Some writers criticize our superficial culture but criticize our culture with high eloquence, pomp, artistry and le mot juste. Oh, you shameless hypocrites! Am I also guilty? For the moment. Soon he who does not care for titles, the rude, careless, barbarian–shall be exposed.
Listen and grow weary and wary of the prophets who pronounce cultural criticisms with masterful linguistic flourishes and lexical exhibitions. Their readers cannot help but be impressed by style and wonder, Why don’t these stylish critics of the superficial write more plainly, like Becket, Hemmingway or Epictetus?
I speak of our Brontes, our Wolfes, Hemmingways, Fitzgeralds, Ibsens, Tolstoys and Harpers: let’s cut to the chase all ye prophets and expositors of foibles, all you detectives of social and psychological crimes scenes–the world has heard enough stories, enough mental theatre… Let your morals be heard plainly, as commandments and direct appeals to conscience. They gain nothing from the entertainment value of plots.
What do all our morals gain from shiny veneer? Is it the sugar that coats the bitter pill of guilt? But if we judge from certain critics, the medicine is wasted and the style and artistry alone demands attention. As if the moral engine of the book did not demand a cultural revolution—at least a cold, hard look at our possible complicity in the horrors of our culture.
I have never heard of a case in which a book of fiction influenced readers to raise their moral standards for themselves as well as others. But perhaps the influence of the world’s moralizing fiction is too subtle to be noticed, even by those who experience it. Indeed, if per capita murder rates have been decreasing for centuries, why not give literary fiction some of the credit?
Imagine if Martin Luther King had spoken in monotone and without any rhetorical and poetical talent. I suppose no one would have listened, and therefore he would not have been assassinated. But why make suppositions that can never be tested?
The value of beautifying morals may never be known, but I do know that it is self-contradictory and hypocritical. The time has come for conscientious story tellers to go on strike.
