Raymond Williams, "Modern Tragedy" (Book Note)

Raymond Williams’s Modern Tragedy offers a nuanced re-evaluation of the concept of tragedy by moving beyond classical definitions and situating it within the modern social, political, and cultural context. Williams argues that traditional views, largely derived from Greek drama and reinterpreted through Renaissance and later critical traditions, are insufficient to address the complexities of contemporary experience. The book questions rigid distinctions between tragedy and other literary forms and contends that the tragic is not limited to a specific structure or outcome but reflects deep tensions in human life, especially in a world marked by profound social transformations and political conflicts.

Williams begins by challenging the idealization of Greek tragedy. He critiques the tendency of earlier critics, such as Aristotle and those who followed him, to treat tragedy as a closed form governed by strict principles like the unity of action and catharsis. He acknowledges the power of these plays but emphasizes that tragedy must be understood as a response to the conditions of its time. Greek tragedies, rooted in a worldview that accepted the inevitability of fate and divine intervention, reflect a social order fundamentally different from the modern one. As society evolved, especially in the wake of the Enlightenment and modernity, the tragic shifted from metaphysical concerns to reflect secular anxieties about human freedom, alienation, and social injustice.

One of Williams's central ideas is that modern tragedy cannot be adequately understood without reference to historical change. The industrial revolution, the rise of capitalism, and the accompanying transformations in human relationships have introduced new conflicts that require different forms of expression. In the modern world, individuals no longer struggle against fate or divine forces but against social systems and ideological constraints. This shift has led to the emergence of what Williams calls a “tragic vision” that reflects the sense of fragmentation, alienation, and moral ambiguity in modern life. Rather than focusing solely on the downfall of a heroic individual, as in classical tragedy, modern tragedy often explores the collective suffering of ordinary people trapped within oppressive structures.

Williams also discusses the influence of political ideologies on the development of modern tragedy. He emphasizes that modern drama reflects the contradictions inherent in capitalist societies, where human relationships are often reduced to economic transactions. The tragic in this context lies not in the inevitable downfall of individuals but in the dehumanizing effects of systems that alienate people from their labor, their communities, and even themselves. For Williams, the works of playwrights like Henrik Ibsen, Bertolt Brecht, and Arthur Miller exemplify this new tragic form. These writers, in different ways, engage with the social and political issues of their time, revealing the tensions between personal desires and collective responsibilities.

A significant part of Modern Tragedy is Williams’s critique of the notion of tragedy as an isolated, aesthetic experience. He argues that the traditional view of tragedy as a genre that produces catharsis through pity and fear is limited and inadequate for addressing the complexities of modern life. In contrast to this view, Williams proposes that modern tragedy should be seen as a way of understanding and confronting the contradictions of the modern world. It is not just a literary form but a mode of thought that helps us grapple with the fundamental dilemmas of existence. By focusing on ordinary people and everyday conflicts, modern tragedy offers a more democratic and inclusive vision, rejecting the elitism implicit in classical notions of heroic suffering.

Williams also draws attention to the relationship between tragedy and hope. While many traditional theories of tragedy emphasize the inevitability of suffering and the impossibility of escape, Williams suggests that modern tragedy contains a potential for renewal and transformation. This does not mean that modern tragedies offer simple solutions or happy endings; rather, they acknowledge the possibility of change even in the face of overwhelming odds. Williams identifies this element of hope in the works of playwrights who engage critically with their social contexts, challenging the status quo and imagining alternative possibilities. In this sense, modern tragedy is not just a reflection of despair but a call to action, urging audiences to confront the realities of their world and to work towards change.

The book also explores the differences between tragedy and other forms of literature, particularly comedy and melodrama. Williams argues that these genres, while distinct, often overlap in significant ways. Comedy, for example, can contain elements of the tragic by exposing the absurdity and contradictions of human existence. Similarly, melodrama, though often dismissed as a lesser form, can express a sense of moral outrage and emotional intensity that resonates with the themes of tragedy. Williams’s analysis challenges the rigid boundaries between genres, suggesting that the tragic vision can be found across a wide range of literary and dramatic forms.

One of the key insights of Modern Tragedy is its emphasis on the interplay between individual and collective experiences. Williams argues that modern tragedy often portrays the tension between personal desires and social obligations, highlighting the ways in which individuals are shaped by their social environments. This tension is particularly evident in the works of playwrights like Ibsen, whose characters struggle to reconcile their personal aspirations with the expectations of society. The tragic, in this context, lies not in the failure of individuals to achieve their goals but in the recognition that their desires are constrained by social forces beyond their control.

Williams’s discussion of tragedy also extends beyond the realm of literature to include historical events and social movements. He argues that certain historical moments, such as revolutions and political uprisings, can be understood as tragic in the sense that they involve profound conflicts between opposing forces. These events often reflect the same tensions that underpin modern tragedies: the struggle between freedom and oppression, hope and despair, progress and regression. By framing history in this way, Williams invites readers to see tragedy not as a static genre but as a dynamic process that unfolds in both art and life.

 

Ralph Waldo Emerson, "The Over-Soul"

"The Over-Soul" is the ninth essay in Ralph Waldo Emerson's Essays from 1841, and it provides important insights into his beliefs about God. In this essay, Emerson expresses his idea that God exists within each person and that we can connect with this divine presence without needing a church or a religious leader.

The essay starts with two poetic quotes. The first is from English philosopher Henry More's poem, "Psychozoia, or, the Life of Soul" (1647). More suggests that we are born with an innate moral character that shapes how we act throughout our lives. Today, this idea is often seen as too simple because it overlooks how a person's environment and upbringing influence their behavior.

