416 CRITICAL PRACTICES elaborated in a detailed reading of the play (pp. xxxiv-lix), obviously runs the risk of abstraction, but the dichotomy of art and nature was important in Renaissance thought and in Shakespeare (witness The Winter's Tale). I would place the emphasis differently, but it is a perfectly coherent interpretation of the play, and only an Althusserian could see this a-political, philosophico-aesthetic concept as the tool of 'incipient bourgeois hegemony'. This lumbering and pompous phrase has become an automatic reflex, a substitute for thought. In fact, a large proportion of any Cultural Materialist essay on Shakespeare is spent setting out the approved terminology, as if that in itself constituted an argument. This is another case where, as a critic of Althusser drily observed, the 'terminological acquisitions are far more numerous than actual conceptual advances' (Timpanaro 1975, p. 193). The ideological agenda is predictable, and the play dutifully conforms to it. Prospero's laconic 'Here in this island we arrived' (1.2.171) is said to describe 'the relationship between the Europeans and the island's inhabitants' (p. 199)^—that is, all two Europeans, Prospero and the infant Miranda, over and against Caliban (Ariel lives in the elements). Prospero's 'arbitrary rule. . . over the island and its inhabitants' (plural again) is an 'act of usurpation' (pp. 199-200). Not content with exploiting him, Prospero has a fiendishly clever strategy which 'reduces Caliban to a tble in the supporting sub-plot, as instigator of a mutiny that is programmed to fail, thereby forging an equivalence between Antonio's initial putsch and Caliban's revolt' (p. 201). Our authors never notice that the revolt is entirely Caliban's idea, and that, far from being Prospero's doing, it surprises and angers him. Nor do they observe that the plot of Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo against Prospero functions in the play as a parallel to the new plot of the usurping Duke Antonio and Sebastian against Sebastian's brother Alonso, King of Naples. Instead, they conclude that Shakespeare manipulated Caliban into this position so that 'the playing out of the colonialist narrative is thereby completed: Caliban's attempt —= tarred with the brush of Antonio's supposedly self-evident viciousness — is produced as final and irrevocable confirmation of the natural treachery of savages' {ibid.). But Shakespeare nowhere makes such general affirmations, whether about savages or anyone else. Antonio's viciousness is more than 'supposedly self-evident': it is extremely evident to anyone who is actually seeing or reading the play with a clear and open mind- The fact that Barker and Hulme end by attributing to the phy an 'anxiety' about its ending, the play itself somehow bringing about a 'comic closure' as a means of 'quelling... a fundamental disquiet concerning its own functions within the projects of colonialist discourse' (pp. 203-4), shows, I think, the extent to which an ideology can rewrite a play in its own image. The strong master narrative has won.again, as it always will, if we let it. The play cannot resist; we can. Epilogue: Masters and Demons I wish to emphasize from the very beginning that the attitude taken here is of a very personal character. I do not believe that there is any single approach to the history of science which could not be replaced by very different methods of attack; only trivialities permit but one interpretation. Otto Neugebauer1 Looking back through this book, and reflecting on the very diverse range of i material it has dealt with, one common element stands out, the degree to which critics pick up: the ideas of a 'Modem Master' and model their accounts of literature on the patterns he provides. Whether Freud, Derrida, Lacan, Foucault, Althusser, whether feminist or Christian, one thought-system is taken over as setting the standards by which Shakespeare should be read. Critics derive their assumptions about language and literature, their methodology (in some cases the: renunciation of method), their attitudes to,life even, from a law-giving individual or system. Adoption of the system usually seems to deprive them of the power to criticise it, or even to reflect on it critically. It is to be absorbed entire, demonstrated or validated through being imposed on this or that play. On the one side the master, on the other his pupils or slaves. The destructive effects of such allegiance were clearly shown by Francis Bacon in 1605:: And as for the overmuch credit that hath been given unto authors in sciences, in making them dictators, that their words should stand, and not counsels to give advice; the damage is infinite that sciences have . received thereby, as the principal cause that hath.kept them low, at a stay without growth or advancement. In the mechanical arts, Bacon saw, a constant process of improvement and development takes,place, but in philosophy all too: often attention has been captured by the system of one thinker, which loyal exegetes 'have rather depraved than illustrated. For as water will not ascend higher than the level of the first spring-head; from whence it descendeth, so knowledge derived from Aristotle, and exempted from the liberty of examination, will not rise again, higher than the knowledge of Aristotle;. Bacon's conclusion is that 'disciples do.owe unto masters only a temporary belief and a suspension of their own judgment until they be fully instructed, ■ and not an absolute resignation or pe,rpetual captivity. .,,'.-All too often today, it seems to me, the 'absolute resignation' to a master system, 'exempted from 418 EPILOGUE EPILOGUE 419 the liberty of examination' not only fails to advance thought but makes it ■ shrink, as lesser wits 'deprave' the original system by a mechanical and unimaginative reproduction of it. The too loyal follower, passive and uncritical, seems to be imprisoned by the system he has adopted. To Bacon the bad effect of inquiry being restricted to a single system was shown by the medieval scholastics, whose wits being shut up in the cells of a few authors {chiefly Aristotle their dictator) as their persons were shut up in the cells of monasteries and colleges . . . did out of no great quantity of matter and infinite agitation of wit, spin out unto us those laborious webs of learning which are ti extant in their books. (Works, 3.285) 1 i: The. same metaphor occurred to Edward Said in the 1980s to describe ij Foucault's concept of the ubiquity of power-structures making political t engagement pointless: 'Foucault's theory has drawn a circle around itself, j constituting a unique territory in which Foucault has imprisoned himself I and others with him' (Said 1983, p. 245). At much the same time E.P. \ Thompson used a variant of the metaphor to convey his feeling of being j 'invited to enter the Althusserian theatre', where once inside 'we find there i are no exits' (Thompson 1978, p. 32). 'Men imprison themselves within | systems of their own creation' also, Thompson writes, 'because they are j self-mystified? (M., p. 165). Certainly their disciples are. I could wish 'j for Shakespeare criticism in future more of the sturdy independence I proclaimed by the American composer Virgil Thomson: '1 follow no j leaders, lead no followers'.3 -| New perhaps in literary studies, the phenomenon of willing slavehood in the. history of thought is ancient. Plato, Aristotle, Aquinas, Descartes, Hegel -— many thinkers have attracted disciples* who have loyally expounded their works and re-interpreted, contemporary issues in the same i terms. In those cases a body of thought existed which was argued through, sometimes polemically and unfairly (Plato against the Sophists, say), but generally with due regard for evidence, accurate citation of instances, and j the avoidance of self-contradiction. Not all of our current masters measure up to, or even accept these standards. Freud's work is notoriously speculative, a vast theoretical edifice elaborated with a mere pretence of corroboration, citing 'clinical observations' which turn out to be false, with contrary evidence suppressed, data manipulated, building up over a forty-year period a self-obscuring, self-protective mythology. The system of Derrida, although disavowing systematicity, is based on several unproven theses about the nature of language which are supported by a vast expanding web of idiosyncratic terminology, setting up an autohermeneutical process which disguises the absence of proof or evidence adequate to fl| meet external criteria. Lacan's system, even more vastly elaborated; is surrounded by another series of devices evading accountability, while distrust.) In the fashionable world of self-proclaimed new theory today, by j i contrast, participants practise 'theoreticism— frank recourse to unsubstantiated theory, not just as a tool of investigation but as anti-empirical knowledge in its own right.' By empiricism Crews means (like E.P. ' Thompson) 'simply a regard for evidence', choosing between rival ideas on > the basis of observed phenomena, or an appeal to the text, a process in which the individual necessarily acknowledges the judgment of the scientific community. The basic justification for empiricism, he believes, i 'consists of active participation in a community of informed people^ who ' themselves care about evidence and who can be counted on for unsparing J criticism' (p. 164), what he elsewhere calls 'the principle of intersubjective skepticism' {p. 169). \ > In place of those principles — which to me constitute a genuine link r between the humanities and the natural sciences, so different in other I respects — Crews documents the presence of 'wilful assertion' in modern • theory (p. 165), the unique combination of'antinomian rebellion and self- ' indulgence' that 'comes down to us from the later Sixties', that 'dogmatism |i of intellectual style' so evident in the work of 'Levi-Strauss, Barthes, i Lacan, Althusser, Foucault, and Derrida' (p. 168). One quality these 'gurus { of theoreticism' share is that 'all of them neglect or openly dismiss the principle of intersubjective skepticism' (p. 169). Althusser and Lacan were ■§ both 'absolutists' who, under the guise of returning to their' founding fathers, Marx and Freud, arbitrarily selected those elements that suited them and by 'brazen decree', or fiat, with an explicit 'disdain for corroboration', launched their own systems (ibid.). In their hands, as Crews perceptively observes, Marxism and psychoanalysis ■ exchange an adaptive materialism for allegory. There is no point at which they unambiguously intersect experience and therefore no point where one of their contentions could be modified by behavioral data. They have become, not critiques of inhumane arrangements or guidelines for practical intervention, but master transcoding devices which will sort any text or problem into sets of formally opposed categories. (P- 170) . \ That dematerialisation of a discipline, reducing it from reality to language, so to speak, is something that I have commented on several times in my discussion of these trends (Chapters 1, 2, 5, 7). The 'poststructural cynicism' of Derrida and Foucault, as. Crews describes it, deliberately distanced itself from the concepts of empiricism, evidence, and the notion of a community to whom interpretations are referred. 