Pietro Ferrua is a former professor of foreign languages at Lewis & Clark College in Portland, Oregon and founder of the International Center for Research on Anarchism.

Many intellectuals, in the course of history, have raised the question of the essence of literature, its goal, its value. The late French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre went further in this direction and asked himself what literature could do for the reader: that is to say, for human beings. His partly unanswered question is still valid. If no satisfactory reply was found by Sartre that could generate total consent it is perhaps due to the fact that literature means something different for each generation and possibly for each individual. No theory is more convincing than any other, and literature is subject to so many influences -- frequently exterior to it -- that it is difficult, at times, to assess where literature, conceived as fiction, starts, and where it ends. How much philosophy, psychology, sociology, etc. can be contained into literature without it betraying its artistic function?

Ferrua as spectacle trainer

If literature is a form of art -- as I think it is -- does this mean that only its formalistic aspects are to be taken into consideration in evaluating its importance? Or is the message present in (or absent from) it that is to be taken as a parameter of judgment?

To answer this question one should first examine how literature was born and grew through the history of humanity, how it defined itself, how it inspired itself, forming a tradition, constituting schools, creating genres, and so on. The phenomenon of literary creation is a relatively recent one -- it is only about 50 centuries old -- which means nothing when compared to the existence of humans on earth or the origin of the universe itself. Scientists tell us that the world has been in existence for billions of years, but however exciting this might be to a chemist, a physicist or a biologist, it is of very little importance from a human point of view. Paleontologists and anthropologists then tell us that traces of humans have been found as far as two or three million years ago (give or take one million years, what difference does it make from a human perspective?). These millions of years might excite archaeologists but they still mean very little to us. Human history -- whether we like it or not -- begins only from the moment we humans have started a more elaborate way of communication than the gesture and the sign or the uttering of onomatopoeic sounds. Human history becomes relevant (and is known to us) and worthy of being recorded only when it creates something meaningful that managed to transcend the life of its own author.

Literature probably had lived in an oral form during many centuries before it became known to us through tablets and papyri. Linguistic historians have evidence of the existence of many languages that have disappeared without leaving enough of a trace, if any. The languages that have survived are only those that were able to affirm and consolidate themselves through literary creation. One often hears said that civilization has created literature and that the more people were civilized the more literate they became. I hope that I will not be considered sacrilegious if I invert the formula and propose that civilization is not the cause but the product of literature and one only remembers with nostalgia those civilizations that have reached a supreme degree by virtue of some form of artistic accomplishment, usually literary. Each civilization, moreover, defines itself by the kind of art that expresses it. Retrospectively, we judge those past civilizations by the emphasis given to the genre in which they chose to express themselves.

Until paleographists or epigraphists discover some new "documents", Ptahhotep is credited to be the very first writer in the history of humanity. For some authors priority is given to Kagemni. Both are believed to have lived during the fourth Egyptian dynasty, during which the pyramids were constructed. Their writings (or what remains of them) are eminently didactic and their goal is teaching some moral or other value. Kagemni is more preoccupied by teaching manners (how to behave at the table and in the company of gluttons and drunkards) while Ptahhotep is more inclined towards social and psychological justice (even slaves can be wise, according to him) but also develops very sophisticated philosophical thoughts. When he says that "no one can reach the bottom of knowledge," he also gives, already, a view of the complexity of culture and the subtlety of mind. If we compare the Egyptian to the Chinese tradition, what do we obtain as a result? The latter's first known book, Chou King, ("written" between the 24th and 23rd centuries BC) is a manual of philosophy, geography, history, and political science. The distinction between literature (fiction) and other aspects of culture was very slight in the first few centuries, and it might very well be that a reassessment according to modern standards would place some of the above-mentioned books in a category different than literature. But, again, before performing such a division or subdivision, we would have to define what we mean, exactly, by "literature." Since no answer in this domain can be definitive, we would have to accept what tradition proposes to us as literature. In any case, the history of culture is filled with important books that are tangential to literature because they deal with specific topics but are still considered "literature" if not "fiction, just because of the style used in writing them. For example, the inscriptions (engraved on stone, statues and terra-cotta cylinders) of Goudea, Prince of Lagash, in the Sumerian tradition (23rd century BC), parts of the Rig Veda (India, 20th-16th centuries BC) or the Torah in the Hebrew tradition are books of religious fervor and content or intention, but they became and also remained literary works due to their structure, lyricism and/or other stylistic aspects.

