The similarity of the insights in T. S. Eliot’s early poetry to the thought of the postmodernists a generation later has not gone unnoticed. Ruth Nevo, for example, claimed for The Waste Land the status of “ur-text of deconstruction,” noting that “The Waste Land deconstructs distinctions between critic and author, ‘fiction’ and ‘fact,’ presentation and representation, origin and supplement. These are the classic, central deconstructionist themes.”[i] Eliot’s perspicacity as well as his proximity to the intellectual avant-garde of his day granted him the foresight to predict the course of the intellectual currents of the twentieth century. Through his thorough of early semioticians like Charles S. Peirce and Josiah Royce while researching and writing his doctoral dissertation at Harvard University Eliot was able to anticipate important later developments in hermeneutics and semiotics.[ii]
Whereas Jacques Derrida, Michel Foucault, and other postmodern theorists saw the direction of their thought as a “liberating,”[iii] and therefore positive, enterprise, Eliot was deeply troubled by the implications of lack of meaning for human life and the limits of communication. Where “the average sensual man,” writes Russell Kirk, quoting Eliot’s unfinished first play Sweeney Agonistes, “could not understand the boredom and the horror of existence limited to ‘birth, and copulation, and death,’” the notion obsessed and terrified Eliot.[iv] Linked to this “horror and boredom of wearisome repetitiveness,” for Eliot, was the inability to communicate effectively.[v]
Admittedly, Eliot is not typically thought of a semiotician.[vi] At heart of semiotics, however, are questions of communication.[vii] And exploration of communication and its difficulties is a central aspect of Eliot’s work and was clearly a personal preoccupation of Eliot himself. Eliot’s meditation upon struggles in communication which consumes most of the final section of East Coker is indicative of his thought as a whole. There, Eliot writes that
. . . every attempt
Is a wholly new start , and a different kind of failure
Because one has only learnt to get the better of words
For the thing one no longer wants to say, or the way in which
One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture
Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate
With shabby equipment always deteriorating
In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,
Undisciplined squads of emotion.[viii]
Characters like J. Alfred Prufrock, for whom “it is impossible to say just what I mean,”[ix] and Harry, of the Family Reunion, who explains that “I can only speak / And you cannot hear me,”[x] express, for Eliot, a universal inability to communicate, to encode and decode messages in a manner that allows meaningful understanding between two persons.
Eliot definitively rejected the “horror and boredom” of meaninglessness, with its accompanying inability to articulate and understand, with his conversion to Christianity in 1927. This rejection of what Eliot termed “the ennui of modern life” in favor of the “significance of living” through a recognition “that what really matters is Sin and Redemption,” gave the shape to much of Eliot’s work for the last several decades of his life, including most of his dramatic works and the Four Quartets.[xi] His first, and arguably best, success in capturing this turn from meaninglessness to significance came, however, in his first dramatic success, Murder in the Cathedral, in 1935. There, all persons and events derive their significance from an ultimate transcendent signified.[xii] In Murder in the Cathedral, Eliot captured his turn toward significance in what may be tentatively termed an incarnational semiotics, a restoration of the meaning of life and language through an in-breaking of the supernatural into the mundane which fuses the signifier and the signified into a single reality.
[i] Ruth Nevo, “The Waste Land: Ur-Text of Deconstruction,” New Literary History 13, no. 3 (1982): 460–461.
[ii] Manju Jain, T. S. Eliot and American Philosophy: The Harvard Years (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 147.
[iii] Tristanne J. Connolly and Steve Clark, eds., Liberating Medicine, 1720–1835 (New York: Routledge, 2016), 6.
[iv] Russell Kirk, Eliot and His Age: T. S. Eliot’s Moral Imagination in the Twentieth Century (Wilmington: ISI Books, 2008), 112.
[v] Oscar Chenyi Lbang, “The Horrors of a Disconnected Existence: Frustration, Despair and Alienation in the Poetry of T. S. Eliot,” Wenshan Review of Literature and Culture 3, no. 2 (June 2010): 44.
[vi] Tomislav Brlek, “Polyphiloprogenitive: T.S. Eliot’s Notion of Culture,” Internet-Zeitschrift für Kulturwissenschaften, no. 15 (July 2004), (accessed June 24, 2016), http://www.inst.at/trans/15Nr/01_2/brlek15.htm.
[vii] Thomas A. Sebeok, Signs: An Introduction to Semiotics (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1994), 5.
[viii] T. S. Eliot, East Coker, V.3–11. This and all subsequent quotes from Eliot’s works of poetry are taken from The Poems of T. S. Eliot, ed. Christopher Ricks and Jim McCue, vol. 1 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2015).