'Derrida's judgment that "there is nothing outside the text" (Derrida 1976, p.' 158) automatically precludes recourse to evidence', while in Foucault's historical works, although 'portentous■'significance' is attached 'to certain develop- i EPILOGUE 421 merits .and details, his epistemological pronouncements appear to rule out the very concept of a fact' {p. 171). This description echoes Thomas Pavel's analysis, just quoted, with remarkable accuracy. E.P. Thompson has documented a similar slippefiness in Althusser, who 'simplifies his own polemics by caricaturing. .. "empiricism", and ascribing to it, indiscriminately and erroneously, "essentialist" procedures of abstraction', making a 'continuous, wilful and theoretically crucial confusion between "empiricism" (that is, philosophical positivism and all its kin) and the empirical mode of intellectual practice' (Thompson 1978, pp. 6, 10). Rejecting any notion of positivism as privileging the natural sciences and llieir (once upon a time!) claim to objective certainties, I stand by the 'empirical mode of intellectual practice', which appeals to the experience of reading in order to ground an argument by citing evidence from a (usually) printed text, available to all, subject to interpretation and open discussion. This principle maligned, the theoteticist is free to make whatever assertions he wishes. The general effect of this absolutism among the Masters of the New Paradigm is to produce what Crews calls an 'appetite for unquestioning belief on the part of followers matched by, or deriving from, the theorist's 'refusal to credit one's audience with the right to challenge, one's ideas on dispassionate grounds' (p. 172). The theorist displays a 'scorn for in-: dependent criteria of judgment' that ■— 'as we ought to have learned by now from the larger political realrri' — 'is ultimately a means, not of fostering spontaneity and liberation, but of guaranteeing that entrenched leaders will not be contradicted. . .' (p. 118). The result is the depressing state reached in the 1980s, where Sectarian zeal, which now appears stronger than ever in the academy, provides all the guidance required to tell which tenets should.be discarded or updated to match the latest political wisdom, (pp; 172—3) A state of 'fierce parochialism' exists within the university, which would astonish the outsider (perhaps imagining that we are still dedicated to discovering 'the best that has been thought and said'), a combative situation where one 'pugnacious clique' fights another:, each group refusing to adapt its method 'to the intellectual problem at hand' (p. 173). As Edward Said independently observed, where once a critical consensus existed that at least disagreement could be confined within certain agreed limits, now there is. 'a babel of arguments for the limitlessness of all interpretation; for all systems that in asserting their capacity to perform essentially self-confirming tasks allow for no counterfactital evidence? (Said 1983, p. 230). If you have the system, what else do you need? The.1960s iconoclasts quite consciously tried to guarantee a carte blanche for their own system-building by destroying the criteria of objectivity, empirical practice, evidence. Barthes was reporting; on ah established change of direction when he announced in 1963 the good news that H ii A I 422 EPILOGUE EPILOGUE 423 the human sciences are losing some of their positivist obsession: struc- K turalism, psychoanalysis, even Marxism prevail by the coherence of their S system rather than by the 'proof'of their details: we are endeavouring to Wt construct a science which includes itself within its object, and it is this S infinite 'reflexiveness' which constitutes, facing us, art itself: science and K art both acknowledge an original relativity of object and inquiry. K (Barthes 1972, pp. 277-8) 9 Barthes was accurate in putting structuralism in first place. As the socio- j -logist Simon Clarke showed in his penetrating study of that movement, 1 ' Levi-Strauss's first major work, Les Structures Elementaires de la Parente j ; (1949; English tr. 1969) offered a theory of kinship which was prophetic in ! having 'no significant empirical content'. To have an empirical content a \ 1 theory 'must tell us something about the world', both what it is like and ' ; what it is not like; that is, such a theory must be falsifiable. However, Clark argues, 'Levi-Strauss's theory of kinship is not falsifiable because it is consistent with any possible set of data'. Rather than telling us 'anything about the form or the operation of the kinship systems that we can find in ' actually existing societies', Levi-Strauss's theories simply reduced 'these r systems to abstract models that are supposedly located in the unconscious', ' determining all observable structures (Clarke 1981, p. 54). ; The epistemology of structuralism, which took the object of any science I ' to be an ideal object, not any particular empirical object (p. 102), meant r that it espoused a relativism which simply dismissed any evaluation of ' ; theories by reference to reality. The result, as Clarke puts it, was that structuralism adopted the rationalist slogan'save the theory' as a counter to the old empiricist slogan 'save the appearances': the task of the scientist is. . , to create a i closed logical theory of an ideal object and not to worry about the correspondence between this object and a mythical reality, (p. 103) jp The task of science, according to structuralism, is 'not to create a view of ; the world that is true', but to find a theory which offers 'a coherent and ; logical framework for discourse.. . . Thus positivism is preserved by turning ; into a form of rationalism' (ibid.) ■—Barthes's pronouncement of the death ; of positivism was premature. The structuralist methodological separation of f the ideal object from reality, although preferable to older and cruder positivism, Clarke judges, had 'serious dangers'. It allowed its users to preserve theories which could not be falsified by empirical evidence, t however overwhelmingly opposed, such as Levi-Strauss's kinship theories ! (pp. 103-104). Other followers protected their, models by claiming that they, existed 'undetected and undetectable in the unconscious'. This happened, as we saw, with Althusser's 'symptomatic' reading of Marx, and his relegation of ideology to the unconscious, and it happened with Foucault's 'epistemes', the construct of a 'system of thought that is an ideal ; object, . . . only inadequately and incompletely expressed in the work of a particular thinker'. (Foucault's theory can never be refuted by appeal to the evidence of a particular thinker's not corresponding to the episteme, for this merely shows that the thinker 'had inadequately expressed it'.) Throughout structuralism, Clarke concludes, 'the rationalist development of positivism is the basis on which it is the theory that is made the judge of the evidence and not vice versa'(p. 104). This, I argue, is exactly the point at which Current Literary Theory has stuck: As -— to use Barthes's words — 'a science which includes itself within its object', it is self-contained and endlessly reflexive, not concerned with empirical enquiry into the make-up of the literary work, the complementary roles of writer and reader, the nature of genres, the possibilities of style, or the conventions of representing reality and human behaviour. It pursues the 'closed logical theory of an ideal object', ignoring any 'correspondence between this object and a mythical reality'. Attractive though this option may be to those who believe that Pure Theory is a superior object of study, it is very dubious that it could ever constitute a theory of literature. To begin with, any theory is already a selection from the phenomena to be discussed. No theory can explain everything, so some selection must be made in advance: 'every theory is a theory about a part of the whole that is the world that we.daily confront' (p. 130). Current Literary. Theory gets along, as I have pointed out several times, by simply ignoring large areas in linguistics, philosophy of language, and rival literary theories. The 'part of the world' that is confronts is truly tiny. But what, in fact, is it a theory of? One basic principle of intellectual enquiry is that If a theory is to have any explanatory value it must be possible, in principle, to falsify the claims made by that; theory empirically. Such falsification can only.be achieved within the terms of the theory, and.so can never be absolute. However if it is to be possible at all the theory must define its object independently of its explanations, (ibid.) As we have seen, that is precisely what the systems of Lacan, Althusser, Foucault and Derrida were designed not to do. As Clarke rightly observes, purely formal systems which refuse to define their object independently1 of their explanations can only be assessed 'in relation to one another bri formal grounds: the best theory is that which is simplest, most elegant', or whatever (p. 137). On this basis the; literary theory of Thomas Rymer might be judged superior to that of Coleridge, or Henry James. The corollary of a purely formal system, however, is that 'the isolation of the theory from the world of observation means that the theory has no purchase on reality' (ibid.). The unsatisfying nature of Current Literary Theory, I conclude, is that while being an a priori construct, largely made up of the negations of other theories, and while continuing to parrot the 60s iconoclasts in scorning empiricism, it still claims to be telling us something about the world. i I j I 424 EPILOGUE What the theorists' pronouncements about decentred discourses, expelled subjects, absent presence, or non-referential sign-systems are in. fact proving is the accuracy of an observation made by W.G. Runciman, both a theoretical and practising sociologist, namely that 'there is in practice no escape for either the natural or the social scientist from a correspondence conception of truth', for to assert that any proposition is true (or not) 'is to presuppose a relation of some kind between observation-statements and the state of the world', and therefore to employ a concept of truth (Runciman 1983, p. 8). This condition holds for all the assertions of Derrida, Foucault and their followers, despite their attempts to evade accountability, about the nature of language, the incoherence of works of literature, and every other position either excoriated or recommended. Despite their attacks on objectivity, that concept remains inescapable in the human sciences, provided that it is properly understood- A.D. Nuttall recently wrote of the criterion:of ^objective truth', that if it is taken to mean'"truth which. . . states itself, without regard to the, nature and interests of the perceiver'"* then we could rightly reject it as superseded. If, on the other hand, 'objective truth' means 'truth which is founded on some characteristic of the material and is not invented by the perceiver', there is no reason whatever to say that [it] has been superseded. Indeed its supersession would mean the end of all human discourse, hot just Newtonian physics but even Tel Quel. Objective atomism is dead but objectivity is unfefuted. (Nuttall 1983, p. 12) Or, as Francis Bacon put it, 'God forgive that we should give out a dream of our own imagination for a pattern of the world' (Works, 4. 