Paul Lytle: Introduction to Crossroads

Paul Lytle
A site for the writings and speakings of Paul Lytle

Introduction to Crossroads

Essays by Paul Lytle appear in:

I edited the 2002 edition of Crossroads, which is the literary journal at Houston Baptist University. Since the name of the journal was, again, "crossroads," I wanted to use the introduction to connect a legend about the devil at the crossroads (which is a pretty well-known legend and is explained in more detail in the introduction itself) with the old ideas of divine inspiration through the Muses and such. The result is the basis of my own beliefs about literature and art in general. This theory of literature will be developed in some future essays that I am currenlty researching.

There's an old blues legend involving a crossroads that has shown up in many forms over the years, sometimes in connection with a certain performer, or as part of a song or movie. The story goes like this: there is a bluesman, usually a guitarist, who wants to be a great musician, but he simply does not have the talent. Eventually, he hears that the devil is sometimes found at the meeting of two old dirt roads. The man goes there and waits, and, after a time, the devil comes to meet him, at which point the man trades his soul for unearthly musical ability.

Now, we at Houston Baptist University would likely dismiss the idea that the devil is the source of Art, and I truly doubt that the editors of the first Crossroads Literary Journal even had that legend in mind when they named it such, but the idea of the devil at the crossroads caused me to truly wonder from where Artistic inspiration is given. The Ancient Greeks might say it is from the Muses, and the Christian might say from God. And though I doubt that anyone believes the tale of the crossroads, it continues the theme that the other examples began: Art is somehow supernaturally influenced.

The very idea of inspiration suggests a spiritual process. We speak of writers having "fits" of inspiration, or a composer will say, "I was inspired at this point." Note the passive tense — there is no cause expressed in the statement. Sometimes the artist will have specific physical forms, human or otherwise, which inspire him. I, for example, tend to write better while listening to certain types of music. But the music itself is not inspiration, it is only a catalyst. Inspiration itself does not seem to be in the hands of the Artist. It is always something that happens upon him.

Ask almost anyone who engages in such endeavors about the creative process, and you will often find a supernatural element in his reply. Sometimes the Art will just not go, and sometimes the Artist cannot keep up. There is nothing physically that differs in these times: it's the same setting, the same time of day, with the same music, and, most importantly, the same Artist, but inspiration, in whatever form she takes, is missing one moment and present in another. Is it any wonder we begin to think of her in supernatural terms?

We don't have to accept the idea of the devil at the crossroads, or Muses whispering into someone's ear. In fact, these are almost certainly not the causes of great Art. Maybe inspiration is merely a mood change that we sublimate into mysticism. Maybe it comes and goes based on what the Artist had for lunch. Maybe, in the end, it is God who touches the poet's pen and the painter's brush.

No matter what the cause, the supernatural element of Art is not just in the creating, but in the end creation as well, and it is this that gives Art value. It has been said by some that Art has no place in a scientific world, but, ultimately, science has no soul, and Art does. Science will never transport the person into the bowels of a mythical land, or lift his heart into the highest heavens, or make him awe at the majesty of a lost age, or make him weep at the sheer extraordinary and magical beauty of a sunset. The word itself has no such inherent power, but the inspired word does.

There is a difference, and the difference makes Art more than a mere sum of its parts. That is something pure logic could never do.

Paul Lytle
January 2002