Emerson chose this quote because it speaks to the individual soul we all possess and the larger soul of God that encompasses all of ours. More believes that our souls—many in number—are part of God's one soul, which Emerson refers to as "the eternal One." This introduces a recurring theme in the essay: the relationship between the many and the one. While Emerson emphasizes our individual souls, he also notes that humanity is part of nature, where each object contributes to the whole, and both the many and the one are interconnected.

The second quote is a poem by Emerson himself, later titled "Unity." In this poem, he explores two main ideas. The first is the concept of duality, where certain things naturally contrast with one another, such as "east and west" or "Night and Day." Although these pairs are opposites, both are necessary for achieving wholeness. The second idea is a force that drives creation, which Emerson calls the "Over-Soul." This force is the same divine presence mentioned in More's poem, though it is unnamed there. Emerson's use of different names may be confusing, but he emphasizes that this force exists in everything—both living and non-living.

The discussion of "The Over-Soul" is organized into five sections. In the first section (paragraphs 1-3), Emerson gives a general introduction and states his goal of defining the Over-Soul. In the second section (paragraphs 4-10), he explains what this universal spirit is, noting that it can ultimately only be understood through our moral actions, not through words. The third section (paragraphs 11-15) looks at the connection between the Over-Soul and society. In the fourth section (paragraphs 16-21), he discusses how the Over-Soul is revealed to us. Finally, the essay wraps up with a look at how the Over-Soul shows itself in individuals (paragraphs 22-30).

 

In the first section of "The Over-Soul," Emerson discusses the theme of accessibility, which is familiar to readers of his other essays. He believes that God is available to everyone, whether they actively look for a personal connection to spirituality or not. Echoing Henry More's idea that moral thoughts are part of our nature, Emerson states that there is a "spirit of prophecy" present in every person. This means that God is within each soul, and each soul, in turn, honors God.

Emerson highlights the idea of the many and the one by explaining that since every person has a soul that contains God, each soul reflects the other souls in the world. He writes, "Meantime within man is the soul of the whole; the wise silence; the universal beauty, to which every part and particle is equally related; the eternal One." This means that we are all connected through our shared experience of God.

Another important idea in this section is that moral actions show what words cannot express. These actions help us understand the divine presence that Emerson keeps mentioning. He admits that he struggles to describe this power in words: "My words do not carry its august sense; they fall short and cold." Since we cannot fully grasp the God within us through language, the best way to demonstrate this presence is through our actions and character. Understanding comes from being moral individuals, whose "right action" aligns with the Over-Soul and the "common heart" we all share.

In the thesis of the essay, found at the end of the third paragraph, Emerson acknowledges that defining the Over-Soul is a challenging task. However, he expresses his intention to describe what hints of this transcendental force he has discovered in his own life and in society. Readers can appreciate the clarity of his thesis as a strong example of effective writing.

Emerson also states that the Over-Soul cannot be understood through words, so he defines it by explaining what it is not—a stylistic approach he uses throughout the essay. He says, "All goes to show that the soul in man is not an organ...is not a function...is not a faculty...is not the intellect or the will." While the soul is none of these things, it uses them for its own purposes. For instance, the soul is not an organ, but it gives life to all organs; it is not a faculty, but it utilizes all of them; and it is not the intellect or the will, but it governs them. The soul is the driving force behind right actions, but it is distinct from the functions it employs: "Language cannot paint it with his colors."

Emerson also explains that the soul can "abolish" time and space, which are concerns that limit our experiences. We often rely too much on our physical senses instead of our spiritual resources. This reliance has become so overpowering that our intuition—the part of us that connects to our spirituality—becomes ineffective. Emerson acknowledges that there are still some thoughts that transcend time, such as our appreciation of beauty. Even though each generation may define beauty differently, all of us seek what we consider beautiful. The action of searching for beauty, rather than the objects of beauty themselves, is what is truly eternal.

Emerson explains that an idea can transcend time because our souls grow through what he calls an "ascension of state." This means we understand deeper truths not through physical experiences but through our minds. As we gain insight into the spirit that connects everything in our world, we get closer to the Over-Soul. Emerson describes this deeper understanding as "the law of moral and of mental gain," emphasizing that our connection to the Over-Soul is linked to our actions. The more we embrace this divine force in our lives, the more moral we become, leading to more moral actions.

In this section, the theme of duality appears as Emerson discusses the relationship between the Over-Soul and our physical senses. This duality is significant because it shows how the Over-Soul triumphs over its opposition: "the soul's scale is one; the scale of the senses and the understanding is another. Before the revelations of the soul, Time, Space and Nature shrink away." Here, Emerson emphasizes that the soul's understanding surpasses the limitations of our physical senses.

Emerson concludes this section by reiterating what the soul is not, which helps clarify what it is. He also references the theme of childhood and virtues, which he often explores.

Next, Emerson discusses how the Over-Soul connects people and manifests in society. He suggests that God's spirit is present in every conversation: "In all conversation between two persons, tacit reference is made as to a third party, to a common nature. That third party is not social; it is impersonal; it is God." This divine presence becomes evident in groups when they recognize it, leading them to act more nobly.

The theme of accessibility is crucial here. Since each person has a soul that is part of the Over-Soul, everyone—from "the greatest person to the lowest"—is aware of God's presence during conversations. Our souls act as a connection, but we often don’t mention it because language can't fully capture its essence.

Emerson emphasizes the importance of acting authentically, without worrying about society's opinions. He urges us to express our thoughts before they are influenced by societal expectations. Although God exists within everyone, societal pressures can cause us to behave unnaturally, creating a gap between our souls and the Over-Soul, which offers itself fully, unlike those who fear inconsistency.

