Reading in the Shadow of the Law

"In the middle of our life's path
I found myself in a dark forest
Where the straight way was lost."
Inferno

There was a time when the forests covering Europe provided a home for vagabonds and outlaws, outside the king's grasp.  Nevertheless these forests were considered property of the monarch, and so under the canopy and out of sight, outlaws lived in the shadow of the law. 

In every institution, especially religious ones, there are forms of normative discourse, proper ways to read and expound texts.  "Normative" could be replaced with "dominant" in the previous sentence because as we know the -normative is- by virtue of coercion and power.  This coercion and power may take many forms.  Think of this normativity as the clearings and cultivated land of the kingdom.  Here the king may bring his full power to bear on the inhabitants of these open spaces, open to his force and to his gaze.  In such places the reading of a text has a genealogy, a tradition.  Interpretation and explication is grounded in this tradition, and is known as "received" or "majority." 

The wilderness has long been a place of refuge.  It is the oldest form of sanctuary, the sylva sacrosancta, the inviolable wood.  It is both a place of shelter and of madness.  In it the most powerful forces of chaos lurk, the savage, the beast, the wildman.  Here too the gods and a host of spirits dwell unseen.  A chance encounter with these may lead to terrible things indeed.  While some may travel into the forest out of necessity, others may do so for adventure.  The forest has claimed these as well, turning some mad, killing others.  Some, like Tristan or Lancelot, endured their madness and returned to civilization triumphant over the forces of the forest. 

Here in the shadows of the trees, in the shadow of the law, we sit down to read and write.  We cannot dwell here long lest the gods drag us into the darkness, lest we be punished for our own presumption.  Yet we do not come here merely for adventure.  When we return to civilization we will remember, and we will not think we have overcome the ancient sylva sacrosancta like these others.  We will not forget that along the edge of every civilization the forest lies in wait, as outside the walls of Rome or the stockades of the New World, to reclaim what was once its own.  We will respect the law, but we will not allow it a purchase on our soul.  And yet we must resist the urge to abandon ourselves to the forest, for this is another kind of madness, one in which we are liable to be torn to shreds.  Can we dance with Dionysos without falling prey to his Bacchae?