[ix] T. S. Eliot, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” line 104.
[x] T. S. Eliot, The Family Reunion, 235. This and all subsequent quotes from Eliot’s dramatic works are taken from The Complete Poems and Plays, 1909–1950 (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1971).
[xi] T. S. Eliot, “Baudelaire” (1930), in Selected Prose of T. S. Eliot, ed. Frank Kermode (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1975), 235.
[xii] Michael Beehler, T. S. Eliot, Wallace Stevens, and the Discourses of Difference (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1987), 33.
In American literature, as in American culture more generally, race has played a central role not only in the sense that a great deal of literature is directed at the problems of race, racism, and race relations, but in the means by which racial differences and similarities are used as signs. Many of the tropes, commonplaces, symbols, and values used and reflected by the great American literary works written by white authors, as Toni Morrison writes, are “in fact responses to a dark, abiding, signing Africanist presence” (5). The white American literary tradition—like the idea of whiteness itself, as James Baldwin (169) and others have pointed out—has in important aspects relied upon a reference to blackness and to the experience of black people in America to arrive at its self-definition (Gates, 12). The content of the idea of whiteness as a racial concept, then, is derived from blackness both as it differs and defers, and vice versa. Borrowing Jacques Derrida’s (78) French neologism différance to describe the simultaneous differing and deferring of signs, scholars such as Ellen T. Armour (62), Ryan Simmons (84), and others have used the term racial différance to describe this mutual derivation of meaning through juxtaposition in the black/white binary. It is this binary and the racial différance it feeds from and creates anew that informs the use of African Americans and of blackness as signifiers for white characters as well as white and black readers in the works of Flannery O’Connor.
O’Connor’s 1955 short story “The Artificial Nigger” serves as an illuminating example of her use of racial différance in its use of African Americans as a sign by which white characters attain greater self-understanding, a common theme in O’Connor’s stories. O’Connor’s identity as a white Southern woman and a practicing Catholic produced in her a complex relationship with her region’s history and legal and cultural dictates on the relationship of the races to each other. On the one hand, as she wrote in a letter to a close friend in 1957, she “became an integrationist” after witnessing African American bus riders insulted by the driver as they made their way to the back of a segregated Georgia bus (1988, 253). On the other hand, however, she refused the request of a more militantly integrationist friend, Maryat Lee, to meet with the African American author James Baldwin, fearing that “it would cause the greatest trouble and disturbance and disunion” (329). While expressing admiration for Baldwin’s work and admitting that “it would be nice to meet him” in New York, O’Connor explained that she would not violate Southern custom by meeting with a black man in Georgia. In another letter to Lee five years later, O’Connor expresses a more sour opinion of Baldwin, writing, “about the Negroes, the kind I don’t like is the philosophizing prophesying pontificating kind, the James Baldwin kind” (580). In the same letter, however, she expresses admiration for Martin Luther King, Jr. (“King I don’t think is the age’s great saint but he’s at least doing what he can do & has to do”) and Muhammad Ali (“Cassius is too good for the Moslems”). As Sally Fitzgerald, O’Connor’s friend and the compiler of her letters, explains in her preface to O’Connor’s collected letters in The Habit of Being, O’Connor “never thought” in terms of “large social issues” like the Civil Rights movement, choosing instead to focus both her work and her thought more generally upon what she saw as the higher and eternal issues of salvation and damnation (O’Connor 1988, xviii–xiv).
O’Connor subsumed her own complex relationship with racial différance under the more central, spiritual concerns of her fiction, often introducing black characters as a sign which will become the means of grace for the white central characters. As Nicholas Crawford (3) observes, “these characters wear masks, and their unreadability actually corresponds to a failure of self-recognition on the part of the white principals.” This unreadability also reflects O’Connor’s inability to, as she put it, “get inside their heads,” in her interactions with African Americans (O’Connor 1988, xix). O’Connor’s characters’ (and O’Connor’s) inability to understand the internal worlds of the African Americans with whom they interact allows the black characters to function as signs for greater self-illumination on the part of the white characters. The black characters, then, become a means of grace for the white characters, though this does not in any of O’Connor’s stories lead to a greater understanding between members of the two races (Crawford, 3–4).