While Emerson asserts that God is within us, he also addresses the challenge of recognizing this presence. He refers to this recognition as Revelation, "an influx of the Divine mind into our mind." He chooses the singular "mind" instead of "minds" to highlight the connection that unites all of humanity. Emerson supports his idea of Revelation by citing examples from various religions, such as Moravianism, Calvinism, and Methodism. Despite their differences, these faiths all illustrate the Over-Soul's revelation, where "the individual soul always mingles with the universal soul" in a state of ecstatic understanding.

In this section, Emerson emphasizes the theme of action versus language. We can wonder why the world is the way it is or what happens to our souls after death, but the Over-Soul doesn’t answer these questions with words. He recalls how Christ's disciples showed God's plan through their actions, not just their words. Even though it seems natural to ask about our spiritual future, Emerson believes such questions are pointless because any answers would be beyond our understanding. He states bluntly that asking these questions is a "confession of sin" and that "God has no answer to them." Instead of worrying about the future, Emerson advises us to focus on living and taking responsible actions, as this is what will ensure our immortality.

Emerson also argues that we should not judge each other's actions. Each person is solely responsible for their own actions that lead to salvation. He indirectly criticizes Calvinism, which believes that God has already chosen who will be saved, asserting that humans are born sinful and can only find redemption through God. Emerson contrasts this belief with his own Unitarian ideas, stating that no one has the right to judge others.

In this final section, Emerson discusses how individual character reflects the Over-Soul. A person who is spiritually close to the Over-Soul has good character and performs noble acts because they are influenced by the Over-Soul. He uses the image of the Deity shining through individuals, which echoes biblical references to God as light, such as Psalm 27: "The Lord is my light and my salvation."

One of Emerson’s recurring themes is the difference between genuine and superficial learning. He explains that a scholar or poet who speaks from personal experience shares their inner truth, while one who imitates others speaks from outside themselves. The divine spirit within us is connected to the deeper meaning we feel when we encounter timeless poetry.

Emerson's belief in accessibility shines in this section. He firmly believes that every person should be rewarded for living an honest life: "But the soul that ascends to worship the great God is plain and true; has no rose-color, no fine friends, no chivalry, no adventures; does not want admiration; dwells in the hour that now is, in the earnest experience of the common day." Those who live simply will be rewarded with immortality, similar to his idea in "Self-Reliance" that those least influenced by society's distractions will lead the most fulfilling lives.

This democratic ideal, where everyone can benefit equally by shedding material temptations, is a recurring theme in Western history. A famous example is from the Sermon on the Mount: "Blessed are the poor in spirit; the kingdom of Heaven is theirs" and "Blessed are the gentle; they shall have the earth for their possession." In American literature, Emerson’s contemporary, Henry David Thoreau, echoed this in Walden, urging, "Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! I say, let your affairs be as two or three, and not a hundred or a thousand."

Emerson’s contributions to this uniquely American ideal of equality are significant. Few writers can match his ability to express powerful ideas succinctly, as seen in his statements like, "The simplest person, who in his integrity worships God, becomes God," or "Behold, it saith, I am born into the great, the universal mind. I the imperfect, adore my own Perfect."

 

E K Sedgwick, "Axiomatic" (Summary)

Eve Sedgwick's book Epistemology of the Closet explores the Foucauldian claim that "homosexuality" began around 1870, implying that individuals who preferred sex with people of their own gender were for the first time defined or identified as "homosexuals." However, Sedgwick argues that even as we try to dismantle the category "homosexual," one large model is being replaced with another, which contains a pun: we are all different from each other and we are not always the same ourselves.

Same-gender sex and different-gender sex involve a mixture of both kinds of identification. Auto-identification requires narratives that try to account for how we came to be what we are and establish what we are – though this can never be finally determined. Such narratives can also trigger further identifications by and with others. More particularly, Sedgwick implies that lesbian and gay studies need a particular mix of auto- and alloidentification if they are to remain different from, but not radically other to, each other.

Epistemology of the Closet proposes that many major nodes of thought and knowledge in twentieth-century Western culture as a whole are structured – indeed, fractured – by a chronic, now endemic crisis of homo/heterosexual definition, indicatively male, dating from the end of the nineteenth century. The contradictions discussed in the book are not between prohomosexual and anti-homosexual people or ideologies, but rather the internal incoherence and mutual contradiction of each form of discursive and institutional 'common sense' on this subject inherited from the architects of our present culture.

According to Foucaus demonstration, modern Western culture has placed sexuality in a more distinctively privileged relation to our most prized constructs of individual identity, truth, and knowledge. The language of sexuality not only intersects with but transforms the other languages and relations by which we know.

In gay and lesbian studies, the line between straining at truths that prove to be imbecilically self-evident and tossing off commonplaces that turn out to retain their power to galvanize and divide is weirdly unpredictable. In dealing with an open-secret structure, it’s only by being shameless about risking the obvious that we happen into the vicinity of the transformative.

Sedgwick  explores the concept of nonce taxonomy, which is a rich and unsystematic resource for mapping out the possibilities, dangers, and stimulations of human social landscape. It suggests that people with the experience of oppression or subordination have most need to know this, and that the writing of Proust or James would be exemplary in projects of nonce taxonomy.

Not all gay men or women are very skilled at the nonce taxonomic work represented by gossip, but it makes sense to suppose that their distinctive needs are peculiarly disserved by its devaluation. The sustained pressure of loss in the AIDS years may be making such needs clearer, as one anticipates or tries to deal with the absence of people one loves. What is more dramatic is that every theoretically or politically interesting project of postwar thought has finally had the effect of delegitimating our space for asking or thinking in detail about the multiple, unstable ways in which people may be like or different from each other.