32-3). Following through the history of the iconoclastic movement and its opponents since the 1960s it is heartening to see so much agreement between critics of very different training and background on its attempt to offload any notion of empiricism. To the Marxist classicist Sebastiano Timpanaro, the system-breakers, from Bachelard and Levi-Strauss to Foucault and Derrida, merely managed 'to blur together under the pejorative label of "empirical" both "lived experience" in the irrationalist sense and the "experimental"'. They made an a priori definition of science 'as anti-empiricism, as pure theory', ignoring its function as 'knowledge related to action through a process of reciprocal verification' (Timpanaro 1975, p. 186), a fundamental mistake. Another Marxist-critic, Perry Anderson, has commented.pn the way Derrida and Foucault took up 'the philosophical legacy of the late Nietzsche, in its relentless denunciation of the- illusion of truth and the fixity of meaning', trying to escape from 'the tyranny of the veridical' towards 'a free-wheeling nescience' (Anderson 1983, pp. 46-7), glorying in a state beyond meaning or verification. Yet, he responds, 'without untruth truth ceases to be such', indeed 'the distinction between the true and the false is the uneliminable premise of any rational knowledge. Its central site is evidence', a related concept disdained by struc- EPILOGUE 425 tutalism and its successors, which claimed the licence to indulge in 'a play of signification beyond truth and falsehood' (p. 48). Evidence is particularly important in the historical sciences, however: as E.D. Hirsch points out, in their domain 'decisive, falsifying data cannot be generated at will', as in the natural sciences, so that the interpreter is often faced with the choice between two hypotheses, each having some evidence to support it (Hirsch 1967, p.. 181). ~' . f For works of literature, to return to our main interest, the evidence cited derives from the text; which needs to have been accurately edited — a supposedly 'factual' scholarly procedure, but which depends on all kind of interpretive hypotheses, including ideological ones (but that is another story). Secondly, citations from the text need to respect its overall | meaning, and to reproduce the author's argument reliably. As I showed in Chapter 4, Greenblatt regularly misrepresents the texts he cites, in order (1 surmised) to justify a New Historicist ressentirnent. Although literary criticism has - its own procedures, it shares with other subjects in the , humanities a responsibility to describe the objects it'studies accurately, as ■„ the first stage of interpretation. W.G. Runciman's !outstanding study of ! social theory has identified some recurring instances of 'misdescription' ; which can be used to sum up several of the failings I have documented in current Shakespeare criticism, Runciman divides misdescription into , 'misapprehension?, involving 'incompleteness, oversimplification and ahistoricity'; and 'mystification', involving 'suppression, exaggeration, and ethhocentricity' (Runciman 1983, pp. 244-9). Incompleteness arises from an observer neglecting 'an aspect of the institutions and practices of the , society he is studying which is only peripheral to his own theoretical interests but is of much closer significance to "them"Oversimplification is seen when the researcher fails to realise that 'the beliefs and practices connected with the behaviour'he describes 'are more complex than his L account of it' would suggest. Social anthropology guards against this failing [ by developing 'systematic participant-observation as the basic technique'. ■ Ahistoricity arises when the researcher forgets that a report ori 'the be-! haviour of the members of an earlier society' may be accurate but 'will be a misdescription if so presented as; to imply that they were capable of con-: ceptualizing their own experiences to themselves in the idioni of a later I one'. - :- - These were instances of 'misapprehension'. The first mode of 'mysti-1 fication? is suppression, the researcher's deliberately failing to 'include \ | reports which would make the description which he presents less favour-; v able to his chosen cause'. Exaggeration, likewise, 'typically arises when the : i researcher overstates a description to make a case for purposes of his own', ■i i Ethnocentricity, finally, 'arises where the assumptions of the observer's own 426 EPILOGUE period or milieu are read into the experience of the members of another in which they do not in fact have any place'. This is particularly likely when the description concerns that earlier society's values, when, for instance, the modern historian applies to them his 'own taken-for-granted distinction between the natural and the supernatural' — or, we. can add, a modern notion of witches as marginalised and therefore admirable people. Without going into detail, I think the reader will recall instances of all six of Runciman's categories of misdescription in the Shakespeare critics I have discussed. Less specific, but rather similar criteria for interpretation, as we have seen, were suggested by E.D. Hirsch (legitimacy, correspondence, generic appropriateness, coherence), and S.M. Olsen (completeness, correctness, comprehensiveness, consistence, and discrimination). Although the literary critic is.dealing not with societies, past of present, but with literary works, the same criteria apply, in particular the need to recognise the specificity or individuality of a play or novel, the fact that it has a unique dynamic structure, a growth, complication and resolution of conflicting forces that is different from every other work (unless they belong to the type of Trivialliteratur written to a formula, when a description can be made of the genre as a whole). Given the potential uniqueness, at least, of every literary work, it follows that interpretation should begin at the beginning. Not in the sense that the critic's written account must always start with Act One, scene one, but that his reading should begin there, and the:resulting interpretation should recognise the fact that every action has its consequences, and that to understand these it is necessary first to understand the action, the motives behind it, whether or not it was an initiating act or one in reply to, or: in retaliation for, some preceding act. Drama, like life as Kierkegaard once-defined it, is lived forwards but understood backwards^ in retrospect: Plays certainly need to be experienced forwards, as evolving out of clearly-defined human desires and their fulfilment or frustration. The first scene of King Lear, the first scene of Othello, are decisive for the subsequent events and their outcome. For a critic to start her account: of the latter play with Iago's hypocritical words to Othello, T am your own forever' (3.3.476), or for another to base a reading of Coriohmts on two brief passages taken out of context is to forfeit any chance of understanding it properly. Equally, the evidence that a critic draws on concerning the play's individual structure involves him in reliably registering the various levels of plot, and how they interact. In A Midsummer Night's Dream, for instance, Shakespeare organises four layers of plot in parallel. First, the impending marriage of Theseus and Hippolyta, 'four happy days' off when the play begins (1.1.2). Secondly, the dispute between Egeus and his daughter Hermia, supposed to marry Demetrius but in love with Lysander. (Fortunately Helena, loves Demetrius, and after various comic mistakes both couples achieve their desires.) Thirdly, the dispute between the King and Queen of the fairies, which Qberon resolves to his advantage with the help I EPILOGUE 427 I I; of a herb that makes Titania fall in love with Bottom. Fourthly, the | company of artisans rehearsing their play of Pyramus and Thisbe, duly { performed before the concluding nuptials (5.1). The artisans' role is to entertain the court, and in rehearsing their play (1.2; 3.1; 4.2) they [ certainly entertain the audience (some Cultural Materialists apart). Their I leading, performer is Bottom, the only (human) character to figure in more ; than two plot-levels (the fairy Puck takes part in all four), in those • touchingly comic but gentle love-scenes with Titania and the fairies (3.1; ; 4-1). Any attentive reader can-see how skilfully Shakespeare sustains these four plot-elements in parallel, bringing them all to a happy resolution in (- Acts 4 and 5. As we know from the studies of G.K. Hunter and David P. Young, among others, by a process of analysis and synthesis Shakespeare fused a number of disparate elements together to form an admirably balanced unity.6 ; , For some recent politically minded critics, however, the truly significant element in the play is that involving the artisans — not for its connection j i with the illusion basic to theatrical performance (which Theseus discusses | f in a famous speech), but for its relevance to immediate social unrest. In a | recent book, Shakespeare and the Popukr Voice (Oxford, 1989), Annabel Patterson has argued that the play should be interpreted in the light of the Oxfordshire Rising of 1596 and the midsummer disturbances in London j of 1595, which some sources claim to have involved up to a thousand I rioters, a mixture of artisans,and apprentices. Terence Hawkes reviewed Patterson's book favourably,7 endorsing her notion that the artisans in the Dream offered to Shakespeare's audience 'the worrying potential of the j presence on the stage of a number of such; persons', Bottom's 'sexual j triumph with Titania': constituting 'an enactment in fantasy of upper-class I fears regarding the potency of the lower elements both of society and the body'. The artisans' play is now 'thrust into new prominence', as Hawkes puts it, for their -mocking and sharply focused performance ^ capable of making its aristocratic audience as Uncomfortable as the performance of "The Mousetrap" does in Hamlet:—takes up virtually the whole of the Fifth Act of the play, and the rehearsals for it resonate in the rest of the action to such a degree that they drown out much of the rather tedious framing plot'. This may be a demonstration of turning the margin into the centre, but it certainly distorts the play. There is no evidence that the grievances of some working men in 1595-6 are echoed in this or any other play by Shakespeare. His presentations of, social unrest (2 Henry VI, ]uhus Caesar, Coriolanus) derive from historical sources, and are never keyed to contemporary events. Far from airing their grievances, these craftsmen are entirely preoccupied with their play and with the; aesthetics of illusion, only lamenting Bottom's loss of a royal pension; by his apparent disappearance ('An' the Duke had not given him sixpence a day for playing Pyramus, I'll be hanged': 4-2.19ff). Bottom's 'sexual triumph with Titania' 1 428 EPILOGUE is a figment in the minds of some post-Kottian critics, and fails to register the comic incongruity of the love-scenes themselves, with Titania oozing love-poetry over Bottom, while he remains, semper idem, imperturbable in prose. The performance of Pyramns and Thisbe can hardly be described as 'sharply focused', either, given the hilarious series of mishaps that befall it, compounded by the actors' artless commentary; Their play becomes even funnier if we accept, as Thomas Clayton recently suggested, that a whole series of unconscious sous'etuendres are perpetrated by Wall.8 If we imagine that Wall presents his 'crannied hole br chink' not, as is customary, with outstretched fingers, but' with parted legs, so that the lovers have to exchange kisses between his legs, then a completely coherent series of bawdy jokes emerges {'And this the cranny is, right and sinister, / Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper'; 'O wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss! / Curs'd be thy stones for thus deceiving me!'; 'My cherry lips have often kiss'd thy stones, /. Thy stones with lime and hair