This holds true for less ancient works. All national literature contain essays and treaties conceived for a special purpose but whose destiny and public reception became literary by virtue of the quality of the writing, no matter what the initial intention was. I could cite innumerable examples from the past or show the alternation of aspects throughout history without changing the data of the result, i.e. the close relationship between literature and all aspects of culture and society.

Another relevant question that should be asked at this point is whether literature is a reflection of society, a repository of facts and ideas, a mirror of the aspirations of humankind or a manual of behavior, or all of these together, none of these, a little of everything, more than these, less than these. Which leads to another set of questions on how to read, what to read, who should read what, etc. These are not irrelevant questions; on the contrary, they are vital when one is a professor, a director of conscience, a parent or even just a concerned reader.

It is already difficult to decide what we should read (time is scarce; we have to make a choice. Not everyone has enough intuition or other rational or instinctive reasons to be able to avoid useless readings). The question becomes dramatic when one has to choose for someone else. Is the common dictum "What is good for the goose is good for the gander" valid for the choice of readings? Probably not. The lover of gothic novels probably will be bored to death by a labyrinthine short story by Jorge Luis Borges. What to choose is as difficult as what to discard. Should we censor readings? Besides being immoral, this might be dangerous. Let me give some examples. Henry Miller is known as a pornographic writer. She/he who would banish him systematically from his/her shelves would be deprived of discovering The Smile at the Foot of the Ladder, which is, for me, one of the most sublime books in the history of literature. On the other hand, we might remember that Jean-Jacques Rousseau did not want adolescents to be exposed to the Bible, which he considered a book for mature persons only. Should we put Goethe's Werther in the hands of a young man who is depressed due to an unhappy love? When the book was published, it appears that it was indeed followed by a wave of suicides. The same happened when some young people read Musset in romantic 19th-century France, and again when they discovered Camus and/or Sartre in the '40s. Hence the responsibility of the writer. Should we be ourselves and not care about the results or write only what the public is ready to accept and digest without commotion? Strangely enough, Sartre, who believed in collective responsibility and who held Flaubert responsible for the massacre against the 1870 Paris Commune's followers for not having denounced the repressions, never felt responsible for depriving his young readers of hope by depicting a society filled with traitors, sadists, cowards and murderers. Do we write what we want, or what we are allowed or expected to write and, more important, do we measure the consequences of what we write?

Is the responsibility (social, moral, political) of the writer the same as that of the scientist perfecting weapons of destruction (let's think of Einstein and Oppenheimer, to mention but two dramatic cases)? Is destruction by literature more benign or subtle? Is William Burroughs responsible for the diffusion and cult of drugs in American society or is he just a crazy or refined (your choice) literate whom we need not choose as a literal example to be followed? Is literature imitating life, or vice versa? Or is literature independent and unrelated to life?

The Italian dramatist Pirandello perceived a dichotomy between life and literature and conceived the latter (a form of art) as superior to life itself. For the French novelist Robbe-Grillet, art (literature) is but a lie. The Romanian philosopher Lupascu wrote an entire essay on the concept of art as artifice, pure invention. The Italian contemporary apostle of non-violence, Danilo Dolci, used to look suspiciously at novelists (he may have changed his mind since becoming a distinguished poet himself, studied in university curricula) whom he considered just "literates". There is a prejudice against literature in some countries, in some social classes, in some circles. The same holds true between scientists and humanists, a modern antinomy that was unknown during the Renaissance when the ideal of the perfect human was someone who was versed in sciences as well as in letters and arts and, moreover, was endowed with a moral conscience.