Deconstruction, founded as a very science of difference, has both so fetishized the idea of difference and so vaporized its possible embodiments that its most thoroughgoing practitioners are the last people to whom one would now look for help in thinking about particular differences. In more familiar ways, Marxist, feminist, postcolonial, and other engagé critical projects have deepened understandings of a few crucial axes of difference, perhaps at the expense of more ephemeral or less global impulses of differential grouping.

In the particular area of sexuality, the author assumes that most of us know the following things that can differentiate even people of identical gender, race, nationality, class, and "sexual orientation" – each one of which, if taken seriously as pure difference, retains the unaccounted-for potential to disrupt many forms of the available thinking about sexuality.

Sedgwick explores the complex relationship between sex and sexuality in modern culture, arguing that they represent the full spectrum of positions between intimate and social, predetermined and aleatory, physically rooted and symbolically infused, innate and learned, autonomous and relational traits of being. It hypothesizes that there is always at least the potential for an analytic distance between gender and sexuality, even if particular manifestations or features of particular sexualities plunge women and men most into the discursive, institutional, and bodily enmeshments of gender definition, gender relation, and gender inequality.

gay/lesbian and anti-homophobic enquiry still has a lot to learn from asking questions that feminist enquiry has learned to ask, but only so long as we don't demand the same answers in both interlocutions. In comparing feminist and gay theory as they currently stand, the newness and consequent relative underdevelopment of gay theory are seen most clearly in two manifestations. First, it is now common for feminists to ask what they aren't yet used to asking as anti-homophobic readers: how a variety of forms of oppression intertwine systematically with each other, and how the person who is disabled through one set of oppressions may by the same positioning be enabled through others.

The first great heuristic breakthrough of socialist-feminist thought and the thought of women of color was the realization that all oppressions are differently structured and must intersect in complex embryodiments. This realization has as its corollary that the comparison of different axes of oppression is a crucial task, not for any purpose of ranking oppressions but to the contrary because each oppression is likely to be in a uniquely indicative relation to certain distinctive nodes of cultural organization.

The separatist-feminist interpretative framework emerged in the 1970s, which posited that there were no valid grounds of commonality between gay male and lesbian experience and identity. This view led to the perception that women who loved women were more female, and men who loved men were possibly more male than those whose desire crossed gender boundaries. The axis of sexuality was seen as coextensive with the axis of gender, and male homosexuality was often seen as the practice for which male supremacy was the theory. This gender-separatist framework implicitly and propelled a particular reading of modern gender history, dehighlighting the definitional discontinuities and perturbations between more and less sexualized, more and less prohibited, and more and less gender-identity-bound forms of female same-sex bonding.

Since the late 1970s, there have been numerous challenges in understanding how lesbian and gay male desires and identities can be mapped against each other. These challenges have emerged from the'sex wars' within feminism over pornography and S/M, which exposed a devastating continuity between a certain feminist understanding of a resistant female identity and the most repressive nineteenth-century bourgeois constructions of a sphere of pure femininity. The reclamation and relegitimation of a courageous history of lesbian transgender role-playing and identification have contributed to this renewed sense of shared histories, cultures, identities, politics, and destinies between the two groups.

The irrepressible, relatively class-non-specific popular culture, where James Dean has been as numinous an icon for lesbians as Garbo or Dietrich has for gay men, seems resistant to a purely feminist theorization. Calls for a theorized axis of sexuality as distinct from gender have developed, and the newly virulent homophobia of the 1980s reminds us that it is more to friends than to enemies that gay women and gay men are perceptible as distinct groups. The internal perspective of the gay movements shows women and men increasingly working together on mutually anti-homophobic agendas.

The contributions of lesbians to current gay and AIDS activism are weighty, not despite but because of the intervening lessons of feminism. Feminist perspectives on medicine and healthcare issues, civil disobedience, and the politics of class and race as well as of sexuality have been centrally enabling for the recent waves of AIDS activism.

It can no longer make sense to assume that a male-centered analysis of homo-heterosexual definition will have no lesbian relevance or interest. The immemorial, seemingly ritualized debates on nature versus nurture take place against a very unstable background of tacit assumptions and fantasies about both nurture and nature. The gay essentialist/constructivist debate takes its form and premises from a whole history of other nature/nurture or nature/culture debates, which assumes culture as malleable relative to nature.

  For gay and gay-loving people, every step of this constructivist nature/culture argument holds danger: it is difficult to intervene in the seemingly natural trajectory that begins by identifying a place of cultural malleability, continues by inventing an ethical or therapeutic mandate for cultural manipulation, and ends in the overarching, hygienic Western fantasy of a world without any more homosexuals in it.

Essentialist understandings of sexual identity can provide a sense of gravity and resistance to social engineering momentum in human sciences. However, this approach also reaches deeply into the life-or-death struggle that has been more or less abandoned by constructivist gay theory, which focuses on the experience and identity of gay or proto-gay children. The emotional energy behind essentialist historical work may be more about recognizing and validating the creativity and heroism of the effeminate boy or tommish girl of the 1950s or 1960s, rather than reclaiming the place and eros of Homeric heroes, Renaissance painters, and medieval gay monks.

It is becoming increasingly problematic to assume that grounding an identity in biology or "essential nature" is a stable way of insulating it from societal interference. The gestalt of assumptions that undergird nature/nurture debates may be in the process of direct reversal. The conjecture that a particular trait is genetically or biologically based triggers an oestrus of manipulative fantasy in the technological institutions of the culture. In this unstable context, the dependence on a specified homosexual body to offer resistance to any gay-eradicating momentum is tremblingly vulnerable.

The presentation of biologically based "explanations" for deviant behavior is often couched in terms of "excess," "deficiency," or "imbalance" – whether in the hormones, genetic material, or the fetal endocrine environment. If researchers or popularizers had ever referenced any supposed gay-producing circumstance as the proper hormone balance or conducive endocrine environment for gay generation, they would be less chilled by the breezes of all this technological confidence.

