Northrop Frye's "Anatomy of Criticism"

 

Northrop Frye's "Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays," was  first published in 1957. Frye's approach to literary criticism is indeed radical in its rejection of traditional evaluative methods and its focus on systematic study and classification of literature. Frye's rejection of interpreting and evaluating individual works as the primary aim of criticism aligns with his belief that such evaluations are subjective and fleeting, reflecting changes in taste rather than contributing to a coherent understanding of literature. Central to Frye's theory is the idea of literature forming an "ideal order" among itself, an idea influenced by T.S. Eliot. Frye attempts to describe this order throughout his book, seeing each work as a part of a larger whole rather than as isolated entities. He envisions this order as relatively fixed, with new works serving to manifest it in different ways.

Polemical introduction

 

The introduction to Northrop Frye's work serves as a polemic defending the necessity of literary criticism while distinguishing it from other forms of critique and highlighting the difference between personal taste and genuine criticism.

 

Frye opposes the notion that "natural taste" is superior to scholarly learning, countering arguments put forth by Tolstoy and Romantic thought. He criticizes various methods of criticism, such as Marxist, Freudian, Jungian, and Neo-classical, for embodying the deterministic fallacy and subjecting literature to external ideologies rather than genuine critical analysis.

 

A key distinction Frye makes is between personal taste, which is influenced by societal norms and values, and genuine criticism, which draws its method from the body of literature itself. He argues that value judgments contribute little to meaningful criticism and proposes that criticism should be a systematic study of literature, akin to physics and history.

 

Frye acknowledges the limitations of his argument, recognizing that his views are individual and that the systematic study of literature is still in its infancy. He admits to making sweeping generalizations that may prove false in specific cases and emphasizes that schematization should be viewed as an aspect of criticism rather than a replacement for the personal experience of literature.

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Historical Criticism: Theory of Modes"

 

Frye's systemization of literature begins by drawing from Aristotle's Poetics, which identifies three aspects of poetry: mythos (plot), ethos (characterization/setting), and dianoia (theme/idea). Frye sees literature as lying on a continuum between being plot-driven, as in most fiction, and idea-driven, as in essays and lyrical poetry.

 

He divides his study into five modes—mythic, romantic, high mimetic, low mimetic, and ironic—each corresponding to a specific literary epoch and representing different aspects of ethos, or characterization. Frye suggests that civilizations, both classical and Western, have historically progressed through the development of these modes, with contemporary fiction potentially returning to myth, completing a historical cycle.

 

In tragedy, the hero's separation from society is central:

 

·         Mythic tragedy deals with the death of gods.

·         Romantic tragedy features elegies mourning the death of heroes.

·         High mimetic tragedy presents the death of noble humans.

·         Low mimetic tragedy shows the death or sacrifice of ordinary humans, evoking pathos.

·         Ironic tragedy often portrays the suffering of a weak protagonist or one persecuted by society.

Comedy, on the other hand, focuses on the integration of society:

 

·         Mythic comedy deals with acceptance into the society of gods or salvation.

·         Romantic comedy involves an idyllic setting and the integration of the hero with nature.

·         High mimetic comedy features a strong central protagonist who constructs their own society.

·         Low mimetic comedy often ends in social elevation or marriage.

·         Ironic comedy ranges from savage humor to biting satire, often depicting rejection by society.

Frye also explores t0hematic literature in each mode, where intellectual content is paramount:

 

·         In the mythical mode, scripture and divine inspiration dominate.

·         In the romantic mode, chroniclers preserve traditions in a nomadic society.

·         In the high mimetic mode, society revolves around a capital city, with national epics prevalent.

·         In the low mimetic mode, individualism and romanticism take center stage.

·         In the ironic mode, the poet becomes a mere observer, producing work emphasizing discontinuity and anti-epiphany.

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"Ethical Criticism: Theory of Symbols

 

Frye further elaborates on his theory by proposing five phases of symbolism, each possessing its own mythos, ethos, and dianoia, based on medieval allegory and the ages of man outlined in his earlier essay. These phases are:

 

·         Literal/descriptive (motifs and signs)

·         Formal (image)

·         Mythical (archetype)

·         Anagogic (monad)

In the descriptive phase, symbols exhibit an outward property, acting as signs that point to external meanings beyond the literary context. The motif, on the other hand, represents the inward direction of meaning, showcasing the symbol's contextual significance within the text.

 

The formal phase, embodied by imagery, results from the interplay of signs and motifs, with frequently repeated imagery setting the tone of the work. This phase aligns with literary formalism, emphasizing inherent meaning within the text.

 

The mythical phase treats symbols as archetypes, exploring their interconnectedness with similar symbolism throughout literature. Frye argues that convention is crucial in understanding archetypes and criticizes copyright laws for hindering literary creation.

 

Finally, the anagogic phase views symbols as monads, expressing the highest spiritual meaning within the text. Frye suggests a transcendent unity within literature, where symbols reflect infinite social action and human thought.

 

 

Archetype

In his exploration of myth as the foundation of all literature, Frye aligns various elements of storytelling, including paintings and music, with similar underlying structures and patterns, each possessing a unique style. He draws upon the Great Chain of Being, as described by Aristotle, to elucidate the associations between mythical imagery and the tragic and comic visions.

 

Frye categorizes the tragic and comic visions according to six worlds represented by different elements of the Great Chain of Being, each corresponding to divine, human, animal, vegetable, mineral, and water realms. These associations provide insight into the mythological underpinnings of tragic and comic narratives.

 

Moving forward, Frye's third essay synthesizes characterization and the five symbolic phases introduced earlier. He employs the metaphor of human desire and frustration, represented by the Great Chain of Being and the four seasons, to unify genres, life cycles, and associated myths.

 

The seasons serve as analogies to genres, life stages, and mythical narratives:

 

Spring represents comedy, birth, and the myth of birth.

Summer symbolizes romance, youth, growth, and the myth of triumph and harmony.

Autumn/fall embodies tragedy, old age, maturity, and the myth of fall, decay, and separation.

Winter signifies irony, death, and the myth of chaos, death, and darkness.

Frye further delineates imagery associated with apocalyptic, demonic, and analogical realms, illustrating the polarities of human desire and fulfillment. These realms encompass divine, human, animal, vegetable, mineral, and water elements, each conveying distinct symbolic meanings.

