In his book,
Professional Correctness: Literary
Studies and Political Change[1], Stanley Fish argues against the
epistemological and political agendas of cultural studies, as being without justification
and understanding in their treatment of the discipline of literary studies and
‘interdisciplinarity’. The strength of his critique is apparent in his internal
knowledge and defence of the discipline of literary studies, as being
essentially different and distinct as a discipline, from that of cultural
studies. While there is great strength to his critique, there are also
weaknesses. One of those weaknesses, I will argue, is his refusal to
acknowledge the growing influence of external forces outside and increasingly
inside the discipline of literary criticism.
Fish
argues in favour of a return to the practice of literary criticism in and for
itself, free from the political concerns associated with cultural studies. The
political or cultural studies approach, in his opinion, is founded upon the
mistaken belief that truth is elsewhere and not in the text. The critique is
primarily against those cultural studies proponents who see theory as
possessing the capacity for revolution and social change. Their aspirations
stemming from the ‘mistaken’ belief, that their revised theoretical and
epistemological procedures are capable of influencing important political practices.
Fish rejects the sense that theoretical debate and discourse causes change;
however, he does acknowledge the possibility of ‘theory talk’ as being a catalyst
in other areas outside the discipline of origin. His point is essentially that
once it becomes part of something other than its origin, theory loses its claim
to that discipline e.g., literary theory used for cultural studies, becomes
cultural theory. Intent governs content.
The
relationship between discourse and belief, interpretation and practice, and the
pursuance of truth, are the driving ideological forces behind Fish’s critique
of cultural studies aspirations. The interaction and differences, that
characterise disciplinary activity between these theoretical relationships,
give Fish his definition of a discipline. This, in turn, provides the basis for
his argument against criticism that comes from academic fronts that are not as
definable (e.g. cultural studies).
Fish’s
argument against interdisciplinarity rests on his notion of ‘difference’ as
being not just a characteristic of disciplines, but an essential and necessary
part of a discipline’s distinct identity. It is that which distinguishes theory
as unique and self-defining, as part of a disciplinary practice, that resists
its incorporation into appropriated roles within other disciplines. The purpose
of literary theory and its internal facts, vocabularies, objects, values, and
other ‘’various discursive formations . . . will of course always be a
particular one’’(72). This particularity of specifics, and the ‘job’ of
disciplinary practices (and) or theory, is what makes it different (and
therefore distinct because of its differences).
That
essential nature and intent, according to Fish, makes disciplinary function
‘’useful and appropriate for purposes
and what is good for one purpose may not be so for another’’(73). The assertion
is logically strong and well defended against interdisciplinary demands.
However, it also (as cultural studies critics see it) supports the
interpretation of an underlying agenda of autonomy, exclusiveness, and
therefore a certain amount of unintentional stagnancy in its presentation and
justification to the outside world.
A
weakness of this kind of critique is that it seems to assume full understanding
of the human condition. The constrictive and analytic discourse implies that
only lesser understanding of an ‘unintelligible’ kind exists, other than that
of the author. His uncompromising authorial tone borders on the verge of
sounding ‘autonomous’ unto itself. Fish defines an enterprise that can ‘’make
good’’ on its claim that it is ‘’uniquely qualified to perform a specific
task’’(19), as being ‘autonomous’. This autonomy is however ‘’not autonomous in
the sense of having no affiliations with or debts to other enterprises’’.
Because, for Fish ‘’that would be an impossible requirement, which if met,
would result in a practice wholly lacking in interest and human intelligibility’’(20).
Rather,
he suggests, an enterprise will be ‘’autonomous in the sense of having primary
responsibility for doing a job that society wants done’’. Here he makes a claim
about disciplines that contradicts his own defence, and is non-affiliatory in
nature, refusing to be in allegiance with any discipline other than literary
criticism. It also presumes that respect for the discipline, is presently
valued by society. I feel that Fish does not convincingly justify the
discipline of literary criticism to a public audience, because of this
presumptuousness that seems to remain unchecked throughout his critique. Even
in his summary of his lectures (and Professional
Correctness), he still maintains no need to justify literary criticism’s
place amongst the growing public (as opposed to private) academies:
"Justifications, however, are never available from the
outside . . . when all is said and done, there is no reason for any discipline
or enterprise to exist except for what is brought into the world by the
possibility of its practice. What you gain by maintaining an enterprise is the
very special and specific pleasures and consolations it affords. They should be
thought of neither as the vehicles of our salvation nor as obstacles to it;
they are what they are and so are we (140-141)."
While I
agree that there are ‘pleasures and consolations’ gained from maintaining
disciplines as they are and have been, I disagree that we can dismiss the
changing nature of the world outside, and its effect upon, the institution of
education. Society’s ever increasing reliance on tertiary qualifications, as an
entry into the world of employment, negates the statically staunch position of
academics such as Fish. If his only justification for the discipline of
literary criticism, to continue operating as such, is that it is for personal
and consolatory purposes, then this in my opinion is a weakness in his critique
of other disciplinary aspirations that do take these factors into account.