knot up in thee'; 'O kiss me through the hole of this viiewall!' ^ 'I kiss the wall's hole, not your lips at all': 5.1.153ff). The gain in comic incongruity by that interpretation (giving meaning to some lines which otherwise seemed pointless) is so great that it would be a pity to ignore it. Whether or not readers and producers come to accept that new reading, it is obvious that the artisans' play is by every other criterion' comic, a parody of outdated verse style, absurdi diction, and wooden dramaturgy. Hawkes's parallel with 'The Mousetrap1 in Hamlet could hardly be less appropriate, if we recall the subject-matter of that play, 'the image of a murder done in Vienna ... a knavish piece of work', and its intended (and successful) effect on Claudius. Far from being made 'uncomfortable' by the playlet, Theseus and his courtiers keep up a rapid-fire series of deflating comments which are sometimes amusing. The crowning gesture in Hawkes's attempt to appropriate the play for a political reading, his claim that the artisans' rehearsals 'resonate' so strongly that 'they drown out much of the rather tedious framing plot', is: another example of the ruthlessness involved in ideological interpretation these days, the seizing of that part of the play which fits your preoccupation and the contemptuous disposal of the rest. I should once like to see a performance of A Mid-summer Night's Dream either with an audience comprised wholly of Cultural Materialists (if a theatre large enough could be found), and with normal actors, or else one with the Cultural Materialists playing the main roles, and with a normal audience — to see which group could make the other laugh in the way that the play intends. Although I fear that this misinterpretation would be the death of its comedy, perhaps Hawkes as Bottom could show us how this reading could make sense in the play, f'No offence, Hal, no offence'.) Patterson believes that the play's audience is faced with the dilemma of whether or not to join with the aristocrats in their mockery of the artisans. But I wonder how else one could respond, for instance, to Thisby's lamenting blason of Pyramus: 'These lily lips, 7 This EPILOGUE 429 cherry nose, / These yellow cowslip cheeks, / Are gone, are gone! /... His eyes were green as leeks' (5.1.321ff). As Horace put it, spectatum admissi risum teneatis, amid?: 'if you were asked to see such a thing, could you help laughing, my friends?' (Ars poetica, 5). This partial reading of the play, trying to appropriate it for a politico-social ideology, exemplifies all the vices of misdescription that our sociologist identified: incompleteness, oversimplification, ahistoricity, suppression, exaggeration, and ethno-centricity- Ethnocentricity and ahistoricity are also, as we have abundantly seen, the defining marks of Freudian and (old-style) feminist criticism, from which the other faults soon follow. * * ■■ * Shakespeare criticism needs to take stock of the ideologies and systems to which it passively attaches itself: that much, I hope, has become clear. It has taken over elements from the general intellectual upheaval dating from the 1960s without reflecting on the methodological consequences of following Foucault, Althusser, or whoever. In absorbing their polemical attitudes to previous philosophies or systems, each group of literary critics today finds itself in opposition not just to all past Shakespeare critics but also to every other group working now. The result, as several experienced commentators have noticed, is an atmosphere of fragmentation and rivalry. The historian Gertrude Himmelfarb observes that, 'for all of the brave talk about interdisciplinary studies, scholarship has never been as factional and parochial as it is today' (Himmelfarb 1987, p. 100). The critic'and historian of criticism, Denis Donoghue, adapting a phrase from, Wallace Stevens {'the lunatic of one idea'), writes that 'literary critics of our time are lunatics of one idea, and.. . are celebrated in the degree of the ferocity with.which they enforce it' (Donoghue 1981, pp. 205-6). Donoghue chooses Kenneth Burke rather than Derrida, for instance, 'because I prefer to live in conditions as far as possible free, unprescribed, undogmatic. Burke would let me practice a mind of my own; Derrida would not' (p. 206). Derrida forces a choice on us, Donoghue writes; because he has a quarrel on his hands; he feels alien to the whole tradition of metaphysics. So he has driven himself into a corner, the fanatic of one idea. So far as he has encouraged other critics to join him there, turning an attitude into an institution; he has ignored the fact that, as Blackmur has said, 'the hysteria of institutions is more dreadful than that of individuals'. So is the fanaticism. What we make, thus driven, is an ideology, the more desperate because it can only suppress what it opposes; or try to suppress it. (p. 207) A younger commentator on recent developments in literary criticism sees them as a series of 'competing rarientations, each claiming to produce a more radical break with past conventions than the others'. This struggle to 430 EPILOGUE get out in front of the field has established irritable disagreement as the norm: 'the peevishness of critical debate in literary studies today can sometimes seem absurdly out of proportion to what is finally at stake' (Wayne 1987, p. 57). What is at stake, though, is a whole range of cultural goods: egos, careers, identities, the supremacy of one's group. The basic problem in current criticism, as I see it, is that many critics cannot experience — or at any rate, professionally discuss —-a play or novel 'direct', in itself. They have to impose between themselves and it a template, an interpretive model, some kind of 'enchanted glass', in Bacon's striking phrase. But what that yields, once the reading has been performed, is not the play but the template, illustrated or validated by the play. All that such readings prove, as Crews puts it, 'is that any thematic stencil will make its own pattern stand out' (Crews 1986, p. 173). This felt need for a guide or model can be found in much criticism over the last fifty years. What, is new is the desire for collective templates, each group wanting its own magic glass to screen out material irrelevant to its own concerns and give back a reduced, but still clearly discernible mirror of itself, which other users can then reproduce in still smaller forms (the technique known as the 'mise en abyme', a term from heraldry, as Hillis Miller points out).9 Each group appropriates that part of the work that echoes its own interests, and discards the rest. As Wendell Harris recently observed* in a quite matter-of-fact way, critical groups naturally select those works that can best exhibit 'the power of their approach'. Deconstructionists like texts that can be 'pried open to suggest gaping contradictions', neo-Marxists and New Historicists like texts that 'can be shown to reveal unsuspected workings of political power. Practiced New Critics, deconstructionists, and Marxists', he added, with no sense of impropriety or incongruity, 'can, of course, read almost any text in a way that supports their own allegiances . ..' (Harris 1991, p. 116; my italics). To one critic that's just how things are; to others it could signify the denial of literary criticism. Edward Said asserts the contrary principle that criticism modified in advance by labels like 'Marxism' or 'liberalism' is, in my view, an oxymoron. The. history of thought, to say nothing of political movements, is extravagantly illustrative of how the dictum 'solidarity before criticism' means the end of criticism. (Said 1983, P. 28) ■■■ Recent developments in the world of letters certainly bear out that verdict. One result of the politicisation of literary criticism is that readers now cannot afford to be unaware of the groupings, and the polemical techniques that each uses to advance its own cause and frustrate its enemies'. (A knowledge of rhetoric is useful.) One popular ploy has been to pronounce a critical approach or methodology that you disapprove of 'dead', or 'finished'. As Thomas Pavel has shrewdly observed, 'The Rhetoric of the End' is a metaphor recently 'much used and abused' to declare that its user 'is in a position — or at least a posture — of power' (Pavel 1989, p. 9). In | EPILOGUE 431 claiming that an era is over, such narratives perform an aggressive act, for to 'conceptualize the end' of a period — or 'the entire metaphysical tradition — amounts to inflicting an ontological degradation on the sequence supposedly ended, relegating it, through rhetorical artifice, to the - level of passive narrative material. ..'. If used 'from within history and \ about history, the notion of an end points less to a fact than to a desire; far from achieving a real closure, it instead opens a polemic' (ibid.). In simple vernacular terms it means 'drop dead! Make room for me.' A variant of this ploy was Levi-Strauss's appropriating Saussure's notion of the arbitrariness J of the linguistic sign for structuralist anthropology arid relegating everything pre-Saussure to a 'pre-scientific limbo' (p. 10). The first of the ! categorically assertive Modern Masters, Levi-Strauss (as Pavel records) i ;■ never subjected 'the validity of the models adopted. . .to doubt or to systematic research' (p. 11), simply asserting their necessity in what ;> Frederick Crews describes as 'the Parisian manner of stating the most highhanded claims as if they were self-evident' (Crews 1986, p. 149). This assertive technique can be seen very clearly in all the work of de Man. Despite their claim to modernity, contemporaneity, or whatever, these polemical strategies hark back to a much older and cruder thought-world; As Pavel brings out; 'for Levi-Strauss to label his adversaries "pre-scientific" was tantamount to pronouncing a symbolic death-sentence, to marking out their narrative end' and the advent of his new regime in anthropology (Pavel 1989, p; 11). This was not so much a scientific gesture, however, as a magical or religious one, such is the force of excommunicative utterances.; To proclaim the end of other groups and systems exorcizes the fear of having to confront .! them. ... When the rhetoricians of scientific salvation announce the end of the infidels, they disguise the desire to annihilate the adversary and ensure complete mastery. ...(pp. 11, 13) Thus Derrida's placing of Rousseau in 'ethnocentric Western ontotheo-logy', another commentator observes,; 'amounted to an impeachment,: for Derrida's bracketing is the equivalent of a casting out or a death sentence' (McFadden 1981, p. 339). The primitive nature of such expulsions is well described in Ernest Gellner's comment that in 'pre-scientific societies' — this is now >m ethnographic description, not a dismissal — Truth is.manifested for the approved members of the society, and the question of its validation is not posed, or posed in a,blatantly circular manner (the theory itself singles out the fount of authority, which then blesses the theory).: Those who deviate, on the other hand, are possessed by evil forces, and they need to be exorcized; rather than refuted. (Gellner 1985, P. 120) .. It:is only in.modern; 'technological/industrial society', Gellner adds, 'the only society ever to be based on sustained cognitive growth, that this kind of procedure has become unacceptable' (ibid.). 