 

Lastly, Frye correlates the mythical mode with the apocalyptic, the ironic with the demonic, and the romantic and low mimetic with their respective analogies. The high mimetic occupies the central position, bridging the other modes. This circular structure reflects the cyclical nature of myth and archetypes, portraying the natural cycle of life and storytelling themes such as birth, growth, decline, death, resurrection, and rebirth.

 

Through this comprehensive analysis, Frye provides a framework for understanding the interconnectedness of literature, mythology, and human experience, revealing the enduring relevance of archetypal narratives across cultures and epochs.

 

4. Rhetorical Criticism: Theory of Genres

In the first three essays of his work, Frye delves into Aristotle's elements of poetry, focusing primarily on mythos, ethos, and dianoia. However, in the fourth essay, he shifts his attention to the remaining three elements:

 

·         Melos: This element concerns the tonal and musical aspects of literature.

·         Lexis: Referring to the written word, lying between the musical and visual aspects, it encompasses diction (ear) or imagery (eye) depending on the critical focus.

·         Oopsis: Dealing with the visual aspects of literature.

Frye identifies a connection between these elements and rhetoric, which encompasses both ornamental (opsis) speech and persuasive (melos) speech. Rhetorical criticism involves exploring literature in the context of melos, opsis, and their interplay as manifested in lexis.

 

Additionally, Frye introduces the concept of the radical of presentation—the relationship between author and audience—which influences the classification of genres. He proposes four distinct genres based on this radical of presentation:

 

·         Epos: The author speaks directly to the audience, such as in storytelling or formal speech.

·         Fiction: The author and audience are hidden from each other, as in most novels.

·         Drama: The author is hidden from the audience, who experiences the content directly.

·         Lyric: The audience is "hidden" from the author, who is overheard by the hearers.

These genres serve as the organizing principle of Frye's essay, with each genre characterized by a distinctive rhythm and the interplay of melos and opsis. Frye's concept of melos challenges the common understanding of music as stable harmony, instead emphasizing the series of dissonances resolving into stability.

 

The rhythm of epos, for example, revolves around recurrence, accent, meter, and sound patterns commonly associated with poetry. Fiction, in contrast, employs the rhythm of continuity of meaning, often conveyed through prose. Drama occupies a middle ground, with characters alternating between melos-oriented and opsis-oriented language based on the dramatic situation.

 

Classical lyrical poetry, typically featuring a shepherd speaking of his love, embodies an associative rhythm that reflects the stuff of dreams and the subconscious. This rhythm, closely related to chanting, is particularly apparent in certain types of literature.

 

Frye suggests a connection between the historical modes and the four genres, with the lyrical genre representing the ironic age, where the protagonist turns away from society and the poet makes utterances without regard to the audience. This lyrical rhythm is exemplified in Joyce's "Finnegans Wake," characterized by associative babble and dreamlike utterances.

 

 

Foucault's "Politics and the Study of Discourse" (Summary)

 

Foucault discusses the concept of pluralism in understanding different fields of study, such as medicine, mathematics, economics, etc. He argues that these fields are not singular entities but rather complex and diverse. The author proposes three criteria for understanding these fields:

 

·         Criteria of Formation: Rather than focusing on the unity or structure of a field, what makes it unique is a set of rules governing its objects, operations, concepts, and theoretical options.

 

·         Criteria of Transformation or Threshold: To understand how a field evolves, we need to identify the conditions under which it emerged, how it changed internally, and when new rules came into effect.

 

·         Criteria of Correlation: Each field exists within a network of relations with other disciplines and societal contexts, and its autonomy can be understood by analyzing these relationships.

 

These criteria help move away from a totalizing view of history and instead focus on the diversity and relationships among different scientific fields. They also help understand the unique historical trajectories and transformation of each field.

 

Foucault is not inclined towards seeking a singular, all-encompassing form. Instead, he focuses on understanding various ensembles of discourse, characterizing them, and delineating the rules, transformations, thresholds, and remnants within them. His approach is pluralistic, as he aims to add to the plurality of distinguishable systems.

 

Foucault’s emphasis on discontinuity is crucial, particularly in today's historical and linguistic analyses. However, he does not view this discontinuity in a singular sense. Foucault is concerned with substituting the abstract concept of 'change' with an analysis of specific transformations.

 

This involves two main aspects: Firstly, within a particular discursive formation, identifying changes affecting its objects, operations, concepts, and theoretical options. For instance, in general grammar, changes may occur through deduction or implication, generalization, limitation, shifts between complementary objectives, transitions between alternative terms, permutations of dependencies, and exclusion or inclusion. These diverse types of changes collectively constitute the characteristic derivations of a discursive formation.

 

Second: Identifying changes that impact the discursive formations themselves involves:

(a) The shifting boundaries that delineate the scope of possible objects. For instance, in the early nineteenth century, the medical object ceased to be confined to a classification surface and instead was mapped out in the three-dimensional space of the body.

 

(b) The subject's new position and role within discourse. For example, in the discourse of eighteenth-century naturalists, the subject transitioned to solely observing and noting according to a grid of perceptions and codes, no longer interpreting or deciphering.

 

(c) A new function of language concerning objects. Starting with Tournefort, naturalists' discourse shifted from delving into the essence of things to providing a surface for transcription, translating elements like form, number, size, and disposition in a straightforward manner.

 

(d) A different mode of localization and dissemination of discourse within society. Clinical discourse, for instance, does not originate, undergo inscription, diffuse, accumulate, preserve, or undergo contention in the same manner as eighteenth-century medical discourse.

 

These changes, of a higher order than previous ones, define the mutations that impact the discursive realms themselves.

 

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Lastly, there are changes that simultaneously impact several discursive formations:

 

(a) The reversal of hierarchical diagrams. For example, during the classical period, language analysis held a prominent position, which shifted in the early nineteenth century to biology.

 

(b) Alteration in the nature of the guiding principle. Classical grammar, serving as a general theory of signs, provided an analytical tool applicable across various domains. In the nineteenth century, certain biological concepts, such as organism, function, and life, were metaphorically imported into other fields, generating ideas like social organization and the life of words.

