Tag: literary criticism

What is the primary purpose of literary criticism? Interestingly, in the Book of Judges, “judging” (ש־פ־ט (shafat) is not courtroom work. It’s all about saving and delivering. For example, David exclaims in Psalm 26:1: “Judge me, O LORD; for I have walked in mine integrity.”

Obviously, David wasn’t asking God to judge him as if on trial. He is asking God to deliver him from danger. The English word judge comes from the Latin iūdex, from iūs (right, justice) + dīcere (to speak). A judge is literally “one who speaks rightly”—one who declares the truth of a thing.

But what does it mean to speak rightly about something? For example, before Bilbo had finished composing his poem about Eärendil, Elrond told him they would all get together and “judge” it before their merrymaking.

“Elrond laughed. ‘He [Dunadan] shall be found,’ he said. ‘Then you two shall go into a corner and finish your task, and we will hear it and judge it before we end our merrymaking.”

Does Elrond mean they will gather as a panel to determine whether the poem is “good”? Hardly. That is not what happens. They gather in the Hall of Fire, where Bilbo recites the poem. It has such a profound effect on the listeners that some of them seem transported to another realm, as if under a spell.

When Bilbo finishes, the elves burst into warm applause. One elf says:

‘Now we had better have it again,’ said an Elf. Bilbo got up and bowed. ‘I am flattered, Lindir,’ he said. ‘But it would be too tiring to repeat it all.’

Clearly, this is not “judgment” in the modern sense of criticism. In Tolkien’s usage, to judge means to discern what is good, not to search for flaws.

The modern meaning of “judge” has drifted far from its roots. And the same is true of the word criticize. Today it means “to find fault.” Yet its origin tells a different story.

The word “criticize” comes from the Greek κρίνω (krínō) — to separate, distinguish, discern. In ancient times, “to criticize” meant to penetrate the surface of a thing and see it for what it truly is — to recognize and celebrate its value. True literary criticism is never about criticizing; it’s about loving.

Ironically, the discerning aspect of criticism has been lost. But a true judge is a connoisseur — one who appreciates. A true judge is a lover. To “speak aright” is to discern what is good in this and that — and to celebrate it. Only a lover has the right to judge, because only a lover can truly discern.

When criticism is separated from discernment, it never improves or transforms anyone. A desire to improve awakens only in a heart that feels appreciated. If we look only for what is wrong, nothing changes. If we look for what is right, we become true judges — we speak aright.

Was Bilbo’s poem impeccable? Not at all. He admits it himself when he explains that Aragorn insisted on adding a line about the green stone:

“He seemed to think it important. I don’t know why. Otherwise he obviously thought the whole thing rather above my head, and he said that if I had the cheek to make verses about Eärendil in the house of Elrond, it was my affair. I suppose he was right.”

True criticism is never about pointing out flaws. True criticism is the love of what has been discerned. Only what is loved can ever be improved.