Within Professional Correctness, there is a definite feeling of
reproachfulness, toward cultural studies critique that appears to disrespect,
or resent, literary studies as a distinctive and socially viable discipline.
Through the power of persuasion, Fish subtly uses this apparent lack of respect,
to mark those proponents of cultural studies, as without integrity and
principles of true cultural tolerance toward other disciplines and therefore
other cultures. This affront, that Fish consistently emphasises, has the effect
of rendering the project of ‘true’ cultural studies potentially null and void.
This insight into the core and guiding principle of cultural studies, being
that of tolerance, provides Fish with the ammunition to fortify the integrity
and validity of his own discipline. His position is validly strong and
poignantly essential to his critique, of the epistemological and political
aspirations of cultural studies, as a distinct discipline. While there is
obvious strength and logic, to this underlying critique of cultural studies fidelity
to itself, it also shows how analytically devoid of moral principles literary
criticism can be.
 |
| Stanley Fish |
Fish
weakens his critics by asserting his strength as a literary critic. This
effectively deprives them of a vocabulary through which they might lodge their
objections or reservations to his arguments. To refute a critic’s claims, Fish
discovers the term or concept the critic is using as the foundation for their
assumptions. He then implies that the term or concept has been unjustifiably
privileged (or appropriated) and accorded, a normative status that it can not
possess outside of its discipline. The cultural studies critic, who uses
literary terms to criticise Fish, or the discipline of literary studies, soon
falls prey to the strength of this destabilising technique Fish employs. He
uses his authority as a master of language and literary technique to silence
the critic, making them seem ignorant of their own linguistic and theoretical
arguments and positions within a given cultural context. Their silence is left
to be construed (there are not many options) as the result of unfounded
presuppositions and assumed knowledge concerning the nature of disciplines.
While this technique of Fish’s is strong as a critical manoeuvre, it has the
weakening effect of giving him an air of arrogance and elitism. It also implies
that if there is to be any criticism directed at him, then it must come from
within his own camp, from those who are able to battle with words as
effectively and mercilessly as he.
To
justify and assert the strength of his discourse (and discipline) in opposition
to cultural studies criticism, Fish pulls rank and reinforces his positions
with a bombardment of literary critique. This manoeuvre is tactical in that the use of language and rhetorical skill forcefully shows the power and
distinct nature of literary criticism (contrasted with the essentially
non-specific ‘discipline’ of cultural studies). We, the reader, are forced to
participate in the complex, and differently distinct, practice (from that of
cultural studies) of literary interpretation. Before we know it, we are nodding
our heads to the beat of Fish’s ‘game’. His arguments lead us to the end of
each chapter, reduced to agreement or disagreement about literary theory’s
viability as a discipline. This tactic places the reader as an ally or an
enemy, intelligent or illiterate. It is hard not to be persuaded by the sound
logic of Fish’s reasoning, after all, who wants to think of themselves as an
enemy of anything or an illiterate? More often than not, agreement is our
intended and skilfully pre-planned destination.
In
my opinion, Fish’s position is consistent and logically strong, his only
weakness so far found is when he leaves the realm of literary criticism and
academic rhetoric, to assert (however subtly) his qualification of
‘professional correctness’.
Contradictions are few, but when they do occur, they show Fish’s human
imperfection in almost a sacrificial manner. Sacrificial in the sense that it
feels almost deliberate in light of the strength of the rest of the work. His
critique shows this weakness in his apparent indifference to modern literary
practice and academic teaching (e.g. the influence of cultural studies). He
makes no attempt to convince cultural studies critics of his sincerity and
honesty in criticising their cause, even after he has allied his ‘professional
correctness’ with their ‘political correctness’: ’’do not read this as a
repudiation of cultural studies, black studies, feminist studies, gay and
lesbian studies, and other forms of activity that have reinvigorated the
literary scene’’(x, preface). Fish, essentially, allows no compromise on his
ideal of the discipline of literary criticism.
As he approaches the climax of his argument,
Fish explains the title (of chapter V) as follows: "literary interpretation,
like virtue, is its own reward. I do it," he says provocatively, "because I
like the way I feel when I'm doing it" (110). There is no doubting Fish’s
passion for his craft, but the intent behind his self-justification is
immediately questionable. The confessional tone, at first, seems only to convey
an insight into Fish’s conviction and faith to his discipline. However, there
is also another effect produced, which I feel was Fish’s intention behind his justification:
to pitch legitimating talk at the level of personal enjoyment serves to
differentiate between subjects of belief and conviction.