In this unstable balance of assumptions between nature and culture, there is no unthreatened, unthreatening conceptual home for a concept of gay origins. We have all the more reason to keep our understanding of gay origin, of gay cultural and material reproduction, plural, multi-capillaried, arguseyed, respectful, and endlessly cherished.

The most important work of history and anthropology is to defamiliarize and denaturalize not only the past and the distant, but also the present. However, this analysis is incomplete in that it has tended to refamiliarize, renaturalize, and damagingly reify an entity that it could be doing much more to subject to analysis.

The author argues that the most potent effects of modern homo/heterosexual definition stem from the implicitness or denial of the gaps between long-coexisting minoritizing and universalizing understandings of same-sex relations. This assumption has troubling implications for those living in a state where certain acts called "sodomy" are criminal regardless of gender, and the threat of juxtaposition on that prohibition against acts of an additional, unrationalized set of sanctions attaching to identity can only be exacerbated by the insistence of gay theory that the discourse of acts can represent nothing but an anachronistic vestige.

The project of the present book will show how issues of modern homo/heterosexual definition are structured, not by the supersession of one model and the consequent withering away of another, but by the relations made possible by the unrationalized coexistence of different models during the times they do coexist. The author does not involve the construction of historical narratives alternative to those that have emerged from Foucault and his followers, but rather requires a reassignment of attention and emphasis within those valuable narratives, attempting to denarrativize them somewhat by focusing on a performative space of contradiction that they both define and, themselves performative, pass over in silence.

The author's first aim is to denaturalize the present, rather than the past, in effect to render less destructively presumable "homosexuality as we know it today." This narrative is of a directly personal sort and has been experimented with to disarm the categorical imperative that seems to promote cant and mystification about motives in the world of politically correct academia.

Identification with/as has a distinctive resonance for women in the dovetailing between old ideologies of women's traditional selflessness and a new one of feminist commitment that seems to begin with a self but is legitimated only by willfully obscuring most of its boundaries. Mainstream male-centered gay politics has tended not to be structured as strongly as feminism, but there are different reasons why this problematics of identification with/as seems distinctively resonant with issues of male homo/heterosexual definition.

In conclusion, the text highlights the complex and contested nature of identity politics and the role of gender and sexuality in shaping women's identities. By understanding the dynamics of identity politics and the impact of these dynamics on women, we can better navigate the complex and often contradictory intersections of gender, sexuality, and identity.

 

 

 

Fredric Jameson, "The Antinomies of Realism"

Fredric Jameson’s The Antinomies of Realism is the third volume in his project, The Poetics of Social Forms, which attempts to outline his Marxist approach to different aesthetic forms. Preceded by Postmodernism, or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism (1991) and The Modernist Papers (2007), this work shifts focus to the realist novel, particularly its rise in the 19th century. Jameson challenges the traditional view of realism as a straightforward, transparent mode of storytelling, where an omniscient narrator presents a stable, objective world. Instead, he argues that realism is a complex historical process, containing both positive and negative aspects, whose development inevitably leads to its own decay and dissolution.

Jameson begins by exploring the nature of realism, which he sees as shaped by two conflicting ways of organizing narrative time. The first is chronological time, which he refers to as the "narrative impulse" or récit (a French term for storytelling). The second is a kind of eternal present, which he describes as the realm of "affect"—the direct, sensory experience of emotions. This distinction resembles the contrast drawn by the Hungarian Marxist thinker Georg Lukács in his essay "Narrate or Describe?", which is an important reference point for Jameson throughout the book. Lukács believed that narrative storytelling, as seen in epic writers like Walter Scott, was superior to the descriptive naturalism of authors like Émile Zola. However, Jameson shifts Lukács’ argument, viewing both narration and description as equally important and as the opposing forces that shape realism.

After laying out these ideas in his introductory chapters, Jameson presents four case studies on major realist authors—Zola, Tolstoy, Benito Pérez Galdós, and George Eliot—through which he examines the concept of "affect" in their works.

In his study of Zola, Jameson locates affect in the sensory overload of Zola’s descriptive style. Zola often overwhelms the reader with so much detail that the narrative seems to collapse under its weight. This is most evident in The Belly of Paris, where the infamous "symphony of cheeses" is described in such exhaustive detail that it breaks free from the story's context and becomes a purely sensory experience. As the descriptions of different cheeses and their odors pile up, they lose any symbolic meaning tied to the characters or plot and instead become an autonomous series of sensory impressions. Jameson argues that this sensory excess is a form of affect that disrupts the flow of the narrative, turning it into an unfolding of sense-data.

When discussing Tolstoy, Jameson identifies affect through the way Tolstoy’s characters are constantly shifting between moods—moving from expectations to disappointments, from generosity to indifference. This variability of emotion is so prominent that Jameson suggests these mood changes are the true narrative of Tolstoy’s works. The characters themselves seem to be in a constant state of distraction, which affects the structure of the story. Tolstoy’s multitude of characters and their various experiences reflect what Jameson calls a “narcissism of the other,” where the author becomes temporarily fascinated by each character, only to lose interest and move on. This scattering of attention hints at a broader trend in realism: the fading importance of the central protagonist, which Jameson explores further in his analysis of Pérez Galdós.

In the works of Pérez Galdós, Jameson identifies a loss of protagonicity, where the minor characters and subplots take over the narrative, pushing the supposed protagonists into the background. In the novel Fortunata and Jacinta, for example, the "omniscient narrator" turns out to be one of the minor characters, a friend of the protagonist Juanito. This decentralization of the protagonist reflects a broader trend in realism, where the focus shifts from individual heroes to a wider cast of characters. Jameson relates this shift to Lukács’ observations about how earlier writers like Goethe and Balzac, who actively engaged with the social issues of their time, gave way to later naturalist writers like Zola and Flaubert, who distanced themselves from societal engagement.

