The Intentional Fallacy by W.K. Wimsatt and Monroe C. Beardsley, & Cousin Nancy by T.S. Eliot

This one is blessedly straightforward: we cannot know what an author intended, and thus we cannot use their intention as a basis from which to understand or criticize their art. 

On the one hand it seems so obvious as to be trivial. None of us ever has real access to the mind of another. We try to approximate it in different ways, and art is one of those ways, but art doesn't fully bridge the gap. 

Yet the more Wimsatt and Beardsley lay their argument out the more clear it is that the idea of "the artist's intention" is baked deeply into how we talk about art. There's one bit in the essay I found particularly notable where they lay out some "Passwords of the Intentional School," and oppose them with "More precise terms of evaluation."

Passwords of the Intentional School	More Precise Terms of Evaluation
Sincerity Fidelity Spontenaity Authenticity Genuineness Originality	Integrity (As in how it holds together presumably, not in the sense of personal ethics) Relevance Unity Function Maturity Subtlety Adequacy

Another point I found compelling was the outlay of three different sorts of evidence one could use to determine meaning of something in a poem:

1. That which is publicly known. Language, the meanings of words, the way the world works, history, literature, etc. (This is good)
2.  Hearsay about what the author was thinking about when the artwork was created. (This is bad)
3.  Knowledge about the historical and social context in which the artwork was created. Words that had different definitions, tensions between social classes, etc. (This third, secret thing, is kinda like #2, except it's good!)

— 

I'm somewhat torn on this essay. On the one hand I do find the argument presented compelling. Yet I also can't deny that the notion of focusing on intent has been key to elevating my own ability to appreciate art. A shift from "I like/dislike this" to "Was this done with intention?" has been a useful mental tool. 

Though perhaps it's only the word choice that is in conflict with the Wimsatt and Beardsley. It doesn't contradict them to say "The author made this choice. It must have had a function: can I discern that function, and if I can, does the choice that was made succeed in fulfilling that function?"

There is perhaps something awkward about dehumanizing a work of art by cutting off the bond that naturally forms between me when I appreciate art, and the artist who made it. Yet obviously, that bond is superficial, parasocial, and suspect. Not bad, but not something to be trusted when trying to determine meaning? 

Additionally, I do think hearsay about what the author was thinking about when an artwork was created can be rad, actually. I would agree that it's not authoritative, but I don't think including it in a discussion is harmful. It can often be compelling and enriching—though in fairness to Wimsatt and Beardsley this may be what they were talking about when they described Author Biography as an interesting-yet-entirely-separate-field from criticism. 

My biggest issue with this essay is the idea that the meaning of art belongs not to the author, not to the critic, but to the public. I can't really blame Wimsatt and Beardsley for how wrong they are, though. They were not living here with us at the end of history, when this idea has brought about a cultural wasteland. 

I have some awareness of the fact that this essay is foundational to The New Criticism as a school, and that The New Criticism got kinda silly. People just making shit up and calling it interpretation kinda stuff. As I understand the school currently exists in an odd place: "Not taken seriously at all within academia, yet for some reason the only school of criticism taught in high school or low-level college classes." But I'm not even talking about that. 

Appreciating art is a skill. It's a skill we should all have, like cooking, but it's a skill some people will develop to greater or lesser degrees. It's useful for society to have experts. It's useful to be able to appreciate our own cooking, yet also have easy access to really good cooking: both so we can enjoy it, and so we can get a glimpse at a path we might take to improving our own skill. 

—

Cousin Nancy

Miss Nancy Ellicott
Strode across the hills and broke them,
Rode across the hills and broke them—
The barren New England hills—
Riding to hounds
Over the cow-pasture.

Miss Nancy Ellicott smoked
And danced all the modern dances;
And her aunts were not quite sure how they felt about it,
But they knew that it was modern.

Upon the glazen shelves kept watch
Matthew and Waldo, guardians of the faith,
The army of unalterable law. 

From the second Stanza, we can get a pretty clear sense that Cousin Nancy is going out and doing stuff the older generation doesn't really approve of. This gives us some useful context for understanding the way she moves in the first stanza. She's going over barriers, to a place beyond, out of sight of home—and she breaks those barriers. Yet after she's broke them we go back to describe those barriers, and the lands she moves through: the hills are barren, she rides over cow pasture. Nancy's bold actions lack some substance. They ring a little hollow. 

(That last bit is not my own realization. I enjoyed getting the first bit on my own, but connecting the barrenness and the cow-pasture to commentary on the quality of Nancy's actions was something I learned by consulting an expert analysis. Very useful stuff!)

I am curious what "Riding to hounds" might mean. Still not sure.  

The last stanza is amusing, as it is in particularly strong conversation with The Intentional Fallacy. First, I wasn't aware that "glazen" was an old-timey way to say "made of glass." So learning that counts as that 3rd secret sort of evidence for finding meaning in a poem. 

 Second, and more notably, there's this whole bit at the end of The Intentional Fallacy specifically about Eliot. His tendency to rely heavily on allusion to other works, and also his tendency to publish his thoughts about his own poems, why he made the choices he did and such. I've got no idea who "Matthew and Waldo" are. I'd bet dollars to doughnuts Eliot had someone in mind. Probably two old poets who wrote about familial duty or feminine chastity or something. 

But to me, I am satisfied to let them simply be two male names. Avatars of masculinity who puff themselves up, yet can't do anything but watch from a perch of glass while Nancy does what she wants.