 

(c) Functional displacements. For instance, the theory of the continuity of beings, previously part of philosophical discourse in the eighteenth century, was adopted by scientific discourse in the nineteenth century.

 

These transformations, operating at a higher level than the previous groups, represent changes specific to the episteme itself and its redistributions.

 

The crucial aspect for me is to give substance to the concept of 'change' by focusing on specified modifications. Rather than merely listing innovations, the history of ideas or sciences should involve descriptive analysis of the diverse transformations that occur.

 

It's essential to avoid conflating this analysis with psychological diagnosis. While it's valid to inquire about the experiences and attributes of individuals whose work displays certain modifications, my aim is to describe the field of possibilities, operational forms, and types of transformation characterizing their discursive practice.

 

I emphasize that discoursing subjects are integral to the discursive field—they occupy specific positions and functions within it. Discourse isn't a space where subjectivity intrudes; rather, it's a realm of differentiated subject-positions and functions.

 

Above all, I aim to define the interplay of dependencies between these transformations:

 

(a) Intradiscursive dependencies within a single formation.

(b) Interdiscursive dependencies between different formations, such as correlations studied in previous works.

(c) Extradiscursive dependencies between discursive transformations and changes outside of discourse, like those studied in previous works regarding medical discourse and broader socio-political changes.

 

Rather than assigning causality, I seek to explore the complex web of correlations and dependencies. Discontinuity isn't an empty void to be filled with simplistic causal explanations; it's a dynamic interplay of specific transformations, each with its own conditions, rules, and impacts. History is the descriptive analysis and theory of these transformations.

 

Regarding the term "history of the mind," my focus is more on a history of discourse. I'm not analyzing language systems or formal rules but rather the conditions and events that make statements possible. This involves understanding the singular emergence of statements, their correlation with other events, and their conditions of existence, without attributing them to the consciousness or intention of speaking subjects.

What Foucault is engaged in is not formalization or exegesis, but rather an archaeology—specifically, the description of an archive. By "archive," I'm not referring to a collection of texts from a past epoch but rather to the set of rules defining:

 

The boundaries and forms of what can be said, the domain of discourse, and the type of discourse assigned to various domains.

The boundaries and forms of conservation, including which utterances disappear or enter human memory through various means.

The boundaries and forms of memory as manifested in different discursive formations, including which utterances are recognized as valid or abandoned.

The boundaries and forms of reactivation, such as which discourses are retained, valued, or transformed.

The boundaries and forms of appropriation, including who has access to certain discourses and how discourse is institutionalized and controlled.

This context defines the identity and direction of the analyses I undertake. I'm not writing a history of the mind in terms of its forms or meanings, but rather analyzing discourses in their manifest appearance, transformations, and conditions of existence.

 

Three consequences follow from this approach:

 

Treating discourse as a monument to be described in its intrinsic configuration rather than a theme for commentary.

Investigating the conditions of existence of discourse rather than its structural laws.

Relating discourse to the practical field in which it operates rather than to the thoughts or intentions of its authors.

Now, regarding the request to speak of my work as introducing "the diversity of systems and the play of discontinuities into the history of discourses," I propose this terminology to emphasize the complex interplay of diverse systems and discontinuities. This clarification was necessary before addressing your question about the relationship between my work and political practice.

 

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Foucault provides two types of answers:

 

Critically evaluating the operations foucaults discourse undertakes within its domain, particularly whether what it challenges was essential to progressive politics.

Exploring how the ideas presented in my discourse can be connected with effective progressive political practice.

 

To eliminate certain problematic oppositions, Foucault proposes the following changes, listed in increasing order of significance:

 

Instead of framing history in terms of traditions versus innovations, or the living versus the dead in knowledge, Foucault suggests analyzing a field of simultaneous and successive differences. This approach focuses on the perpetual differences that define knowledge at a given time and the transformations it undergoes over time.

 

It's essential to end the negation of discourse in its specific existence. This involves challenging the notion that discourse is merely a surface for translating mute objects or expressing individual thoughts. Discourse is not a passive medium but a dynamic entity with its own intrinsic consistency and laws. It is constituted by the difference between what could be said under the rules of grammar and logic and what is actually said. Discourse involves regulated practices that go beyond mere representation or expression.

 

These changes aim to shift the focus from abstract oppositions to the concrete analysis of discursive formations and their historical transformations.

To address the uncertainties surrounding disciplines such as the history of ideas, sciences, thought, and knowledge, I propose the following changes:

 

Instead of struggling to demarcate boundaries between different historical domains, such as the history of sciences and the history of opinions, we should focus on analyzing discourse itself. By examining discourse in its conditions of formation, serial modification, and dependencies, we can understand its relationship with other practices more clearly.

 

Rather than treating the history of thought as a reflection of extrinsic conditions or as a symbolic expression of total forms, we should view it as a history of discursive practices within specific relationships to other practices. This approach avoids the need for a global history centered around one principle or form and instead allows for the description of the singularity of practices and the dynamics of their relations.

 

These critical operations aim to question traditional methods of historical analysis and to align progressive politics with a more rigorous interrogation of meaning, origin, and historical change. Rather than clinging to metaphors that obscure the complexities of historical processes or devaluing discursive practices as mere transient phenomena, progressive politics should engage in a thorough examination of discourse and its role in shaping social, political, and cultural realities.

It appears to me that the political implications of the discourse you discuss would find dangerous comfort in assuming the guarantee provided by a primitive foundation or a transcendental teleology. If politics were to habitually exploit metaphors of life or models of movement, and abandon the rigorous analysis of practices, relations, and transformations, it would be taking refuge in a global history of totalities and symbolic values. Such a stance would obscure the complexities of historical change and undermine the critical task of understanding discourse in its specific relationships with other practices.

 

You might rightly ask: why should delving into the origins of philology, economics, or pathological anatomy concern politics or matter in today's context? My response would be as follows:

 

Currently, the status, conditions of exercise, functioning, and institutionalization of scientific discourses pose an important problem for political practice. This is precisely what I have chosen to analyze historically, focusing on discourses with dense and complex fields of positivity, such as medicine, economics, and the human sciences.