432 EPILOGUE EPILOGUE 433 Unacceptable indeed, but disturbingly prevalent in Current Literary Theory, which has developed a distinctly authoritarian streak. As S.M. Olsen has shown, such theory now 'represents a form of theoretical imperialism', in that 'conflicts between theories,. or more often conflicts J between sceptical critics with no supporters of some special theory' turn into an 'ideological struggle' between incompatible value-systems. ! If one rejects conclusions yielded by a Marxist or psychoanalytic theory of literature one is blinded by a bourgeois ideology or by psychological defence mechanisms which will not permit one to recognize things as they really are. Protesting against the unreasonableness of decon- \ structionist readings, one is accused of being a liberal humanist who feels his individuality threatened. (Olsen 1987, p. 203) In this respect, then, Current Literary Theory 'is authoritarian in a; way that theories of the natural sciences; are not', (ibid.). E.P.i Thompson described Stalinism as a doctrine which 'blocks all exits from its system by l defining in advance any possible exit; as "bourgeois"' (Thompson 1978, ; p. 133), and several Marxist critics produced many examples of Althusser using this ploy. Demonisation (the first stage to exorcism) of the adversary is now a cliche of literary polemics.. For A.D. Nuttall 'the; most typical vice' of twentieth-century ideological criticism is the abuse of 'undercutting' explanations, setting down an opponent's weaknesses; as being determined by psychological .or social factors, hoping to neutralise the opposition 'by ascribing to such explanations an absolute, exhaustive efficacy' (Nuttall 1983, p. 7). True enough, when Nuttall's book was mentioned by one Cultural Materialist he described it as 'espousing] a positivistic conservative materialism which rejects the specificity of history. . .' (Drakakis 1985, p. 16). Or, in the vulgar, 'he's not for us, so we are against him'. Such ritual labelling of the adversary risks creating its own version of those, despised attributes of a previous generation, 'essentialism' (Graff 1989, p. 174), and 'totalization' (Thomas 198.9, p. 200). They become, that is,: mechanical gestures of abuse, J ; Abuse and defamation are, however, things that commentators on. the ! cultural scene nowadays must learn, to live with. The republic of letters, or -the academy, is now leased out -— I write pronouncing it — to a host of competing groups, engaged in the old practices of epideictic rhetoric, hus and vituperatio: praise for oneself, scorn for the others. One exponent of literary theory asserts that in the coming age it will 'play the central role' in literary studies (at. Merquior 1986a, p. 246). J. Hillis Miller, then President of the Modem Language Association of America, was more t insistent. Celebrating 'the triumph of theory' with a hypnotic repetition of | that phrase, and engaging the rival Marxists in close-quarter, combat, ! Miller asserted that 'the future of literary studies depends on maintaining and developing... "deconstruction"' (Miller 1987, p. 289). For \ -■. deconstruction and literary theory are, the only way to.respond to the actual conditions — cultural, economic, institutional, and technological -— within which literary study is carried out today*.. . Theory is essential to going forward, in humanistic study today, (p. 250) And so on through many more 'onlys'. But of course the Marxists have a different version. For Fredric Jameson, as we have seen, 'only Marxism' can offer what we need, since the Marxist perspective 'is the absolute horizon of all reading and all interpretation', and constitutes 'something like an ultimate serrumtic precondition for the intelligibility of literary and cultural texts' (Jameson 1981, pp. 17, 75). None of these advocates is lacking in self-confidence. Which of them shall we believe? Each makes a claim for our attention — no, for our total and absorbing involvement in their discipline before, or indeed to the exclusion of, all others. For Norman N. Holland, veteran Freudian campaigner, the, fantasy psychoanalysis discovers at; the core of a literary work has a special status in our mental life that moral, medieval, or Marxist ideas do not. These.are conscious and adult and intellectual. Fantasies are unconscious, infantile, and fraught with emotion. Fantasies arc what make us grab somebody by the lapels. Ideas do so only if they are the later representatives of fantasy. The crucial point, then,... is: the psychoanalytic meaning underlies all the others, (cit. Olsen 1987, p. 204) In other words, fantasies are the first and best, moreover the source from which all other forms of thought develop. Close your Marx, open your Freud. In the struggle to gain, and keep our attention what matters is lfess logical argument than force of utterance, insistence, emphasis. On behalf of the feminists hear Ann Thompson: It is important for feminist critics to intervene in every way in the reading and; interpretation of Shakespeare and to establish, even more . securely than they, have already done, that their approach is not just another choice among a plurality of modes of reading, not something that can be relegated to an all-woman ghetto, but a major new perspective that must eventually inform aU readings. (Thompson 1988, ■ P- 84) : * * * Given such intense, jockeying for attention, each group trying to gain and retain that, portion of the intellectual space that seems theirs by right, quarrels are inevitable. The feminists, for instance, have fallen out with the New Historicists. The burden, of their complaint might be summed up in. that line from Browning's 'Lost Leader': 'Just for a handful of silver he 434 EPILOGUE EPILOGUE 435 left us'. Whereas American feminists had hoped for an alliance with this new wave, their one-time allies in the fight against the establishment soon turned out to be making a new establishment, and furthermore a male enclave of their own. Peter Erickson, writing in 1987, reported — and it is a revealing comment on the febrile intensity with which cultural-political movements are discussed in American universities that he could write the ; chronicle of a three-year time-span — that 'by the mid-nineteen-eighties both feminist criticism and new historicism had. .. entered a transitional -\ stage marked by uncertainty, growing pains, internal disagreement, and '-. reassessment' (Erickson 1987, p. 330). At a seminar on 'Gender and Power' in the 1985 meeting of the World Shakespeare Conference (in West Berlin), apparentlyr'the notion of collaboration quickly, broke down', an 'impasse' emerging over the relative importance of gender. Feminists attacked the New Historicists for being 'more interested in power relations between men than between the sexes', and for not.acknowledging the 'absolutely central' position of gender (p. 329). The dispute is a political one ^- in the current sense of'cultural polities' as the activity of self-constituted critical groups — and is father parochial, if extremely bitter. Erickson accuses New Historicism of abusing its 'capacity to confer legitimacy', sacrificing 'intellectual integrity' to its 'territorial imperative' (p. 329). Another feminist, Lynda E. Boose, has complained that New Historicists are exclusively involved with 'the absolutist court and its strategies of male power' (Boose 1987, p. 731), choosing cultural texts 'to privilege over the literary one[s]' that are all the same, 'male-authored — hierarchical — patriarchal' {p. 732). A feminist colleague, Carol Neely, ] accuses them of 're-producing patriarchy' and dooming women to Silence (Neely 1988, p. 7 — few readers will have noticed much silence in » American feminism). The New Historicists' desire for mastery, Neely alleges, can be seen in their continuing 'focus on the single and most visible center of power, the monarch', a choice that may attempt to conceal but in fact reveals 'the widespread cultural anxiety about marriage, ■ women, female sexuality arid power engendered by the women's movement ' and feminist criticism' (p. 15). — 'To the court of King James!' then becomes the password for a male group fleeing the women up in arms. The New Historicists have defended themselves, of course, or proclaimed their innocence,10 To some readers these group-disputes will'seem tedious, and they may feel like exclaiming, with Mercutio, 'a plague on both your houses!' But anyone concerned with the present, and more important, the future of Shakespeare criticism must take note of them. The danger is that collective animus can reach the point where a group 'targets' -anyone who evaluates their work by independent criteria as an enemy, a c person of no worth or merit, whose motives can only be of the most dubious kind. Such enemies are obviously 'possessed by evil forces', as Gellner describes the opponents stigmatised in pre-sciehtific societies, arid | 'need to be exorcized rather than refuted': That my diagnosis is actual, not J hypothetical, nor hysterical, can be seen from the reaction to Richard Levin's essay on 'Feminist Thematics and Shakespearean Tragedy', which I drew on in Chapter 6 (above, pp. 366ff). This is a challenging but fair and properly documented analysis of a dozen or so recent books and essays, in which Levin showed that some feminists tend to impose their own beliefs about gender on to the tragedies, indicting the main male characters as patriarchal misogynists whose (usually insecure) masculinity is the source of the tragic catastrophe. Levin's essay appeared in PMLA for March, 1988. A correspondent in the October issue complained that the readings offered by-Levin (and by the feminists) were 'partial', that is, both 'incomplete' and 'partial in the sense of taking a position on one side of the gender divide' (p. 818).11 (This is a new, and I feel, disastrous use of the word: if we are all doomed to be stuck on:'one side of the gender divide' rational debate becomes impossible.) The correspondent concluded that 'masculinity is a malady. It is the gender, not the sex, that is the problem' (ibid.). In reply Levin objected to the feminists': claim to possess 'a key to all human behaviour', in which the 'cause of the masculine malady' is located in men's 'infantile experience with mothering', or even (in a recent feminist reading of Ooriolanus), in 'their fetal tissue' (!). The problem, then, 'may be sex and riot gender after all, and biology can once more become destiny, but this time only for the men' — a sad prospect, many would feel. Levin ended by congratulating PMLA (which has given much space to feminist criticism in recent years) for having published his article in the first place. But that amicable conclusion was short-lived, for the issue of January 1989 included a truly virulent letter signed, by no less than twenty-four feminists.12 Rather than applauding PMLA, the writers indignantly queried why it had 'chosen to print a tired, muddled, unsophisticated essay that is blind at once to the assumptions of feminist criticism of Shakespeare and to its own', (p. 78). From pure abuse the writers moved on to ad hominem arguments, professing to be 'puzzled and disturbed that Richard Levin has made a successful academic career by using the reductive techniques; of this essay to bring the same predictable charges indiscriminately against all varieties of contemporary criticism'; Such indiscriminate smears debase themselves, of course, but for the record, Levin's work includes many studies of Renaissance drama besides his analyses of the distorting and deadening effects of some unexamined assumptions in.. contemporary literary criticism. The validity of such analyses is unquestionable, and I would sturdily support him in the words of Dr. Johnson: 'he who refines the public taste is a public benefactor*. Rather than advancing the debate,, the twenty-four signatories of this letter simply repeat the strategy I noted above (p. 359) of saying that in attacking women men are merely attacking their own weaknesses. Only instead of Shakespeare's men being guilty of this, it is now Richard Levin, whose critique 'embodies precisely those terms it falsely accuses 436 EPILOGUE feminist critics of: arbitrary selectivity, reductive thematizingi misplaced < causality. . ... Accusing us of his own flaws, Levin paternally tries to preempt our strengths. . .'