One might be tempted, notwithstanding, to consider that the sciences are more important to humanity than arts and letters, at best a pastime for the idle. But this may not be true. Sciences deal with species, humanities deal with individuals. Sciences deal with statistics (so many men and women, old and young, blacks and whites, level of cholesterol, chances of car accidents), literature deals with characters, singular and inimitable. Sciences assimilate us to animals (experiments on guinea pigs are adapted to humans), literature deals with archetypes or credible personae. There are dimensions in human beings that sciences are still unable to unravel. Michelangelo understood this. So did Leonard and Einstein, Pascal and Albert Schweitzer. The higher the level of knowledge, the lesser the distance between sciences and humanities.

The nature and function of literature are just different than that of science. Both domains should be integrated in favor of a better understanding of the mystery of humanness.

So far, I have accumulated questions and given few answers. I could, at this point, withdraw from the dialectic game under the pretext that giving responses is not the mission of literature and quote someone (giving a list of authoritative critics, writers and philosophers who said it) to support my thesis, but I want to gamble (for once) and propose some conclusions, however fragile they may be.

If we look at the past, we can easily ascertain that literature has been as diverse as is life itself. In it we can find relevant or even extraordinary information on the past of humankind. We can learn about the history, geography, ethics, gastronomy, sexology, fashion, politics, economics, sociology, etc. of the period. Besides, this, and all the factual elements contained in the et cetera that could fill pages and pages, there is still more. There are the aspirations of people, there are the reasons that propelled people into actions of love, hate, pity, war, sympathy, friendship, piety, rage, devotion, and so on. A myriad of characters which we put together while playing with a puzzle on history. A little mosaic is missing here and there, but we have built one global character, one of humanity who is painfully searching for itself and pursuing some truths, perhaps some caprices. The portrait is unfinished and each one of us is trying to complete it in our own way. Like the bees of the French philosopher Montaigne, we suck flowers here and there, where we find them, those we like. They cease to be thyme or marjoram and they become our own honey. This honey does not taste as like any other honey. It is ours, different than all others.

There is no more past. Literature abolishes time. All past characters are present to us and serve us as examples (to imitate or to avoid), whether they were kings or blind beggars playing the lyre. Literature has crystallized them forever for us. When we push the right button of our cerebral computer, here they come, for our pleasure or edification.

Am I delirating when I attribute so much power to literature? If you think that I am exaggerating, that indeed literature cannot do that much, consider, then, the Bible, and, let's say, the Little Red Book by Mao Tse Tung. I don't mean to compare them, but the former changed the course of civilization and the latter tried. This shows how influential some literary works can become. This does not mean anything more than it means. Quantity is not a criteria for quality. The second or third most-read author in the world is Agatha Christie, but no one (or just a few) has taken her literally and gone around killing people. Which shows that people can also discern, despite what some arrogant critics say, and know which literature is to be taken as a model for real life.

Once it is established that literature of the past performs a multifaceted and useful role, it remains to be proved that literature can also do something for the future and/or the present.

The prophetic gift of the artist is something that has been reiterated by many observers. One of the most striking examples in my life was an exhibition I visited in Switzerland more than forty years ago. It was called "Science and Abstract Art" (or something similar). It showed a series of modern paintings and sculptures of Matisse, Max Bill, Jackson Pollock, Mark Tobey, Henry Moore, etc. To the side was a reproduction of something (e.g. crystals of Vitamin C) photographed in polarized light with the use of the electron microscope. These pictures were magnified 100 times. The artist did not know -- and could not have known -- the micro-element, invisible to the naked eye, but s/he "foresaw" it in his/her imagination. Didn't Kafka, Orwell and many other writers foresee the future? Don't we have enough examples of how an artist or a writer imagine what will become the truth?

But without speculating what might become true, let's focus on what literature can do for us now, today, in this moment. It can entertain us, teach us, console us -- this alone would suffice to justify it. Moreover, literature can give us a reason for living, help us understand ourselves and others, guide us in the quest for values, deepen our grasping of the main components of life: love, pain, metaphysical worries. How human a yardstick!