 

Let's take the example of clinical discourse formation in medicine from the early nineteenth century to the present. This historical fact cannot be backdated to a remote origin, nor dismissed as a 'pseudo-science.' It intuitively relates to a certain number of precise political events, notably those associated with the French Revolution. The challenge lies in giving this relationship analytical content.

 

One hypothesis suggests that changes in consciousness regarding disease were influenced by broader economic, social, and political changes. However, while these changes may be true, they do not fully account for the emergence of a scientific discourse in medicine.

 

Another hypothesis suggests that fundamental notions in clinical medicine can be derived from political practices or their theoretical reflections. However, such analyses fail to address the essential question: what must be the mode of existence and function of medical discourse amidst other discourses and practices for such correspondences to occur?

 

Therefore, I propose shifting the investigative focus. The link between political practice and medical discourse is more direct: political practice transformed the conditions of emergence, insertion, and functioning of medical discourse. This transformation occurred through various operations, including new criteria for

 

The transformations brought about by political practice do not merely "reflect," "transpose," or "express" themselves in the concepts, methods, and utterances of medicine. Instead, they alter the rules of formation of medical discourse. Political practice does not change medical 'objects' themselves, but rather the system that allows for the emergence of medical discourse. For example, political practice transforms the conditions under which medical discourse is formed, its methods of analysis, and the formation of its concepts. These changes occur within a domain with its own configuration and limitations, not offering unlimited possibilities for modification.

 

From such an analysis, several insights can be gleaned:

 

Description of Relations: It becomes possible to describe the relations between scientific discourse and political practice in precise terms, understanding their forms of subordination.

 

Role of Political Practice: Political practice does not have a creative role in generating sciences but transforms the conditions and systems of functioning of discourse. It does not reduce the consistency of the discursive field nor universally dictate its content.

 

Articulation of Relations: Relations between political practice and discursive fields can be articulated on another level, understanding how various practices intersect and influence each other.

 

Historical Conditions of Possibility: Phenomena like influence and communication of models find their historical conditions of possibility in prior modifications, emphasizing the importance of understanding the historical context of discursive practices.

 

In conclusion, the endeavor to analyze discourses, particularly scientific discourses, as regulated practices with specific conditions, dependencies, and transformations is not merely a theoretical exercise. It has significant implications for political practice. It challenges the notion of discourse as a transparent expression of consciousness and highlights the importance of understanding discourses within their historical and analytical context.

 

It's understandable that some may find discomfort in recognizing that discourse operates according to anonymous rules rather than as a direct expression of consciousness. However, this recognition allows for a deeper understanding of discourse and its role in shaping our understanding of the world. Ultimately, discourse is not life itself, nor does it reconcile us with death. It operates according to its own laws, indifferent to individual consciousness.

 

Ian Watt's "The Rise of the Novel"

 

In 1957, Ian Watt published "The Rise of the Novel," which marked a departure from the prevailing New Critical viewpoint of the time. Although initially perceived as a challenge to New Critical principles, it was more of an adjustment than a complete rejection of formalism. Watt rejected the notion of the work as an independent entity, asserting that ideas and novels are intertwined and that artists are products of their social and moral environment. In his book, Watt blends historical criticism with formal criticism, illustrating how changes in the intellectual and social landscape of the eighteenth century influenced the development of the novel. Watt links the unique literary characteristics of the novel to the society in which it emerged, showing how factors such as the rise of economic individualism and Protestantism shaped the form and content of major works by authors like Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding. He argues that biographical, sociological, and historical knowledge is essential for understanding the meaning of literary works, enabling readers to grasp both the text's intended message and broader cultural contexts.

 

Watt's methodological approach, offers a framework for interpreting novels beyond their surface content, viewing them as reflections of authors, cultures, and literary histories. He emphasizes the importance of contextualizing each work within the evolution of the art form while preserving the integrity of formal analysis. Watt's extensive knowledge of seventeenth and eighteenth-century culture allows him to demonstrate how works by Defoe, Fielding, and Richardson are shaped by their historical milieu. In contrast to contemporary trends that prioritize reader response or focus solely on the text's formal qualities, Watt's insistence on understanding literature within its historical context remains a valuable corrective. He challenges the notion of the reader as the sole creator of meaning and emphasizes the role of criticism in elucidating the historical conditions that inform a text's production and reception.

 

Ian Watt, alongside influential critics like Leavis, Booth, and Van Ghent, significantly altered the way novels were perceived in both England and America. The importance of Watt's study can be attributed to several key factors:

 

Watt highlights how middle-class writers like Defoe and Richardson challenged Augustan values through their novels, situating this challenge within its historical context. The "rise" of the novel is portrayed as a revolutionary act against traditional class structures, aristocratic dominance, and established literary conventions.

 

By emphasizing the relationship between culture and society, Watt liberated novel criticism from the confines of New Criticism, which had become somewhat stagnant in its search for patterns and unity even in lesser-quality texts.

 

Through a blend of historical scholarship and insightful reading, Watt contributed to establishing the canon of the English novel in the eighteenth century. He notably challenged prevailing views, such as those held by the Chicago Aristotelians, that placed Fielding above Richardson.

 

Watt anticipated the work of later narratologists by viewing novels as attempts to solve formal challenges and explore the possibilities of the genre. He recognized novelists as conducting inquiries into the relationship between art and reality.

 

He argued that readers' desires for vicarious experiences, reflecting their interest in private lives and economic motives, played a significant role in shaping the eighteenth-century novel.

 

Watt conceptualized the development of the novel as a progression from simpler to more complex forms, framing it as an evolutionary process. He saw the eighteenth-century novel as a necessary stage in the advancement of English fiction, leading to later achievements by authors like Austen.

 

He demonstrated that a historical approach was compatible with the aesthetic formalism of the New Criticism, enriching its focus on close reading. Watt used close reading to support his broader historical and sociological analyses.

 

Watt argued against the fashionable reliance on Freud and Jung in understanding authors, asserting that authors and their texts must be studied together within their historical context.

 

Finally, he suggested that there was no absolute division between external and internal approaches to character, exemplified by Fielding's omniscient narrator and Richardson's psychological depth.