. The writers claim that Levin focussed on 'early work' by feminists: but the essays and books he analyses range from 1975 to 1986; they accuse him of ignoring or mislabelling the work of seven critics: but five of those are in his bibliography; and they claim he 'privileges his favored genre, tragedy', where he merely set out to discuss feminist readings of Shakespearian tragedy, of which there are now a great many (so who's privileging what?). The writers' indignation shows that they are really concerned with the contemporary political issue, expressing 'the serious concerns about inequality and justice that have engendered feminist analyses of literature'. What they seem unable to realise is that other women, and other men, may share those concerns but still feel that their polemical expression in literary criticism can only produce a distorted reading of literature from the past, which is held up to blame for the ills of the present. There is no sign in this letter of that self-examination or re-thinking of premisses and assumptions which Levin's essay could have provoked. These feminist apologists still denounce (in 1989) 'the strategies, structures; psychologies, and oppressiveness of the domination that particular male characters [in Shakespeare] enact'. Their critical work, they claim, has analysed the behaviour of tragic heroes', whose 'abnormal behavior in crisis' still represents 'the values and contradictions of their societies', and who 'often fantasize "a very serious provocation by a woman" when there is none ; . .' (pp. 77-8). The quoted remark is Levin's comment, on how some of Shakespeare's male characters (he cites Hamlet, Othello, Lear, and i Antony) express 'misogynist feelings at certain times, but always in situ- |; ations of crisis and always in response to what they view as a very serious provocation by a woman'. By omitting Levin's careful delimitation of his statement, and by adding on the qualification 'when there is none', the four- t and-twenty signatories of this letter falsify both the critic and the plays, | and merely repeat the distortion to which Levin ;■ originally referred, the | imposition of misogyny as a standard personality trait which is not only J untrue to the characters concerned but erodes their individuality, giving them all 'the same stereotypical male sickness'. It is the men, the/men who ; are to blame. (It is time that some feminists caught up with recent theoretical advances in their discipline.) There is no need to summarise Levin's reply, which is in the public domain. The one point I pick out is his observation that the writers of the letter evidently want PMLA 'to deny publication to any criticism of them > that they disapprove of (p. 79). Any right-minded reader will agree with Levin that a journal which thinks of itself as being open to debate cannot EPILOGUE 437 be 'subject to the veto of any group'. That would be to close off critical exchange, and human dialogue, from the outset. Not that Levin expects (any more than I do) to convince the signers or others who share their feelings. For them, critiques of feminist criticism are permissible from within the fold. . . , but not from 'a cultural other', (ibid.) This is surely the mbst depressing aspect of the current situation, the belief that ho outsider has the right to criticise the group, that this right belongs exclusively to members of the group — who would risk, however, being expelled from it. . . .That way lies chauvinism, wars of religion, persecution. Levin's reply did not, of course, settle the issue, which raged on in the press,: on panel meetings at further conferences, and in print.13 In the next instalment, delivered at another MLA meeting in January 1990 and recently published. Levin and various critics exchanged further arguments (Kamps 1992, pp. 15-60). Addressing the dilemma of the politicisation in literary studies that so many, commentators have been deploring, where 'each approach is confined to its own hermeneutically sealed-off discursive space,, and adherents of different approaches can only discourse with each other about the politics of their respective ideologies' (ibid., p. 19), Levin proposed a peace treaty based on the triple principles of objectivism, rationalism, and pluralism. By objectivism,he means the ability to attain knowledge of a literary text without the resulting, interpretation being 'always determined by the interpreter's ideology'.(p. 16). By rationalism he means the possibility that 'rival ideologists in their attempt to persuade can invoke, rational standards that are. themselves not ideological' (p. 20) — otherwise, one would imagine, the, automatic rejection of the other group's arguments on the ground of ideology would result in a true diabgue des sourds. And by pluralism Levin means the belief that various critical approaches car, attain knowledge valid in their own terms, not positing 'a necessary connection between these approaches: and political ideologies', yet allowing us 'to live .together and talk.to each other because we can understand and respect pur different approaches' (p. 18). Pluralism 'can be suppressed in favor, of monism, which is its only alternative' (p. 20), but modern political history makes us all too aware of how damaging that would be. I personally welcome Levin's suggestions, as moderate, lucidly argued, not attempting to appropriate a larger or, better furnished space in the contemporary scene. But in the present climate all peace treaties seem doomed. As Levin shows, Marxists reject pluralism as a 'formalist fallacy' since 'they are not seeking peace but victory. They do not want Marxism to be regarded as one among severaLvalid approaches; they want it to be the only valid approach, as can be seen in their frequent references to it as "scientific" (which means nil other approaches are. unscientific)...' I 438 EPILOGUE EPILOGUE 439 (pp. 18-19). Both Marxists and feminists attack reason and rationality as "the ignes fatui of previous unenlightened generations, but they also denounce 'self-contradiction' and 'irrationality', which shows they do apply rational standards still, perhaps without knowing it (pp. 20, 52-3). Both groups display what Levin calls the genetic fallacy, which claims that our views of the world are caused by our race, gender, class, and similar factors, and that they therefore must be judged on the basis of those causes, But both of these claims are false. Our views may often be influenced by such factors, but are not necessarily determined by them. If they were, there would be no male feminists, or female anti-feminists, no bourgeois radicals or proletarian reactionaries.... (p. 54) The diversity of human temperaments and persuasions is far greater than these deterministic models would allow. But 'evéň if our views were caused by these factors', Levin adds, 'it does not follow that they must be judged on that basis' (ibid.): this would simply divide the world into the lowest common denominators of gender, class, age, and judge their products accordingly. The principle at issue here is one emphasised by a number of the writers with whom I am happy to be aligned — Ernest Gellner, E.P. Thompson, Frederick Crews, W.G. Runciman, Simon Clarke, Edward Said — that in all intellectual debates there must be reference points independent of the participants' biographical situation or ideological adherence. If there are no criteria for evaluating methodology, the use of evidence, procedures of argument, the truth or falsity of the conclusions, then intellectual pursuits become impossible, and unnecessary. Truth will simply be handed down from those in power; while the rest of lis acquiesce in its dissemination. Who would want to live in such a world? The politicisation of discourse means that disagreements are regularly reduced, as A.Dj Nuttall and Sten Olsen observed, to some putative underlying motive, psychological (the critic reveals his own 'anxiety'), or political. In his original essay, as he recalls, Levin criticised those feminists' formalist readings of Shakespeare's tragedies because 'some of them ignored parts of the text that did not fit their thesis' (p. 55). The relevant response would have been for them, whether as aj group or as individuals, to show either that they did not ignore the part in question or that it really did fit the thesis. Instead, as we have seen, a whole battery of bitter ad hominem arguments were ranged ■ against Levin, and continue to be: one respondent argued that his article should have been denied publication because he 'failed to understand the feminist cause'.14 Levin retorts that he does in fact support feminism but that 'a just cause cannot justify interpretive faults' (ibid.). The larger issue is this hew tendency in ideology>dominated discourse, the 'defensive move from criticism to polities'. Whoever takes the new ideologues to task for some unsatisfactory critical interpretation is instantly accused of sexist bias, or any of the other demonised labels (essentialist-liberal-humanist-bourgeois.. .). But this self-protective tactic has damaging effects: 'Marxists and feminists seem to claim a special privilege for their approaches, on political grounds, that grants immunity from the kind of scrutiny to which other approaches are subjected and so would amount to a denial of pluralism', which would mean in turn that only members of a group could criticise other members (pp. 55-6). And the result of this intra-group disagreement, as one feminist complains, is that that movement is now 'split into factions' (P- 57). . These are the depressing but predictable results of the slogan that Edward Said excoriated, 'solidarity before criticism'. The survival of any intellectual discipline depends on there being some external terms of reference by which it can be judged, a language which is comprehensible to those outside the group, a community at large that can evaluate achievements. The alternative is already visible around us, the inbreeding of Derridians, Lacanians, Foucauldians, Althusserians, unable and unwilling to understand any one else's language or concerns. It can be seen in so many places in current Shakespeare criticism, as groups align themselves and polarise the scene into an us/them division. The last instance of polarisation that I shall cite, which also expresses a satisfied feeling of group-consensus, having rejected alternative views as: pre-scientific, imperialistic ('add demons here', as one of the ancient magical recipes would say), is Howard Felperin's recent description of the new, or 'current' view of The Tempest. Felperin describes the change as having taken place since the mid-1970s, when 'anti-authoritarian, anti-elitist, and anti-aesthetic doctrines were in the wind in a recently politicized academia'. The resulting change to our perception of this play, as he phrases it in a series of (I take it, ironic) rhetorical questions; is absolute, canonical:: What Shakespearean now would be oblivious or audacious enough to discuss The Tempest. .. from any critical standpoint other than a his-toricist or feminist, or more specifically, a post-colonial position? Wpuld anyone be so foolhardy as to concentrate on the so-called 'aesthetic dimension' of the play? To dote thus on such luggage would be to risk being demonized as 'idealist' or 'aestheticist' or 'essentialist' by a critical community increasingly determined to regard itself as 'materialist'. and 'historicist'. (Felperin 1990; p. 171) Whether Felperin is making fun of the new orthodoxy or endorsing it is not immediately clear from his text, hut others certainly use those 'scare quotes' to demonise their collective enemies. When I read such attempts at stigmatisation, I must admit, a certain stubborn independence rises in me, andT feel tempted to retort: 'Go ahead then! Demonise me! See if I care!' (But that reads like the caption to a James Thurber cartoon;) In more sober language, I would have to say that the 'luggage' so contemptuously rejected15 is essential accompaniment for a critic, or reader, the ability to 440 EPILOGUE receive a play or novel as an experience in itself, over and above our current, ephemeral, and limited concerns. Felperin describes the views of 'a critical community', but it is only one of many, although it may believe it possesses the exclusive source of knowledge. All schools, however; no matter how self-assured or polemical, would do well to accept that other approaches have a validity, and that no-one has a monopoly over truth. 