The jocko figure encountered by Mr. Head and Nelson at the conclusion of “The Artificial Nigger,” which O’Connor described as her favorite of her own works and “probably the best thing I’ll ever write” (1988, 209), is an especially illuminating example of this motif as it appears in O’Connor’s works. In this case, the black “person” who acts as a means of grace and who is also the eponymous character in fact has no head to “get inside” of, given that it is a statuette. Mr. Head’s off-color joke about the statue, offered even as the grace given through the statue acts upon his soul, highlights his unchanged racial attitudes. “They ain’t got enough real ones here. They got to have an artificial one,” he jests in lieu of “a lofty statement” of explanation to his grandson (O’Connor 1971, 296). As Anthony Di Renzo (9) insightfully comments on this passage, through O’Connor’s juxtaposition of religious awe and low humor, “we are asked to seriously consider the possibility that a plaster lawn jockey is also a crucifix.” Like a real crucifix, it must be remembered that the plaster lawn jockey, to be meaningful both within the story and without, is a symbol of the real suffering of real human beings. O’Connor (1988, 78) wrote in a letter just after the initial publication of “The Artificial Nigger,” “What I had in mind to suggest with the artificial nigger was the redemptive quality of the Negro’s suffering for us all.”
Mr. Head had himself taken part in causing this suffering. Before their trip to the city, he tells Nelson that “there hasn’t been a nigger in this county since we run that one out twelve years ago” (O’Connor 1971, 252). In a reversal of W. E. B. Du Bois’s idea of double-consciousness, Mr. Head and Nelson find themselves lost in a black neighborhood in the city, observed with curiosity by its residents: “Black eyes in black faces were watching them from every direction” (260). Du Bois (1986, 364) describes the double-consciousness of African Americans in The Souls of Black Folk as “this sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity.” This mark of the African-American experience becomes the experience of the white grandfather and grandchild. Seeing himself through the contempt and pity of his black observers, “Nelson was afraid of the colored men and he didn’t want to be laughed at by the colored children” (O’Connor 1971, 261). Having forgotten their lunch on the train, they are tired, thirsty, and hungry strangers in the city, linking them symbolically to the hungry, thirsty, and tired strangers with whom Christ identifies in Matthew 25:44–45. Their situation also links them to the experiences of African Americans in the segregated South, like the black man whom Mr. Head participated in excluding from his rural county. In a passage of his 1963 “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” which may consciously draw upon the description of the final judgment in Matthew 25:31–46, Martin Luther King, Jr. (69–70) describes the hardships and indignities endured by African Americans in the segregated South. Included in his list are those hardships and indignities endured by Mr. Head and Nelson: the inability to find a place that will serve them food and drinks and the inability to find a place to rest. King’s conclusion to his list of the sufferings of African Americans is particularly illuminating when applied to the situation in which O’Connor’s characters find themselves; King writes, “When you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tiptoe stances, never quite knowing what to expect next, and are plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of ‘nobodiness’—then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair” (70). Their temporary endurance of the sufferings of African Americans, while mitigated by the certainty that they are still, within the larger social context, members of the dominant racial group, acts as a means of purification before the moment of conversion. To share in the sufferings which he has caused is a form of asceticism, a penance—perhaps even a “dark night of the soul”—which Mr. Head must undergo before grace is given to him (Tropman, 97).
This motif of the suffering African American as Christ-figure recurs throughout the story. On the train, Mr. Head and Nelson encounter a black man followed by two women—a figure which calls up medieval depictions of the crucifixion of Christ featuring Mary Magdalene and the Virgin Mary at the foot of his cross. In the dining car, Mr. Head comments approvingly that “they rope them off” from the rest of the diners (O’Connor 1971, 256). Later, Mr. Head and Nelson encounter an image of the Virgin Mary in the form of “a large colored woman” (261). Nelson, a child, correctly senses her maternal symbolism and “would have collapsed at her feet if Mr. Head had not pulled him roughly away” (262). While she attempts to point the way for the lost pair of visitors like the Virgin Mary motioning toward the Christ-child in church paintings, Mr. Head once again participates in the exclusion and suffering of those who will bring about his redemption and salvation.