In the first chapter of his work, "Realism and the Novel Form," Ian Watt approaches his subject as a social and historical issue that can be examined using factual methods. He views the rise of the novel as a response to specific social and historical conditions, similar to how scholars might study the emergence of universities in medieval Europe or the decline of monasteries in England.

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Watt, influenced by positivist and empiricist principles, believes that scientific and historical inquiry can be applied to the humanities, including literature. He suggests that the novel's emergence was influenced by various factors, such as the Puritan concept of the dignity of labor and the rise of economic individualism. He argues that these conditions helped shape the novel's premise that the individual's daily life is worthy of literary exploration.

 

The concept of realism in novels, according to Watt, stems from philosophical realism, which focuses on studying the particulars of individual experiences without preconceived assumptions. Realism in novels involves presenting life in a detailed and accurate manner, with a strong emphasis on specificity of time, place, and character. Watt refers to this as "formal realism," which he sees as inherent to the novel form itself.

 

However, some issues arise in Watt's discussion. For instance, he doesn't clearly define the narrative procedures that constitute formal realism, making it difficult to identify these strategies in other texts. Additionally, Watt sometimes presents formal realism as both a process and an achieved result, leading to confusion about its nature and value.

 

Despite these challenges, Watt's exploration of realism in novels sheds light on the dynamic relationship between literature and the world it portrays. He suggests that novels allow readers to vicariously experience different realities and engage with complex social issues, ultimately enriching their understanding of the human condition.

 

Ian Watt, drawing upon his life experiences, believes that literature serves as a critique of life itself. He incorporates personal observations of human behavior into his literary criticism, which some may consider sentimental or old-fashioned humanism. However, Watt argues that a literary critic must possess experience and insight into human behavior to effectively analyze literature.

 

Influenced by thinkers like F.R. Leavis and the Scrutiny group, Watt sees the role of the literary critic as both serving the author and defending culture and civilization. He emphasizes moral intensity and profound seriousness in his standards, reflecting Leavis's influence. Watt's approach combines elements of New Criticism, focusing on close reading, with larger questions about authors' values, psychology, and social context.

 

Watt sees characters in novels as both individuals and symbols of historical developments. He examines how novels reflect social conventions and historical issues, using works like Richardson's "Clarissa" as examples. Watt's analysis emphasizes the relationship between literature and cultural context, recognizing the contribution of literary works to cultural change.

 

While Watt's approach aligns with structural explanations and recent narratological perspectives, he also believes in the uniqueness of human character and the capacity for authors and characters to define themselves. His criticism focuses on the English novel tradition, which often centers on individual choices and struggles within society.

 

Watt's emphasis on historical context enriches literary interpretation but does not claim to solve all interpretive problems. For example, while he highlights the tension between rational economic individualism and spiritual redemption in Defoe's works, he acknowledges that some interpretive issues, like Defoe's use of irony, remain unresolved.

 

In his analysis of "Tom Jones," Ian Watt responds to the perspectives of Chicago Aristotelians, particularly R.S. Crane's influential essay, "The Plot of Tom Jones" (1950). Watt suggests that the focus of the Chicago critics, emphasizing the exploration of the soul of the artist and the structures of experience and cultures, might have been too narrow.

 

Watt argues that in the central tradition of the novel, there has been a reversal of the Aristotelian priority of plot over character. He suggests that a new type of formal structure has emerged, where the plot aims to embody the ordinary process of life and becomes highly dependent on characters and the development of their relationships. However, because Fielding was more interested in characters as representative figures rather than their idiosyncrasies, he employs a more traditional plot structure.

 

Watt proposes a rule for a grammar of plot, stating that in novels like "Tom Jones," the importance of the plot is inversely proportional to that of character. He suggests that this principle allows for a greater variety of minor characters to be introduced, as they are less constrained by the roles assigned to them by the narrative design.

 

Crucial to Watt's argument is his distinction between the "realism and presentation" of Richardson and Defoe and the "realism of assessment" of Fielding. He suggests that Fielding brings a responsible wisdom about human affairs to his novels, which influences the deeds and characters within them. This "realism of assessment" plays upon the moral reality depicted in the narrative.

 

However, Watt acknowledges some limitations in his own approach. He realizes that his emphasis on realism of presentation over realism of assessment may have skewed the balance in his analysis. Additionally, he notes the challenge of separating these two forms of realism, as they often occur simultaneously in the reader's interpretation of the text.

 

Overall, while Watt's analysis may not articulate a specific aesthetic of fiction, his exploration of realism as a mode of perception remains essential to understanding the development of the English novel. Despite its limitations, Watt's work is praised for its clarity, subtlety, and elegance, making it a compelling argument and a pleasure to read.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eric Williams’ "Capitalism and Slavery"

 

Eric Williams’ book Capitalism and Slavery represents a significant milestone in the scholarly examination of slavery from an international perspective. It underscores the need for comprehensive research into slavery across the various regions of the world, shedding light on its far-reaching implications. Prior to this work, only a handful of scholars had delved deeply enough into the subject to uncover its international dimensions, while many studies produced in the United States lacked depth and insight.

 

Williams, drawing on his academic prowess honed at Oxford, rises to the challenge of scientifically dissecting the institution of slavery. Unlike mere conjecture or opinion, Williams presents a meticulously researched account, utilizing a wealth of data sourced from archives throughout the British Empire. His understanding spans Europe, Africa, and the Americas, and he elucidates the intricate connections between social, commercial, and industrial factors that underpinned the slave trade and slavery itself.

 

Central to Williams's thesis is the argument that capitalism and slavery shared a symbiotic relationship, with the former both exploiting and ultimately supplanting the latter. He contends that this pattern was not unique to Britain but manifested similarly across other European nations, all of which were impacted by the industrial revolution. The transition from commercial capitalism reliant on slavery to industrial capitalism marked a transformative shift in economic paradigms.

 

Williams examines the geopolitical strategies of the British Empire following the American Revolution, as it turned its focus towards exploiting resources in India and elsewhere. This expansionist agenda, while driven by economic motives, often clashed with political and moral ideals, leading to internal conflicts and debates among policymakers.

 

Williams also critiques the persistence of outdated systems and beliefs, such as the notion that white laborers were unsuitable for tropical climates and the justification of Black inferiority as a basis for slavery. He highlights how entrenched interests and resistance to change can impede progress long after the flaws of existing systems are recognized.