'Pdtet omnibus Veritas', Ben Jonson wrote {adapting Vives), 'Truth lyes open to all; it is no mans severall'.16 No-one is about to grant New Historicists; materialists, me, or anyone else an immunity to criticism, an exclusive licence to practice the one true mode of interpretation and outlaw all the others. Peace would be desirable, perhaps, but only if all parties grant each other the right to read Shakespeare as they wish, and be taken to task if they distort him. This, has been a book about the practice of Shakespeare, criticism, and the effect on it of some current theories. I would like to end with some words from Edward Said's book The World, the Text, and the Critic, where he argues that 'criticism is reducible neither to doctrine nor to a political position on a particular question', literary or otherwise. In its suspicion of totalizing concepts, in its discontent with reified objects, in its impatience with guilds, special interests, imperialized fiefdoms, and orthodox habits of mind, criticism is most itself, and. . . most unlike itself at the moment it starts turning into organized dogma. (Said 1983, p. 29) Criticism, Said believes, should be 'constitutively opposed to every form of tyranny, domination, and abuse; its social goals are noncoercive knowledge produced in the interests of human freedom', for 'the moment anything acquires the status of a cultural idol or a commodity, it ceases to be interesting' (pp. 29-30). While recognising that all readings derive from a theoretical standpoint, conscious of not, Said urges that we avoid using dehumanising abstractions: it is the critic's job to provide resistances to theory, to open it up toward historical reality, toward society, toward human needs and interests, to point up those concrete instances drawn from everyday reality that lie outside or just beyond the interpretive area necessarily designated in advance and thereafter circumscribed by every theory, (p. 242) The danger, as we see around us, is that literary theory can 'easily become critical dogma', acquire 'the status of authority within the, cultural group- or guild, for 'left to its own specialists and acolytes, so to speak, theory tends to have walk erected around itself; . .' (p; 247). A necessary counter to that tendency is for us 'to move skeptically in the broader political world', EPILOGUE 441 i ( to 'record the encounter of theory with resistances to it', and, among other things, 'to preserve some modest (perhaps shrinking) belief in noncoercive human community'. These would not be imperatives, Said remarks, but they do at least seem to be attractive alternatives. And what is critical consciousness at bottom if not an unstoppable predilection for alternatives?' Notes Preface 1 Descombes 1986, p. 139.' Works frequently cited are referred to in this abbreviated form. Full references are given in the Bibliography, p. 491. 2 'In Their Masters' Steps', Times Literary Supplement, 16-22 December 1988, p. 1399. 3 Vincent B. Leitch, American Literary Criticism From the 30s to the 80s (New York, 1988). For commentary see Donoghue (note 2 above) and Kermode 1989, pp. 39ff. 4 Announcement by Bedford Books (St. Martin's Press) in PMLA 105 (1990): p. 1449. 5 In working on Greek tragedy in the late 60s and early 70s (see Towards Greek Tragedy: London, 1973) I followed new developments in structuralism and semiology with interest. In the book that emerged, however, I had to reject Levi-Strauss's structuralist analyses of Greek myth as arbitrary and idiosyncratic (a judgment borne out by the subsequent detailed studies of Pettit 1975, Sperber 1979, and Clarke 1981). By contrast — since it derived from empirical analysis, and did not abandon the concept of individual narratives, or episodes within them, having meaning as a structure of interacting human behaviour — I found the narrato-logical system of Vladimir Propp most helpful in analysing what I discovered to be a coherent pattern in Greek myth of injunctions and prohibitions, ethical, social and religious (see Vickers 1973, pp. 165-267). 6 Greimas' career was marked by a seriousness completely lacking in the self-publicity of the iconoclasts. His scholarly work, sober and even ascetic in tone, developed outwards from Semantique structural (Paris, 1966; English tr. 1983) in one direction in semiotics, poetics and narrative: Du sens. Essais semiotiques (Paris, 1970; English tr. 1987); Essais de semiotique poetique (Paris, 1971); SemiotKjue.- dictionTuare raisonne de ia theorie du langage (Paris, 1979; English tr. 1983; supplement, 1986); Maupassant: la semiotique du texte, exercices pratiques (Paris, 1976; English tr. 1988); Du sens 02 (Paris, 1983). It also took in mythology, as in Des dieux et des homtnes: etudes de mythotogie lithuanienne (Paris, 1985), and moved out towards sociology in Semiotique et sciences sociaks (Paris, 1976; English tr. 1990); and (with others) Introduction a I'analyse du discours en sciences sociales {Paris, 1979). In his teaching at the Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales, as Jacques Geninasca recorded in his obituary of Greimas (Neue Zurcher Zeitung, 14-15 March 1992, p. 27), he 'showed a remarkable consistency in developing his semiotic theory', moving on from the reformulation of Propp's narratology to 'lay the basis for a theory of action . and manipulation, studying in turn the phenomena of authorisation or qualification, value-objects, and the passions, insofar as these provide the basis for every kind of human interaction'. The coherence of his development is in impressive contrast to the dissolution of Bardies'. 7 Although I share some of Jackson's criticisms of post-structuralist literary NOTES TO PAGES xii-4 443 theory, especially its incoherence as an adversarial system, designed to negate, not to build afresh (Jackson 1991, pp. 1, 3, 13-14, 59, 119; 152, 157, 161, 199), I cannot warm to the alternatives he proposes. He generally endorses Chomsky (while ignoring his many critics: see Clarke 1981 and Meulen 1988), believes in a great future for computer linguistics and 'Artificial Intelligence', happily describing himself as a 'positivist materialist' (see, e.g., pp. 94, 95, 103, 112, 121, 225). Such spurious scientism is hardly an advance on Levi-Strauss. 8 Anyone wishing to follow up these issues is warmly recommended to use Simon Blackburn's admirable introduction: Blackburn 1988. 9 See below, for Jameson on Althusser, Chapter 7 note 26; for Bowie on Lacari, Epilogue, note 14. 10 My first reaction appeared in the Times Literary Supplement .for 26 August 1988, pp. 933^5. Chapter One: The Diminution of Language 1 ProMemes de Unguistique generate, vol 2 (Paris, 1974), p. 97. 2 For the continuity between these two 'schools' (featuring several of the same, actors) see, e.g., Timpanaro 1975, pp. 135-219; Anderson 1983, pp. 32-55; Dews 1987; Frank 1989. 3 The text published in 1916 was edited by Charles Bally and Albert Sechehaye, close associates of . Saussure. The liberties they took with the students' notes to which they had access were first revealed by Robert Godel in Les sources manuscrixes du Corns de Unguistique generate de F. de Saussure (Geneva, 1957), especially pp. 95-129. Godel also published further students' notes which were not available to the first editors: JCours de Unguistique generale, He Cours (1908-09)', in Co/tiers Ferdinand de Saussure, 15 (1957): pp. 3-103. In his invaluable but misleadingly titled Cours de iinguistujue generate. Ediaon critique (Wiesbaden, 1967-1974), Rudolf Engler reprinted all the manuscript material, juxtaposing it with the printed text, but following, unfortunately, the sequence of the printed edition, not that of Saussure's lectures. Engler's would be more accurately described as a 'source-edition', since it merely sets out all the material in six parallel columns, and in no way edits Saussure's text. Godel offered a specimen of a critical edition in Les sources manuscrites, pp. 121—9, but did not pursue the task: a new edition would be very welcome. Godel also added an outline 'Lexique de la Ternunologie' (ibid., pp. 252—81), which has been superseded (not wholly satisfactorily) by Rudolf Engler, Lexique de la Terrmnologie Saussurienne {Utrecht, 1968). The most useful edition remains another so-called edition critique', by Tullio de Mauro (Paris, 1972; repr. 1985, with postface by : L.-J. Calvet: 'Lire Saussure Aujourd' hui', pp. 505-13). This reprints the . text of the 1916 edition, without any fresh editorial wotk, but adds some 200 pages of notes, at least drawing on the manuscript material arid on the extensive secondary literature up to 1970. My quotations, in the form CLG, are to. the French text, in my translation. The English translation by Wade Baskin (New York, 1959) unfortunately does not use the manuscript material and is not always accurate.': See the letter to Antoine Meillet of 4 January 1894, when Saussure was studying Baltic intonation: '. . . je vois de plus;en plus l'immensite. . . du travail qu'il faudrait pour montrer au linguistique ce qu'il fait;. . .; Sans cesse l'ineptie absolue de la ter-minologie courante, la necessite de la reformer, et. de montrer pour cela quelle espece d'objet est la langue en general, vient gSter mon plaisir historique: . . . Cela fmira malgre moi 1 444 NOTES TO PAGES 4-10 par un livre ou, sans erithousiasme ni passion, j'expliquerai pourquoi il n'y a pas uh seul terme employe en linguistique auquel j'accorde un sens quelconque' (reprinted in Benveniste 1966, pp. 36-7). This essay by Benveniste, 'Saussure apres un demi-siecle', quotes other illuminating passages from the correspondence. 5 See Godel 1957, pp.95-129, and de Mauro's note, CLG, p. 406 n. 12. For helpful comments on the editors' treatment, see Calvet 1975, pp. 17-31, andHoldcroft 1991, pp. 13-16, 162-3. ■ , 6 CLG, p. 317 and de Mauro's note, pp. 476-7, n. 305; Godel 1957, pp. 119, 181. Harris 1987, pp. 191-2 disputes that this is such an: alien addition, on the 'grounds that the opening sentence of the book included the phrase 'veritable et unique ; objef (CLG, p. 13). : 7 See Engler's 'Edition Critique', op. at, in -note 3, pp. 168—9, on institutions. 