Jameson’s chapter on George Eliot stands out as one of the most intricate analyses in the book. He gives a Nietzschean reading of Eliot’s moral universe, arguing that her work seeks to dismantle the rigid social codes of good and evil that dominated her time. Eliot’s metaphor of the "web" of life is interpreted by Jameson as a force for "dereification"—a process that breaks down the solid, fixed categories of social life, showing that individuals only have meaning through their relationships with others. In Eliot’s novels, there are no true villains, and evil is portrayed as a relative, non-existent concept. Jameson uses Eliot’s character Tito from Romola to demonstrate how Eliot’s writing challenges the traditional binary of good and evil, and he draws on her knowledge of German philosophy to highlight the Hegelian elements in her work.

Following these case studies, Jameson turns to the question of how realism as a genre begins to unravel. He examines how realist narrative structures, such as the Bildungsroman (novel of personal development), the historical novel, and the novel of adultery, contain within themselves the seeds of their own destruction. Realism, with its emphasis on referentiality and representation, creates rigid narrative forms that eventually break down under the pressure of the very reality they seek to portray. This is especially evident in Jameson’s analysis of naturalism, where the genre’s focus on the individual’s decline and fall mirrors bourgeois fears of working-class revolt and social disorder. Jameson argues that naturalism’s conservatism lies in its inability to recognize the possibility of deep social change, instead portraying the individual’s fate as inevitable and unchangeable.

In the later chapters of the book, Jameson explores the use of pronouns and the emergence of what he calls the "swollen third person," a narrative perspective that shifts between different characters and viewpoints. He also looks at the work of Alexander Kluge, whose journalistic style of writing creates a form of realism without affect, where the boundary between fiction and non-fiction has disappeared, and fiction itself no longer functions as a meaningful category.

The second part of The Antinomies of Realism consists of three essays that explore the persistence of realist forms. In the first essay, Jameson examines the concept of providence in realist novels. He argues that providence represents a paradox: while characters believe they have freedom of action, their decisions are ultimately pre-determined by external forces. Jameson links this idea to Lukács’ notion of the synthesis between the individual and the collective, as seen in Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister. Jameson also uses Eliot’s "web" metaphor to illustrate how realist novels create a collective destiny for their characters, reinforcing the conservative, anti-political nature of the genre.

In the second essay, Jameson turns to the representation of war in realist fiction, noting how war is often portrayed as both a collective event and a subjective experience of confusion and chaos. In the third essay, he discusses the impossibility of the historical novel, arguing that realism’s focus on individual subjectivity makes it difficult to capture the true scope of historical events.

Throughout The Antinomies of Realism, Jameson frequently uses classical music as a metaphor for his literary analysis. He compares Zola’s sensory autonomy to Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde, Tolstoy’s distracted characters to Mahler’s symphonies, and the loss of protagonicity in realist novels to the death of gods and heroes in Wagner’s Ring Cycle. These musical references reinforce Jameson’s argument that realism was the dominant cultural form of 19th-century capitalism, shaping not only literature but also other forms of art and expression.

 

Cultural Studies and Evolutionary Psychology

In studying cultural evolution, it’s important to connect ideas from both science and the humanities. Cultural studies—a field that looks at social, historical, and political aspects of life—can become stronger by including scientific methods and focusing more on how humans are shaped by biology. Scholar Chris Barker argues that cultural studies should consider insights from evolutionary biology and psychology. Without this, cultural studies may miss key ideas about why people behave the way they do. Using these scientific ideas can also help improve areas like mental health therapy and new forms of spirituality based on science rather than old religious traditions.

E.O. Wilson, a leader in sociobiology, offers a biological view of culture. He explains that many human behaviors are driven by instincts that have stayed the same over time, even as societies change. For example, people still care about status and recognition, and they need to feel valued, even though modern cultures try to reduce obvious hierarchies. Wilson also points out that humans value privacy and form strong bonds with partners and children, though these relationships look different in various cultures. Other behaviors, like avoiding incest or forming groups based on shared identity (tribalism), developed as survival strategies over generations.

Wilson also believes that culture comes from the shared knowledge of many minds, with each person’s thinking influenced by both genes and social learning. As we grow, we absorb ideas from the culture around us, but biology shapes how we make choices. This connection between biology and culture shows that both work together to shape individual and social behavior.

Some key behaviors, like avoiding predators, choosing safe places to live, and finding the right mate, are essential for survival and have lasted throughout human history. While today’s dangers may be different from those faced by early humans, the instinct to avoid harm is still strong. Choosing a good environment helps individuals and communities thrive, and finding the right partner remains crucial for reproduction. These behaviors show that survival and reproduction have always been central to how humans—and their cultures—evolve over time.

One important idea in evolutionary studies is reciprocal altruism, a concept introduced by Robert Trivers. This refers to helping others with the understanding that the favor will likely be returned in the future. It’s different from pure altruism, where someone helps without expecting anything in return. Reciprocal altruism is an evolutionary strategy that encourages cooperation and strengthens social bonds, helping communities thrive.

Another key behavior is parental investment. This refers to the time, energy, and care parents give to their children, which has been essential for survival across generations. It shows both the biological and emotional commitment parents make to ensure their offspring grow and succeed.

Humans also have a natural tendency to form coalitions or groups. Working together has been crucial for survival, as communities that cooperate can achieve more than individuals working alone. These behaviors—helping others, raising children, and working in groups—have lasted throughout human history, showing how deeply connected culture and evolution are.