This historical examination of a bygone era, marked by universal revolution, offers valuable insights into the complexities of contemporary issues that often confound our understanding. Just as industrial capitalism supplanted commercial capitalism in the past, today we grapple with economic imperialism, which subjugates the inhabitants of British Empire's colonies. This prompts critical questions about the prospects for regions like India and Native Africa within the existing system, especially in the face of democratizing forces reshaping global dynamics.

 

While Dr. Williams doesn't directly address these pressing questions, his scholarly account illuminates how historical processes unfolded during times of revolution. By drawing parallels between past and present, his work encourages us to discern patterns and make informed decisions about current challenges.

 

This book resonates strongly with those who oppose the British Empire's expansionist policies, highlighting the need for consistent and intelligent opposition. While critiquing the immense flaws of the British system is essential, it must be done with a clear understanding of its workings and implications. Understanding how the British Empire originated and evolved can inform strategies for addressing present injustices.

 

It's crucial to recognize that the British Empire operates differently from the United States, with a democracy that prioritizes privileged interests over individual rights. While figures like Churchill may draw criticism, the systemic nature of British governance ensures continuity in policies that serve entrenched interests. Reforms, if they occur, often reflect the balance of power among these interests, akin to the transition from commercial to industrial capitalism.

E. A. Wilson's "Psychosomatic Feminism and the Neurological Body" (Book Note)

 

 

In her book "Psychosomatic," Elizabeth A. Wilson offers a compelling critique of feminist discourse on the body, arguing that despite considerable exploration of the materiality of the body in contemporary thought, there remains a significant gap in how comprehensively the question of the body is addressed. Wilson challenges the prevalent notion within feminist theory that biology merely serves as a passive foundation for psychic, cultural, or social phenomena. She contends that in attempting to distance themselves from biologically reductionist perspectives on sex, gender, and sexuality, feminists often overlook the intricate complexities of the body itself.

 

Wilson suggests that the dismissal of biological mechanisms paradoxically reinforces a form of reductive Cartesian essentialism that feminists seek to avoid. To address this paradox, she proposes a shift towards acknowledging the biological intricacies of the body as essential to feminist theories. Embracing biological specificity, Wilson argues, would not only offer a counterpoint to the historical aversion to biology in feminism but also open up new avenues for enriching feminist scholarship on the body.

 

Central to Wilson's argument is the belief that incorporating insights from the neurosciences can significantly enhance feminist discourse. By embracing biological detail, feminists can both challenge the anti-biology rhetoric that has pervaded feminism since the 1960s and forge innovative contributions to understanding the body within feminist scholarship.

In Chapter 1, Wilson revisits Freud's early neurology work, arguing against the later separation of the psychic and somatic realms. She meticulously traces Freud's development of a schema where nerves, penis, cortex, and psyche operate in circuitous relations rather than determinable ones. Contrary to some feminist interpretations, Wilson contends that Freud's original thesis isn't reductionist but rather acknowledges the co-constitutive nature of psychic and somatic forces.

 

Chapter 2 delves into gastrointestinal complaints, examining how both biological and psychoanalytic theories gradually disconnect soma from psyche. Wilson demonstrates how theories of the gut evolve to depict them as distinct entities, stifling exploration into their potential co-constitution of soma and psyche.

 

In Chapter 3, Wilson offers a fresh perspective on Simon LeVay's research on hypothalamus and sexual orientation. Rather than solely critiquing methodological limitations, she explores the interplay between dimorphic and disseminated theories of sexuality. Wilson argues that these neurological forms are intricately intertwined, with dimorphic divisions coexisting within networks of divergence, challenging conventional binary views.

 

Chapter 4 revisits Freud's work on emotion, critiquing the oversimplification of animal biology compared to human biology. Wilson utilizes Freud's study of frog reflexes to challenge contemporary dismissals of Lamarckism. By analyzing Darwin's endorsement of Lamarck's theory and his work on reflexes, Wilson highlights the interconnectedness of biology and psychology in evolution, critiquing the disconnect in contemporary biological approaches.

 

The final chapter explores how evolutionary and neurological perspectives on emotions can inform feminist concerns with embodiment, emphasizing the need to consider the intertwined nature of biology and psychology in understanding human experiences.

 

The book stands as a remarkable exploration of the neurosciences, spanning historical insights to contemporary perspectives. Elizabeth A. Wilson begins by delving into Freud's examination of the biological underpinnings of neurasthenia, a theme later echoed in Peter Kramer's work on the biological effects of antidepressants in "Listening to Prozac" (1993). Wilson intricately argues that the nervous system transcends mere cognition, possessing an affective, libidinized, and articulate ontology.

 

Expanding on this notion, Wilson elucidates the intricate connections between the digestive system, the brain, and mood. She advocates for a nuanced understanding of the microstructure of digestion and its correlation with psychology. By examining depression and its associated eating and digestive disturbances, Wilson compellingly illustrates how the biological aspects of mood are intertwined with the organization of the digestive tract.

 

Wilson further explores this interplay of biology, affect, and behavior through Simon LeVay's 1991 study on structural brain differences between homo- and heterosexual individuals. While acknowledging the limitations of LeVay's study, Wilson leverages its findings to propose a refined analysis of how neurophysiology contributes to ideological constructions of sex, gender, and sexuality. By showcasing the complexity of the hypothalamus's role in regulating various bodily processes and its connection to sexuality, Wilson challenges simplistic binary narratives.

 

Her discussion of Darwin's theory of emotion underscores the interconnectedness between neural systems and psychological states. Wilson contends that despite criticisms of Darwin's Lamarckism, it offers valuable insights by establishing a causal link between emotions and the structure of the nervous system. According to Wilson, nervous system responses such as trembling, blushing, and eye blinking are evolved mechanisms of learned behavior, highlighting the intertwined nature of cognition, emotion, and the body in neurological events.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lacan's "The Mirror Stage as Formative of the I Function" (Summary)

 

At our previous congress thirteen years ago, I introduced the concept of the mirror stage, which has since gained traction within the French group's practice. Today, I believe it is pertinent to revisit this concept, particularly for its insights into the formation of the self in psychoanalysis. This experience challenges philosophies derived directly from the Cogito.