Displaying
one’s personal preference and reason(s) for disciplinary practice, implies that
those who do not have the same emotional involvement with their respective
disciplines (cultural studies for example) are not as committed due to their
lack of public faith in what they pursue. This tactic of Fish’s questions the
strength of the beliefs of those who don’t exhibit the same apparent pride in
their given professions. It is as if by not confessing their allegiance and
patriotism to their discipline, they are less than qualified to pass judgement
(and justification) on their own profession, let alone criticising literary
interpretation and theory.
Both the tone and the
introductory last line that seems (contextually) as much a question as it is an
answer: ‘how difficult it is to tell the difference between devils and deities’
(110). When combined, with Fish’s emotional and ‘self-referential’ tirade in
the following paragraph, makes the reader reel in shock and moral incredulity
at an intimacy bordering on the verge of eroticism. This tone of almost aloof
expressionism and romantic semantics betrays (seemingly) overwhelming modesty
and confidence, potentially frightening and somewhat radically strange to
prospects of the discipline. There is a sense of ‘been there, done that’ in the
paragraph, that would seem totally foreign to a younger academic whose literary
aspirations and skills are just developing. A definite love of poetry would
also seem to be a pre-requisite of a prospective literary interpreter, judging
from the lasting impression of Fish’s desideratum.
I
do not suggest that expressing and maintaining faith and personal preference is
a non-essential ingredient, in the continued and deliberate participation of
literary criticism (or in any field of interest, academic or otherwise).
However, Fish’s position as a repudiated literary theorist and critic, and the
professionalism of the work in question, makes me ask why has he so
provocatively posed and adopted this confessional rhetoric? Is he merely giving
a reason as to why he does what he does? Is he trying to convince prospective
members of his discipline (students) to join in the fun; does he use this
rhetoric to make him more human and us more sympathetic to his views? Is he
petitioning solidarity from comrades in arms fighting the common good fight? To
these questions, there seems no concrete answer and we can only assume that
what Fish tells us is sincere. In light of the weight of the rest of Fish’s
discourse, the effect of this seemingly deliberate abatement places the astute
reader in the position of questioning the intent behind it.
As
someone who agrees with the emotions and experience that literary criticism
gives, as related by Fish, I can also say that the reasons he gives do
encourage me to continue within the discipline. As a form of ‘public
justification’, I am unsure as to whether Fish has effectively used this part
of his discourse to do so, or whether it is just to provide the reader with a
topic of conversation. Whether it portrays an eccentric whose fetishistic
leanings point to an unnatural desire to fornicate with words, seems too base a
thought to even consider. Although I must admit, I entertained the idea with a
certain amount of unintended and perplexed imagination.
As
a form of ‘public justification’, Fish contradicts his assertion that the
public or “those not of our party’’(115), do not have anything to gain from
literary criticism. If there is such an obvious pleasure principle, involved in
practicing criticism, that is only ‘internal’ to itself, then it would follow
that it cannot also be relevant to any ‘external’ public justification. So why
then, does Fish waste time justifying it as such? Moreover, if it were
relevant, externally to the discipline, then it would mean that the public does have something to gain from
literary criticism. This weakness in Fish’s argument seems to me to be a direct
result of his overuse of rhetoric in order to persuade or justify his position
to a public audience.
In
Aristotle’s Rhetorica, he (Aristotle)
states that “we must use, as our modes of persuasion and argument, notions
possessed by everybody . . . when dealing with the way to handle a popular
audience’’ (I.I.26-29). Fish subtly dismisses the need to justify literary
criticism to the public with his argument against interdisciplinarity and his
definition of a discipline, as essentially no less than ‘a law unto itself’.
His argument does not leave us (as the judge of his work) with many matters of
decision; he uses the principles of rhetorical persuasion in such a way that we
are lead to conclusions almost involuntarily. The ease by which he establishes
apparently watertight statements of fact, lead us to agree (in most instances)
that the truth of his critique is as he maintains it is. This is one of the
greatest strengths behind his arguments against cultural studies aspirations.
Similarly, it can be interpreted in a negative way, as being manipulative and
beguiling in nature, in order to bring the reader around to a point of
agreement with the author.
In
summary, due to the strength of Fish’s critique of the epistemological and
political aspirations of cultural studies, I agree that literary criticism is
essentially non-causal toward political and social change. However, the fact
that literary criticism has generated so much debate within the academies,
seems to me an example of how a discipline can influence and generate changes
within the institution and therefore within the discipline itself. Due to the
apparent weaknesses that I have pointed out, I have to conclude that I am not
fully convinced of the strength of Fish’s ‘public justification’ of literary
criticism as a discipline.
[1] Professional
Correctness: Literary Studies and Political Change, by Stanley Fish (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995.)
(C) William Cook. 2014.
Stanley Fish, Literary Criticism, Professional Correctness: Literary
Studies and Political Change, Academic Essay, Essay, Rhetoric, University, William Cook
