I feel like the biggest weakness in your argument is not the argument itself but the way you use Johnston to make your argument. Isn’t there a better (more fair) example to use? If I were your editor (and I know I’m not) I would insist that you replace Johnston with someone with more cache (maybe John Bennion?). Anyway . . .

Your final point in this section is that: “Johnston seems to suggest that the price of admission into the Latter-day Saint mind, conversation, and canon, or at least into our meetings and lessons and onto our bookshelves, is to capitalize on and, in the process, to commodify Mormonism’s covenant society and theology.” What I would say to this is that this IS the current state of affairs and Johnston is merely pointing out the obvious.

I think if you and I were to sit down over a cold caffeinated beverage we would agree on the state of Mormon literature. We would at least agree that we both want more diversity, high and low, literature that challenges its audience instead of spoon-feeding them tidy moral messages. The problem is not that this literature doesn’t exist, but that it doesn’t usually find an audience wide enough to make a mark.

The fault, as I see it, lies in the absence of a critical discourse for Mormon letters (which you are trying to address). The criticism I read reinforces what the assumptions Johnston makes in his review. They write criticism exclusively for Mormon audiences, criticism that seeks to reinforce Mormon truth. I have read some brilliant articles by brilliant critics that are useless in establishing a critical tradition that will stand up in the context of other bodies of literature because they bring everything back to “the truthfulness of the everlasting gospel.”

A body of Mormon literary criticism that has relevance both to Mormon- and non-Mormon academics will create a space for a more diverse Mormon literature that does not depend on Deseret Book for its value.

Only rarely have I felt the “’struggle to maintain individual integrity, to be true to [myself] in the face of the demanding responsibilities and expectations laid on us through our chosen affiliation.” etc. When I did, I discovered I could relieve such tension by finding and then taking a better stance within the situation, an act that is itself a creative undertaking. I’ve gone off the idea of preserving individual integrity. It’s overrated. Where my art is concerned, I will look to myself, first, to change. I have yet to discover a predicament I can’t improve by wondering where I’m going wrong, which is where I perceive the actual tension you’re identifying mostly lies, and certainly the greatest responsibility. I say this knowing I can imagine situations where my sudden enlightenment has little or no external effect, where I’m overwhelmed and can’t see straight, and of course, where situations go right over my head.

My experience with most people is that they want better, even while they appear to be settling for the “gold, brass, silver and bronze.” They have their sphere of accountability. But the artist bears not only the full matter of his/her own accountability, but also, by virtue of his/her desire to get across, responsibility for having a meaningful vision of others’ accountability. Having that vision is not the same thing as taking another’s accountability onto your own shoulders. Nevertheless, when the artist touches human imagination and agency by virtue of his/her creative vision of those essential elements of the soul, it can be redemptive for everyone involved.

Many people are where they are for good reason. I can picture a convert, for instance, embracing a sentimental rendering of church culture because it’s safer and offers more hope than the life they left behind. Is it my job, as an artist, to get them to admit they’re wrong and expect them to see matters the more “honest, true, chaste, benevolent, and virtuous” way?

As an artist, I perceive my job being to strive to see matters a more “honest, true, chaste, benevolent, and virtuous” way than I do and to strive to do good to all men better than how I currently work it out. I seek after this reimagining, I hope for it, I endure it, I hope to be able to seek after it and endure it all my life. My art is my expression of this condition. Others may take from it what they can, and perhaps, if I’ve been any use at all, what they need, even though it might not be what I had hoped they would take.

Not that I haven’t been where you appear to be. And I say all this not knowing where you’re going with this series.

We should be seeking to be good. However that “to thine own self be true” always indicates to me a skepticism of social values while gullibility regarding ones own knowledge. A little recognition of fallibilism in both arenas always struck me as wisest.

Sorry for going a bit off. It’s a pet peeve of mine.