When comparing evolutionary psychology with sociobiology, the two fields overlap, but they focus on different things. Sociobiology looks at the biological basis of social behavior, while evolutionary psychology focuses more on how the human mind developed through natural selection. Evolutionary psychology studies how our brains evolved to process information and solve problems, especially the challenges faced by our ancestors.

Evolutionary psychology suggests that many features of the human mind were shaped to help people survive and reproduce. These mental traits, which evolved over generations, are called adaptive traits. They became part of our psychological makeup because they helped our ancestors survive through natural selection—by solving problems like finding food, choosing safe places to live, or avoiding danger. Even behaviors that seem strange today may have made sense in the past.

Tooby and Cosmides, key thinkers in evolutionary psychology, explain that the mind works like an information-processing machine, built by evolution to handle specific problems. However, this mental "machinery" is better suited to the challenges of the ancient world than those of modern life. For example, many fears and habits that helped early humans survive might not be as useful today.

Evolutionary psychologists often use a method called reverse engineering. This means they study current behaviors to figure out how they might have been helpful in the past. By looking at modern actions, they trace back to the possible reasons these behaviors evolved, helping us understand why we think and act the way we do.

An example that shows how evolutionary psychology works is the fear of spiders versus the fear of cars. Although cars are far more dangerous today, many people are still more afraid of spiders. Evolutionary psychologists explain that this happens because our ancestors needed to fear things like venomous animals to survive. Cars, on the other hand, are a recent danger, so our brains haven’t evolved to fear them in the same way. Similarly, behaviors like phobias or psychosomatic disorders (physical symptoms caused by mental stress) can be better understood by looking at how they might have helped humans in the past.

Tooby and Cosmides, two important thinkers in evolutionary psychology, explain that this field is more than just one part of psychology—it’s a framework for understanding many topics, from social behavior to how our brains work. Evolutionary psychology helps researchers explore long-standing questions about human behavior by showing how natural selection shaped the way we think and act.

Chris Barker, a cultural studies scholar, also believes that evolutionary ideas can improve cultural studies. Traditionally, cultural studies focus on history, politics, and society, staying separate from science. But Barker argues that understanding human culture requires recognizing how evolution shapes human behaviors. For example, our preferences for certain foods, differences in spatial abilities between genders, or even complex issues like suicide can be better understood through the lens of evolution.

Barker suggests that blending biology and cultural studies helps us move beyond the idea that science and humanities are completely separate. Even ideas about “nature” are shaped by culture through language and socialization. Evolutionary theory, therefore, doesn’t just explain how humans adapt biologically—it also gives us insights into cultural practices that grow out of these adaptations.

evolutionary psychology helps us understand the mind as shaped by natural selection. It shows that behaviors aren’t just cultural—they are often connected to survival strategies from our ancestors. This framework allows researchers to study both ancient problem-solving skills and modern cultural practices, revealing how biology and culture work together. By combining these fields, we gain a deeper understanding of human behavior and the cultural expressions it produces.

 

Raymond Williams, "The Long Revolution" (Book Note)

Raymond Williams' The Long Revolution is a landmark text in cultural studies, exploring the intersection of culture, democracy, and social change. It builds on his previous work, Culture and Society, by examining how cultural processes and institutions evolve over time and play a crucial role in shaping society.

Williams introduces the concept of a "long revolution," a gradual, ongoing process of social, political, and cultural transformation. He argues that this revolution is characterized by three interrelated areas of development: the democratic revolution, the industrial revolution, and the cultural revolution. The democratic revolution represents the expansion of political rights and participation; the industrial revolution reflects economic and technological changes that have reshaped labor and production; and the cultural revolution refers to the changes in communication, education, and cultural production that influence society’s values and ideas.

A central idea in The Long Revolution is the relationship between culture and society. Williams critiques the separation of culture into high and low forms, challenging the notion that culture should be restricted to elite intellectual or artistic works. Instead, he emphasizes that culture is a whole way of life, encompassing everyday practices, institutions, and beliefs that shape how people interact and make sense of the world. In this sense, culture is both produced by and a reflection of social structures.

Williams is particularly concerned with how cultural forms, such as literature, media, and education, contribute to shaping people’s consciousness and their ability to participate in democratic society. He sees cultural development as essential to the long revolution, as changes in how people communicate and share ideas play a central role in political and social progress. For instance, the rise of mass media, such as newspapers, radio, and television, significantly impacted how people understood and engaged with the world, enabling wider participation in public life.

Education is another key theme in The Long Revolution. Williams argues that education systems are central to the cultural revolution because they shape the distribution of knowledge and influence the development of critical thinking. He critiques the inequalities within education systems, particularly how access to cultural knowledge is often stratified along class lines. For Williams, democratic access to education is fundamental to creating an informed and engaged citizenry capable of participating in the long revolution.

Throughout the book, Williams emphasizes the importance of understanding culture historically. He traces the development of cultural institutions and practices, showing how they are shaped by broader social and economic changes. By examining cultural forms in their historical context, Williams argues that we can better understand how they have been used to maintain or challenge power structures. He critiques both Marxist determinism, which reduces culture to a reflection of economic conditions, and elitist views that separate culture from material realities.

The Long Revolution is also concerned with the future of culture and society. Williams is hopeful about the potential for continued cultural development that supports democratic participation and social equality. He believes that the long revolution is not a completed process but an ongoing one, in which individuals and groups can actively participate in shaping the direction of society. However, he warns that this potential is threatened by the commercialization and commodification of culture, particularly through mass media, which can limit critical engagement and reduce culture to passive consumption.