The title of the work itself works to implicate the (ostensibly, white) reader in this suffering. Joyce Carol Oates (2009) has noted that “The Artificial Nigger,” in spite of being one of O’Connor’s best short stories, is “virtually unteachable as a consequence of its blunt pseudo-racist title.” The controversy over the story’s title began, as Tison Pugh (584) explains, even before its publication. “John Crowe Ransom, the editor of the Kenyon Review, suggested that she change the title to avoid ‘insult[ing] the black folk’s sensibilities,’” Pugh explains, citing Sally Fitzgerald’s account of the exchange. Far from being an example of racial insensitivity, however, O’Connor’s refusal of Ransom’s suggestion to change the title of “The Artificial Nigger” preserved and reinforced both the spiritual and social messages of the story. “To have sanitized the title would have robbed the story of its real power,” writes Ralph C. Wood (2005, 144), “the power to invert racist intention into antiracist redemption.” As she does with African American suffering and racial différance throughout the story, O’Connor uses the grotesquery of the racially charged title as a means to her spiritual end. By identifying the eponymous “artificial nigger” within the story with Christ, she revivifies the “scandal of the cross” described by St. Paul (Gal 5:11). This scandalousness—a shock registered on the part of both the ancient Jews and Romans at the notion of the God of the universe submitting to what the Roman orator Cicero described as “that most cruel and disgusting penalty” of crucifixion—is hardly registered by moderns as a result of a superficial familiarity with the image of the crucified Christ (Sheckler and Leith, 74). By revivifying the scandal of the cross and implicating the white reader in Mr. Head’s racism, she invites the reader to share in the end in Mr. Head’s conversion—a conversion which may not lead to reformed racial attitudes, but which strikes at the root of racism in the sinfulness of man (Monroe, 65).
 All four gospels mention women disciples who gather at the site of the crucifixion. See Mt 27:55–56, Mk 15:40, Lk 23:49, and Jn 19:25. Matthew and Mark mention Mary Magdalene and the Virgin Mary by name while implying that there were others. John mentions Mary Magdalene, the Virgin Mary, and another Mary by name. Luke does not list any of their names. All three synoptic gospels also claim that the women disciples accompany Jesus’s body to the tomb. Matthew and Mark again identify Mary Magdalene and the Virgin Mary specifically while Luke offers no names. See Mt 27:61, Mk 15:47, and Lk 23:55. All four gospels also claim that Jesus’s woman disciples were the first to see him risen when they came to his tomb early on Sunday morning. Matthew names the women at the tomb as Mary Magdalene and what may be Jesus’s mother the Virgin Mary; Mark identifies Mary Magdalene and the Virgin Mary; Luke identifies Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and the Virgin Mary; and John mentions only Mary Magdalene by name. See Mt 28:1, Mk 16:1, Lk 24:10, and Jn 20:1. It is common for medieval and later Catholic depictions of the crucifixion to feature only two women, Mary Magdalene and the Virgin Mary. Depictions of the crucifixion with only the Virgin Mary and the apostle John at Jesus’s side are also common. See Roberts 2014, 194.
Armour, Ellen T. Deconstruction, Feminist Theology, and the Problem of Difference: Subverting the Race/Gender Divide. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999. Print.
Baldwin, James. “On Being White . . . And Other Lies.” First published 1984. In The Cross of Redemption: Uncollected Writings, edited by Randall Kenan, 166–70. New York: Vintage Books, 2011. Print.
Crawford, Nicholas. “An Africanist Impasse: Race, Return, and Revelation in the Short Fiction of Flannery O’Connor.” South Atlantic Review 68, no. 2 (Spring 2003): 1–25. Print.
Derrida, Jacques. Writing and Difference, translated by Alan Bass. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1978. Print.
Di Renzo, Anthony. American Gargoyles: Flannery O’Connor and the Medieval Grotesque. Carbondale and Edwardsville, IL: Southern Illinois University Press, 1995. Print.
Du Bois, W. E. B. The Souls of Black Folk. First published 1903. In W. E. B. Du Bois: Writings, edited by Nathan Huggins, 357–547. New York: Literary Classics of the United States, 1986. Print.
Gates, Henry Louis. “Race”, Writing, and Difference. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999. Print.
King, Martin Luther, Jr. “Why We Can’t Wait.” First Published 1963. In Why We Can’t Wait, 64-84. New York: New American Library, 2000. Print.
Monroe, W. F. “Flannery O’Connor’s Sacramental Icon: ‘The Artificial Nigger.’” South Central Review 1, no. 4 (Winter 1984): 64–81. Print.
Oates, Joyce Carol. “The Parables of Flannery O’Connor.” The New York Review of Books, April 9, 2009. http://www.nybooks.com/articles/2009/04/09/the-parables-of-flannery-oconnor/. Web. March 28, 2017.
O’Connor, Flannery. The Habit of Being. Edited by Sally Fitzgerald. New York: Farrar, Straus, Giroux, 1988. Print.
———. The Complete Stories. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1971. Print.
Pugh, Tison. “Chaucer’s Rape, Southern Racism, and the Pedagogical Ethics of Authorial Malfeasance.” College English 67, no. 6 (July 2005): 569–86. Print.
Roberts, Helene E. Encyclopedia of Comparative Iconography: Themes Depicted in Works of Art. London: Routledge, 2014. Print.