 

The genesis of this concept stems from an observation in comparative psychology. We noted that even at an age when a child might be temporarily surpassed by a chimpanzee in instrumental intelligence, the child can already recognize their own reflection in a mirror. This recognition manifests in the captivating mimicry of what Köhler terms the Aha-Erlebnis, representing a crucial stage of situational apperception within the act of intelligence.

 

Unlike in the case of a monkey, where the act might conclude upon mastering the image, in children, it initiates a series of gestures. Through play, the child explores the relationship between their movements reflected in the mirror and the surrounding reality, including their own body and the people and objects nearby. This phenomenon, documented as early as six months by Baldwin, captivates me, especially witnessing infants engage with mirrors.

 

Even though these infants cannot yet walk or stand unaided, their jubilant activity in front of the mirror unveils a libidinal dynamism and an ontological structure of the human world that resonates with my reflections on paranoid knowledge. This activity holds significance for me until around eighteen months of age, revealing a symbolic matrix in which the ego assumes a primordial form—the Ideal-I—before undergoing further objectification through identification with others and linguistic development.

 

Understanding the mirror stage as a profound identification process sheds light on the transformation that occurs within the subject as they embrace their image—an imago—in a manner consistent with psychoanalytic theory. This joyous assumption of their specular image by the infant, amidst their motor incapacity and dependence, epitomizes the foundational formation of the ego, preceding its social determinations. This Ideal-I formulates the groundwork for subsequent identifications, including libidinal normalization, while also situating the ego's agency in a fictional trajectory that remains uniquely individualistic, resisting complete assimilation into societal constructs.

 

The concept of the mirror stage illuminates how a subject anticipates the maturation of their power through the total form of the body, grasped as a Gestalt—a structured whole that contrasts with the subject's internal sense of movement. This Gestalt symbolizes both the enduring nature of the self and its potential alienation, echoing our projections onto statues, phantoms, and even automatons.

 

Mirrors serve as a threshold to the visible world for our imagos, shaping hallucinations, dreams, and manifestations of the double. Biological experiments with pigeons and locusts highlight the formative influence of images on organisms, suggesting a homeomorphic identification related to notions of beauty.

 

Mimicry, whether homomorphic or heteromorphic, raises questions about the significance of space for living organisms, inviting psychological analysis beyond mere adaptation. This spatial captation, evident in the mirror stage, hints at an organic insufficiency in human reality, compounded by an innate discordance and prematurity in human birth.

 

The mirror stage functions as a mechanism for establishing a relation between the organism and its reality, reflecting a primal Discord within the human organism. Embryological concepts like foetalization underscore the early development of the cortical system, which acts as an intra-organic mirror.

 

This developmental process unfolds as a temporal dialectic, propelling the individual's formation into history. From fragmented body-image to orthopaedic totality and ultimately to the assumption of an alienating identity, the mirror stage shapes the subject's mental development, perpetuating the quest for validation in the external world.

The fragmented body, a term I've incorporated into our theoretical framework, often emerges in dreams when the individual faces aggressive disintegration. It presents as disjointed limbs or organs taking on surreal forms, akin to Hieronymus Bosch's visionary paintings. This fragmentation is palpably evident in the anatomical lines of phantasy, seen in the schizoid and spasmodic symptoms of hysteria.

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Conversely, the formation of the ego is depicted in dreams as a fortress or stadium, with inner arenas surrounded by marshes and rubbish heaps, symbolizing internal struggles. On the mental plane, we encounter fortified structures akin to obsessional neurosis mechanisms, such as inversion, isolation, and displacement.

 

However, solely relying on subjective observations leaves our theoretical endeavors vulnerable to projecting into the realm of an absolute subject. Therefore, I've sought a method of symbolic reduction grounded in objective data, establishing a genetic order within the ego's defenses.

 

This framework positions hysterical repression at a more archaic stage than obsessional inversion, which precedes paranoic alienation stemming from the deflection of the specular ego into the social ego. The transition from the mirror stage marks the commencement of a dialectic linking the ego to socially constructed scenarios, propelled by the drama of primordial jealousy and identification with the counterpart.

 

This pivotal moment mediates human knowledge through the desire of others, abstractly equating objects through social cooperation. The ego becomes an apparatus wherein every instinctual impulse poses a threat, necessitating cultural mediation for maturation, exemplified in the Oedipus complex.

 

In this context, the term "primary narcissism" unveils profound semantic nuances, elucidating the dynamic interplay between narcissistic libido and sexual libido. Early analysts invoked destructive instincts to explain the link between narcissistic libido and the alienating function of the ego, manifesting as aggressivity even in ostensibly altruistic interactions.

The contemporary philosophy of being and nothingness acknowledges existential negativity, but it confines this negativity within the bounds of consciousness's self-sufficiency, perpetuating the illusion of autonomy linked to ego méconnaissances. Despite drawing heavily from psychoanalytic experience, this philosophy falls short in providing a comprehensive existential psychoanalysis.

 

Existentialism emerges at a historical juncture where society predominantly emphasizes utilitarian functions, leading individuals to grapple with anxieties stemming from a concentrated form of social bondage. However, its explanations for subjective impasses fail to align with our experiential realities. The freedom it champions often manifests within the confines of confinement, commitment expresses the impotence of pure consciousness, and its treatment of sexual relations veers toward voyeuristic and sadistic idealizations.

 

Contrary to existentialist propositions, our psychoanalytic experience reveals that the ego isn't solely centered on perception-consciousness or organized by the reality principle, a scientific bias hostile to knowledge's dialectic. Instead, we must recognize the ego's inherent méconnaissance, notably articulated by Anna Freud. Verneinung represents a patent form of this function, with latent effects only illuminated by acknowledging the id's manifestations.

 

Understanding the inertia of ego formations provides a broad definition of neurosis, while the captation of the subject by the situation offers insight into madness—both within and beyond asylum walls. The sufferings of neurosis and psychosis serve as a lesson in soul passions, while psychoanalysis unveils society's numbing of these passions.

 

At the intersection of nature and culture, psychoanalysis identifies the imaginary servitude inherent in love, a knot that must continually be undone or severed. We remain skeptical of altruistic sentiments, recognizing the underlying aggressivity in philanthropy, idealism, pedagogy, and reform.

