Post a Comment On: ehewlett

I never did finish my M.Div. thesis on the debate over allegorical exegesis (a classic case of engaging with a subject too large to resolve in a simple Master's thesis), but the genesis of it was the following essay, which also brought in my interest in C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien's engagement with allegory.

I've posted the essay here, for anyone interested in reading the whole thing. A sample quote from it follows:
If the term historia now requires clarification due to modern misconceptions, in ancient times it was the term allēgoria that was in need of clarification. Everyone agreed on the basic meaning of the term—that much was clear from the word’s etymology, derived as it was “from a Greek verb meaning ‘to speak in public’ compounded with the adjective allos, meaning ‘other’. Ancient definitions all ring the changes on the same theme: allēgoria is ‘to mean something other than what one says’.” (Exegesis 176) Young also notes that it was generally understood to be a “figure of speech”, “a continuous metaphor”, and, “at the very least a sophisticated conceit.” (176-177) While these generally agreed-upon constraints are still broad enough to allow for considerable variation in definitions of allēgoria, there does seem to have been a significant degree of agreement among the ancient as to what allēgoria was. The main controversy seems to have been over what was allēgoria.  A similar problem, in fact, still exists in the modern English understanding of the word allegory. There is general agreement on what the word means—there is even a definitive example of allegory in Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress. But this definitive example—like Origen’s definitively allegorical exegesis in ancient times—is problematic, if for somewhat opposite reasons. Where Origen’s allegorical approach to Scripture became problematic for the wide range of readings it made possible (more on this later), Bunyan’s writings deliberately limited the range of meaning derivable from his work as much as possible. Bunyan’s definitive example thus tends to produce more hermeneutically limited expectations of allegorical fiction than is warranted by the word allegory—the wider range of possible meaning for the word “allegory” being perhaps best illustrated by Edmund Spenser’s characterization of his Faerie Queene as “a continued Allegory, or darke conceit” (“Letter to Raleigh”). As a result of the restrictive expectations generated by Bunyan’s definitive example, later generations of authors writing in a manner that many have (rightly) considered allegorical (following the broader meaning of the word) have felt it necessary to deny that their works are allegorical—perhaps the most well-known example being C.S. Lewis’ letter asserting that The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe “is not, as some people think, an allegory.” J.R.R. Tolkien’s famous response to the accusation (as he considered it) of allegory in The Lord of the Rings is also worth citing, especially as it offers some insight into the relationship between history (historia), allegory (allēgoria), and interpretation:

“I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and always have done so since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence. I much prefer history, true or feigned, with its varied applicability to the thought and experience of readers. I think that many confuse ‘applicability’ with ‘allegory’; but the one resides in the freedom of the reader, and the other in the purposed domination of the author.”
Allegory, then, as Tolkien sees it, is—at least from the author’s perspective—a form of hermeneutical control, while history leaves that control in the hands (or, rather, the minds) of the readers.