Sheckler, Allyson Everingham, and Mary Joan Winn Leith. “The Crucifixion Conundrum and the Santa Sabina Doors.” Harvard Theological Review 103, no. 1 (January 2010): 67–88. Print.
Simmons, Ryan. Chesnutt and Realism: A Study of the Novels. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2006. Print.
Tropman, John E. The Catholic Ethic in American Society: An Exploration of Values. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1995. Print.
Wood, Ralph C. Flannery O’Connor and the Christ-Haunted South. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing, 2005. Print.
Foster here offers a very approachable, very readable introduction to a deep reading of literature. He has taken the methods and theories taught in literature courses in universities and applied by professional literary critics and packaged them in a short and entertaining book. What is contained in that book will, of course, sometimes seem overly simplistic to those already well-read in the subject but the product is a great little introduction for those new to the subject and/or who do not plan on becoming experts.
Naguib Mahfouz’s short story “Zaabalawi” exhibits the qualities of both the traditional allegorical stories often told in the mystical traditions of many religions as well as the dreamlike tales of twentieth century existentialists such as Franz Kafka. In bringing together these two streams of thought, Mahfouz establishes himself directly in the line of religious existentialists such as Soren Kierkegaard and especially the storytellers of that tradition, the most remarkable of whom is probably Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Mahfouz also brings a unique element to this synthesis of mysticism and existentialism in drawing upon the contents of his Islamic heritage to present a story that is both universal in its meaning and yet unique Islamic in its content.
The character from whose perspective the story is told is never explicitly identified by name. As with other stories which stand in the existentialist strain, the identity of the main character as an individual person is unnecessary and perhaps evens a dangerous distraction. Rather, the story itself is a means by which the reader can enter into the subjectivity of another. The main character has no individual identity; the reader is expected to identify himself or herself with that character. In this story, the character is suffering from “that illness for which no one possesses a remedy.” Although ailment remains unexplained and undefined throughout the story, it is clear that the reader is expected to identify with it; it is the universal human condition identified by Kierkegaard as “the sickness unto death,” a state of despair at the meaninglessness and ennui that permeate human life.
The main character of the story, and the reader through him, sets out on a desperate search to find Zaabalawi, the only one who can heal his affliction. Although Zaabalawi is identified as a holy man and sheikh, it is clear from what is said about him that he stands as a symbol of God. The first sentences of the story, in which the character explains why he decided to search for Zaabalawi, make this connection clear. He explains that “the first time I had heard of his name had been in a song.” The connection with Islamic worship practices, in which prayers are generally recited in song and chant, makes the identification of Zaabalawi with God obvious.
The ensuing search for Zaabalawi consists of a number of short scenes in which the main character questions various characters concerning the nature and whereabouts of Zaabalawi. Each of these characters represents a group in Islamic society and their stereotyped reactions to and thoughts on God. A businessman, for instance, exhibits little interest in Zaabalawi and even seems to imply he may be dead, a parallel with Friedrich Nietzsche’s famous exclamation on the death of God, that is, the irrelevance and unsustainability of the idea of God in the modern mind. Similarly, a theologian who is questioned about Zaabalawi responds to the main character by drawing a complex map the character is unable to understand, a scene which conjures the famous words of Thomas Aquinas, a Medieval monk who is one of Christianity’s most prolific and influential theologians. Late in his life, he experienced a mystical vision which caused him to state to his companions that “all that I have written seems like straw compared to what has now been revealed to me,” after which statement he never wrote again. In other words, the both Aquinas and Mahfouz reject the complicated conjecture and theory of the academic theologians in favor of a direct approach to God through mysticism. Interestingly, all of the characters who is featured in this series of scenes exhibit a felt absence of someone who is very important to their lives. Although not all of them are willing to acknowledge the importance of this person to their lives, each clearly feels that something is lacking because of this person’s absence.
After a series of such encounters, the main character finally has a direct mystical experience of Zaabalawi/God. In line with many mystical traditions from around the world, including the Sufi tradition of Islam, this experience is presented as a state of intoxication and a kind of stupor. The main character experiences a “deep contentedness” and “ecstatic serenity” as well as ontological unity with the cosmos. The disorientating imagery used by Mahfouz to describe the experience, including phrases such as “the world turned round about me and I forgot why I had gone there,” is reminiscent of the practice of whirling famously associated with certain groups of Sufis.
Following his experience, the main character is unaware that he has had a direct experience of Zaabalawi. He becomes more determined in his search. Mahfouz’s conclusion once again brings together the mystical and existential in his thought. The main character confides that he sometimes doubts Zaabalawi’s very existence and yet he asserts that he is unable to go on without him. His search for Zaabalawi, he concludes, must continue.