 

In our practice, psychoanalysis guides patients to the ecstatic revelation of mortal destiny encapsulated in "Thou art that," but it cannot single-handedly embark them on the journey where true transformation begins.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Deleuze's Concept of Difference and Repetition

 

Deleuze's exploration of difference and repetition includes both critical and constructive aspects. He criticizes traditional philosophy for being trapped in a mindset that prioritizes identity over difference and repetition. This tendency, which he calls the "transcendental illusion," is deeply ingrained in philosophical thought and requires ongoing critique to overcome. Deleuze aims to uncover this illusion and demonstrate how it distorts genuine intellectual progress.

 

In contrast to this critical stance, Deleuze offers a positive vision for philosophy. He suggests that philosophy should strive to directly engage with reality by apprehending things in their unique individuality. This notion of precision underscores his belief that philosophy's goal is to grasp the essence of things as they truly are, distinct from everything else. For Deleuze, difference isn't just an intermediate concept but rather the primary aspect of philosophical inquiry, crucial for achieving true understanding.

 

This pursuit of understanding echoes the longstanding philosophical endeavor to grasp the essence of things, as seen in Plato's dialogues and Aristotle's metaphysics. However, Deleuze contends that traditional approaches, which rely on a simplistic notion of identity, fall short in capturing the richness of individual objects of thought. Thus, he advocates for a shift towards appreciating the uniqueness and singularity of each thing, which he believes is essential for genuine philosophical inquiry.

 

Deleuze's examination of identity in "Difference and Repetition" reveals its role as a tool for managing difference. Essentially, identity functions by either grouping qualities or things as identical across various instances or by dividing concepts based on contrasting attributes. This approach, exemplified by Aristotle's genera and species model, relies on defining essences or natures, which exclude contingent differences such as those related to time, space, or individual cases.

 

Attempts to expand concepts to encompass even the most contingent details, as advocated by Leibniz's principle of sufficient reason, raise questions about the nature of concepts. For instance, if a concept applies only to one thing, is it still a concept? Deleuze argues that concepts typically designate a set of things with common characteristics, making them repeatable and communicable. The challenge arises when confronting the singularity of contingent moments in space and time, as exemplified by Hegel's critique of sense-certainty.

 

Deleuze's critique extends to the notion of representation, which posits identity as the central reference point for thought. He contests the idea that thought's aim is merely to re-present what exists non-conceptually, arguing instead for a disruption to the regular course of affairs. While representation serves well in the realm of everyday experience, where objects are recognized and ordered according to habit, Deleuze sees it as inadequate for understanding thought, which involves disruption and exception.

 

Deleuze's perspective on thought is dynamic, seeing the thinker not as a passive spectator but as an active participant at the edges of a system, initiating and revolutionizing thought. Thus, he challenges the passive role assigned to the thinker in traditional representations of thought, advocating for an engaged, dynamic approach to philosophical inquiry.

 

Deleuze contrasts the traditional model of thought, based on representation through concepts, with what he calls "dramatization." Instead of focusing on defining the essence of a thing, Deleuze suggests asking questions like "Who?", "How?", "When?", and "Where?" This approach, often dismissed in philosophy as merely empirical, considers empirical examples and circumstances as essential to understanding philosophical problems.

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Deleuze draws inspiration from Plato's dialogues, which he sees as dramatizations of central problems rather than straightforward inquiries into essence. This contrasts with Kant's distinction between concepts and Ideas. Concepts relate to our experience and form the basis of objective representations, while Ideas guide our actions and are unattainable by knowledge alone.

 

Deleuze sees thought as responding to problematic objects or events that exceed our usual ways of understanding. These encounters provoke us to engage all our faculties, creating a dynamic interplay between sense, memory, imagination, and thought. The singularities of a problem—such as "Who?", "How?", "Where?", and "When?"—shape the conditions for its resolution.

 

In contrast to Hegel's emphasis on conceptual relations, Deleuze sees thought as a response to unique events, not just a representation of them. Thought emerges from the encounter with the unknown and creates something new in the process.

 

Deleuze's notion of the Idea as a problem maintains indeterminacy, both in the world and in thought itself. Thought confronts its outside—the unthinkable—and is driven by this confrontation, without any common measure between them. This absolute difference is the highest object of thought for Deleuze, representing the challenge of thinking the unthought.

 

In Deleuze's view, the Idea persists beyond any resolution, while the act of determination is subject to conditions, particularly time. Time serves as the meeting point between the conditions of thought and the excess of the Idea, highlighting their disparity rather than their identity.

 

Despite the complexity of Deleuze's ideas, events in thought aren't necessarily grand or historically significant. They can also be imperceptible and subtle, akin to "little glimmers of the Idea" beneath the surface of everyday happenings.

 

Deleuze's model of thought rejects the idea of a common ground or shared reality that typically shapes the conditions of thinking and communication. Instead, he presents thought as a solitary yet collective activity. While he acknowledges the solitary nature of thought, characterized by passionate individual engagement, he also emphasizes its collective aspects and the importance of teaching and learning.

 

In Deleuze's view, the conditions of thought inherently contain the principle of its continuation. Thought is dedicated to an ideal of repetition, where each thinker and each thought reproduces the configuration involved in the initial event of thought. This repetition is not about reproducing the same, but about producing differences. Thought is transmitted through a relay where the injunction is to repeat as different, with each instance animated by the spirit of the first.

 

This form of communication, termed "rhizomatic" by Deleuze and Guattari, spreads horizontally without a fixed origin or end-point, unlike the hierarchical "tree-system" prevalent in traditional philosophy. In this rhizomatic mode, each act of thought is a new beginning emerging from contingencies, thinking with past thinkers as contemporaries and companions.

 

For Deleuze, difference is both methodological and ontological, meaning we cannot separate its being from its pursuit and development. Thus, precision in philosophy involves determining the specific context, conditions, and unknowns of a problem rather than isolating a conceptual essence.

 

Despite acknowledging threats to thought, Deleuze maintains an optimistic tone, focusing on the micro realm of the contingent as a site of production and revolution. His commitment lies in affirming chance and embracing the creative potential inherent in contingent events.