 

Adam Ferguson, "Reflections Previous to the Establishment of a Militia"

Adam Fergusons Reflections Previous to the Establishment of a Militia offers a comprehensive and thoughtful analysis of military organization, civic responsibility, and the role of armed forces in the preservation of liberty and social order. Written during a time of political transformation and debates surrounding national defense, Ferguson reflects on the importance of an active and engaged citizenry, especially regarding military service. He warns against the dangers of relying solely on standing armies for national defense and instead advocates for a militia system where citizens actively participate in the protection of their communities and the state. The work aligns with Ferguson’s broader political philosophy, emphasizing the interdependence of civic virtue, personal responsibility, and social well-being.

A central theme in Ferguson’s reflections is the idea that military participation is not merely a practical necessity but also a moral and civic duty. Drawing on classical republican ideals, Ferguson argues that active military service promotes virtues such as courage, discipline, and patriotism. Involvement in a militia fosters a sense of responsibility toward the community and reinforces the connection between individual freedom and the public good. For Ferguson, a militia is more than a military institution—it is a training ground for citizenship. By participating in the defense of their society, individuals cultivate the qualities necessary for maintaining political liberty and social cohesion. Ferguson believes that a society that neglects its duty to defend itself is at risk of moral decay and political decline, as the separation between the governed and those who wield military power can erode the foundations of freedom.

Ferguson emphasizes the importance of balancing individual liberty with the needs of the state. He argues that freedom is not simply the absence of restraint but involves the willingness of individuals to contribute to the welfare and security of their community. A militia system, according to Ferguson, ensures that citizens maintain a direct stake in the defense and governance of their society, preventing the development of a detached military elite that could undermine public control. Ferguson is concerned about the potential dangers posed by professional standing armies, which he believes may become instruments of oppression if separated from the broader citizenry. He warns that when military power is concentrated in the hands of a few, there is a risk that the army could be used to suppress the people rather than protect them. His reflections thus highlight the importance of citizen involvement in national defense as a safeguard against tyranny.

The tension between professional armies and citizen militias reflects Ferguson’s broader concern with maintaining a virtuous and active citizenry. He draws on historical examples, particularly from the Roman Republic, to illustrate the decline of civic virtue that can occur when citizens relinquish their responsibility for defense. Ferguson points out that when the Roman army transitioned from a citizen militia to a professional force, it marked the beginning of a moral decline that ultimately contributed to the fall of the Republic. He believes that when citizens become passive spectators, delegating their defense to professional soldiers, they lose not only their sense of personal responsibility but also their capacity for collective action and self-governance. Ferguson’s reflections thus serve as both a critique of standing armies and a call for civic engagement through military service.

Ferguson’s advocacy for a militia is closely tied to his understanding of human nature and social organization. He believes that human beings are inherently social creatures with a natural inclination toward cooperation and collective defense. A militia system, by involving citizens in the defense of their society, aligns with these natural tendencies and promotes solidarity and mutual trust. Ferguson argues that military service should not be seen as a burden but as an opportunity for personal development and social contribution. Through participation in a militia, individuals learn to subordinate their personal interests to the common good, developing the discipline and sense of duty necessary for both military and civil life.

Ferguson’s reflections also address the practical challenges of establishing and maintaining a militia. He acknowledges that a well-organized militia requires careful planning, effective leadership, and consistent training to ensure its effectiveness in times of crisis. Ferguson emphasizes the importance of striking a balance between the demands of military preparation and the needs of everyday civil life. While he recognizes that not all citizens can dedicate themselves full-time to military service, he insists that regular training and a shared commitment to defense are essential for maintaining the readiness and cohesion of the militia. Ferguson’s emphasis on practical considerations reflects his belief that civic virtue must be cultivated through concrete actions and institutions, rather than relying solely on abstract principles or moral exhortations.

A recurring concern in Ferguson’s reflections is the relationship between military service and social equality. He argues that a militia system, by involving citizens from all walks of life, can help to promote social cohesion and reduce divisions between different classes and groups. In contrast, professional armies, by drawing their ranks from specific segments of society, can exacerbate social inequality and foster resentment. Ferguson believes that when military service is shared equally among citizens, it reinforces the principle of equality before the law and strengthens the bonds of mutual obligation. His reflections thus highlight the potential of a militia system to foster social solidarity and promote a sense of common purpose.

Ferguson’s discussion of the role of military institutions in shaping character reflects his broader philosophical commitment to the cultivation of virtue. He argues that military service provides individuals with opportunities to develop qualities such as courage, loyalty, and self-discipline, which are essential not only for defense but also for the health of the community. Ferguson believes that these virtues are best cultivated through participation in collective efforts, such as those required in a militia. He emphasizes that military training is not merely about preparing for war but also about shaping the moral character of citizens, instilling in them the habits and attitudes necessary for both personal and social flourishing.

The tension between individual interests and the common good is a recurring theme in Ferguson’s work, and his reflections on the militia are no exception. He argues that while individuals may naturally seek to avoid the hardships and dangers of military service, they must recognize that their personal well-being is tied to the security and stability of the community. Ferguson insists that individuals have a moral obligation to contribute to the defense of their society, even when it requires personal sacrifice. His reflections highlight the importance of fostering a sense of duty and responsibility among citizens, ensuring that they are willing to put the interests of the community above their own when necessary.

Ferguson’s reflections also engage with contemporary political debates about the role of military power in society. He is critical of governments that rely excessively on standing armies, arguing that such reliance can lead to the erosion of civic liberty and the rise of authoritarianism. Ferguson warns that when citizens become detached from the defense of their society, they are more likely to tolerate infringements on their freedoms by those in power. His reflections thus serve as both a critique of military centralization and a call for civic engagement through participation in a militia. Ferguson’s concern with the dangers of standing armies reflects his broader commitment to the principles of republicanism and his belief in the importance of active citizenship for the maintenance of political liberty.