8 As David Holdcroft points out, a signifier 'does have a meaning, since it is associated with a signified', and so signifiers have more, than a purely differentiating role: they have values (Holdcroft 1991, pp. 57, 132-3). Neither can signifieds be 'purely negative and differential entities' (pp. 126-30). To take this 'dubious' principle, as structuralists and post-structuralists have done, as the basis : for further argument, is to 'build on one of the most opaque parts of Saussure's theory' (p. 130). 9 Ernest Renan, for instance, in his essay 'De l'Otigine du langage' (1848), stated that 'la liaison du sens et du mot n'esr jamais necessaire, jamais arbitraire; toujouis elle est morwee'; rit. Plotkin 1989, pp. 31, 162. No concept in. Saussure has provoked more discussion than rhe arbitrariness of the sign. In his 'Theorie et critique d'un principe saussurien: Tarbitraire du signe' (Cahiers Ferdinand de Saussure 19 (1962): 5-66), Rudolf Engler could aheady list and discuss over 70 (in some cases widely diverging) interpretations. Most often cited is the 1939 essay of Emile Benveniste, 'Nature du signe linguistique' (reprinted in Benveniste 1966, pp. 49-55), which argued that the link between the ; signified and signifier was not arbitrary but necessary, and that arbitrariness actually characterised the link between the sign arid the part of reality to which it is applied. For the second point, given the lengths to which Saussure went to present language as a self-contained system that could not have been his meaning, although we might well prefer it. For the first, the fact that the link : between the concept 'boeuf.'■ and the acoustic image 'bof' already existed, and that Benveniste claimed that he acquired it in learning to speak ('Ensemble les deux ont ete imprimes dans mon esprit': p. 51), means only that the association had been accepted into the iangue by the social group into which he was bom, not that: its original formation was not arbitrary. In this sense, retaining Saussure's point about the arbitrariness of the sign as originally formed or accepted by the linguistic community, I would agree with Levi-Strauss that 'the linguistic sign is arbitrary a priori but ceases to be arbitrary a posteriori' (Levi-Strauss 1963, p. 91). For critical comment on Benveniste's essay see, e.g., Descombes 1983', pp. 216-18, and Ellis 1989, pp. 47-8. See also Hans Aarsleff, From Lochs, to Saussure; Essays On the Study of Language and Intellectual History (Minneapolis, Mn:, 1982), pp. 356-71,382-98. 10 Roy Harris (Harris 1987) indicts Saussure for inconsistency (pp. 58, . ! 199, 225, 230); obscurity and confusion (pp. 61, 81, 89, 95, 119-20, 128, 132, 139, 146, 148, 149, 153, 156, 158, 159, 165, 184, 192, 211, 230, 231, 235); and misleading or inadequately developed analogies (pp. 92-4, 100-102, 121-34). David Holdcroft (Holdcroft 1991) NOTES TO PAGES 10-23 445 finds Saussure guilty of vagueness (pp. 32,: 63, 65, 97); confusion (pp: 56, 59, 129, 136, 139); contradiction (pp. 60-1, 157); and misleading or inadequately developed analogies (pp. 34, 77-80, 107, .112-15, 119, 131, 132). 11 For illuminating, but often extremely critical accounts of Levi-Strauss, see Pettit 1975, pp. 37-9, 68-97; Timpanaro 1975, pp. 171-98; Anderson 1983, pp. 37-55; Merquior 1986a, pp. 34-106; Pavel 1989, pp.:,9-11, 23-37, 104-6, n/ Value: Alternative Perspectives/ for Critical Theorj, (Cambridge, .Mass., 1988), p. 34: 'Since there are. no functions performed by artworks that may be specified as generically unique and also : no way .to distinguish the "rewards" provided by, art-related experiences or behavior from those provided by innumerable other kinds of experience and behavior, any distinctions drawn between "aesthetic" and "noriaesthetic" < (or "extra-: aesthetic") value must be regarded as fundamentally problematic'. This crass:denial sf the unique properties of art works, individually shaped by their creators, proves the truth of Richard Wollheim's diagnosis that the upshot cf an aesthetic which bases itself on the; spectator alone (and this is Smith's aesthetic, consciously or not) is 'that works of art will emerge as on an equal footing with, works of nature, in that both are . looked upon to provide the spectator with a .sensuous array of colours, forms, sounds, movements, to which he may variously respond'. Denying the artefact means denying the artist, who 'ends up by drop--. ping out of the picture altogether' (Wollheim 1980, p, 228), As Hamlet says, 'rhisr. was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives it proof. . 27 See, e.g.; Gerald Else, Aristotle's Poetics: The Argument (Cambridge, Mass., 1957), especially pp. 224-32, 423-50, and Vickers 1973, Appendix I (pp. 609-15). 28 Shakespeare: The Critical Heritage, . Vol. 5: 1765-1774 (London and Boston, 1979), p. 165. 29 This essay (cited as Barthes 1982) appeared in Communications, no. 11, an issue devoted to 'Vraisemblance'. For similar assertions by Michael Riffaterre see the discussion in Butler 1984, pp. 47-53. 30 Alter refers to Genette's essay, 'Vraisemblance et Motivation', in Figures III (Paris,; 1969), pp. 71-99. 31 A.D: Nuttall has exposed the obvious fallacies in some arguments made by Terence Hawkes in Structuralism and Semiotics (1977), such as the claim that 'The world consists not of things but of relationships', commenting: 'Something is obviously badly wrong' with this theorem, for 'the notion; of a relationship pre- : supposes the notion of things which are related. A world consisting of pure relationship, that is, a world in which there are no things, is ex hypoihesi a world in which no thing is related to any other and in .which there could therefore be no relation-. ship. The proposition is thus fundamentally incoherent. . .' (Nuttall 1983, pp. 8-9). Similarly with Hawkes's pronouncement that 'A wholly abjective perception of individual entities is not possible: any observer is bound to create something ipf what he observes. Accordingly the relationship- between observer and 454 NOTES TO PAGES 131-136 NOTES TO PAGES 136-144 455 observed . . . becomes the only thing that can be observed. It becomes the stuff of reality itself', on which Nuttall comments that a 'flat contradiction' exists between the first sentence and the second:" the observer is not watching relationships, so the deduction at 'accordingly' merely 'denotes inconsequence. What is implied is nothing less than a collective cultural solipsism. This is at first sight horrifying but at second glance absurd since it can advance no claim upon our assent. The monster has no teeth' {ibid., p. 11). See pp. 43-4 for another Hawkes clanger. 32 As Madeleine Doran succinctly put it, that 'Aristotle did not understand [mimesis] in any literally representational or naturalistic sense ... is clear (1) from his idea of universal truth (poetry representing not what has happened, but what might happen, therefore more "philosophical" than history); (2) from his preference in the shaping of tragic plots for a probable impossibility to an improbable possibility; (3) from his theory of selection and emphasis, tragedy representing men as better than they are, comedy as worse; (4) from his remarks on propriety in character; and (5) from his prescription that tragedy should be written in verse arid in an embellished style': Doran 1954, p. 72. 33 I quote from Margaret Hubbard's excellent translation of the Poetics in Ancient Literary Criticism, ed. D.A. Russell and M. Winterbottom (Oxford, 1972), p.. 100. 34 See Bernard Weinberg, A History of Literary Criticism in the Italian Renaissance, 2 vols. (Chicago, 1961). 35 I quote from the outstanding edition by Geoffrey "Shepherd, Sidney's An Apology for Poetry (London, 1965); page-references incorporated in the text. 36 On the repeated criticism of Shakespeare for having failed to observe the neoclassic system of rules, see, e.g., Brian Vickers (ed.) Shakespeare: The Critical Heritage, 6 vols. (London and Boston, 1974-1981), vol. 1, pp. 4-10, 14-18; vol. 2, pp. 1-12; vol.-3," pp. 1-10; vol. 4, pp. 1-24, 31-8; vol. 5, pp. 1-12; 23-32 , 43; vol. 6, pp. 6-42. 37 Ml., vol. 2, pp. 28-9. 38 See, e.g;, Gildoh's pointed defence of Shakespeare (in 1694) against Rymer's racist critique; ifcicL, pp. 72-9. 39 London, 1960. 40 Alter's account of Tristram Shandy as the paradigmatic self-conscious novel is worth quoting; 'It continually evinces a three-tiered attitude toward the representation of reality in ;fiction: to begin with, a hypercon-sciousness of the sheer arbitrariness of all literary means, from typography and chapter divisions to character and plot; at the same time a paradoxical demonstration, perhaps especially manifest in Sterne's brilliant stylistic improvisations, of the illusionist power of fictional representations of reality; and, finally, a constant implication of the reader in the arbitrary structure-making functions of the mind,' which thernselves, as our intimately familiar mental experience, become part of the reality represented in the novel. It will be seen that the third tier is only the mimetic obverse of the critical exposure of mimesis observable on the first tier' (Alter 1978, pp. 239-40). Yet, although it is perhaps only in the late twentieth ;■'<■ century that' readers can for the first time appreciate 'all the cunning convolutions of Sterne's fictional self-consciousness', Alter notes that the novel remained popular 'throughout the age of realism of the nineteenth century . . . because of the convincing mimesis it produces through its maze of flaunted artifice', the vivid images of domestic and provincial life, the varied characters of 'the two Shandy brothers; Trim's tender sensibilities', and so on (p. 240). For a fuller study see Alter, Partiai Magic: The Novel As a Self-Conscious Genre (Berkeley and Los Angeles, Cal., 1975). This is virtually the only point in Kendall Walton's valuable defence of mimesis where I would take issue with him, the claim that works of literature (he cites Vanity Fair and Calvino's 1/ on a Winter's Night) 'sometimes discourage participation ... by prominently declaring or displaying their fictional-ity, betraying their own pretense' (Walton-1990, p. 225). But this does not discourage participation, it merely enlarges it to include the narrator with his reminders that we are reading a fiction. The narrator complicates, enriches the fiction of which he is a part. 41 M.C. Bradbrook, Themes & Conventions of Elizabethan Tragedy (Cambridge, 1935; 1960), p. 4. See also'E.E. Stoll, Art and Artifice in Shakespeare; A Study in Dramatic Contrast and Illusion (Cambridge, 1933); A.C. Sprague, Shakespeare and the Audience. A Study in the Technique of Exposition (Cambridge, Mass., 1935), pp. 59-96; 'Some Conventions'; S.L. Bethell, Shakespeare and the Popular Dramatic Tradition (London, 1944)- A valuable recent study, emphasising conventions in performance, is Alan " D. Dessen,: Elizabethan Stage Conventions and Modem Interpreters (Cambridge, 1984). 42 Henslowe's Diary, ed. R.A. Foakes and R.T. Rickert (Cambridge, 1961), pp. 317 25. 43 For a useful survey, see Doran 1954, pp. 218-58. : 44 See, e.g., Ian Maclean, The Renaissance Notion of Woman. A study in the fortunes of scholasticism and medical science in European intellectual life (Cambridge, 1980). 45 See, e.g., Leonardo Bruni, in De studiis et literis (c: 1405), addressed to Baptista di Montefeltro, arguing that 'the great and complex ! art of Rhetoric' is of no use to a woman: 'To her neither the intricacies of debate nor the oratorical artifices of action and delivery are of the least practical use, if indeed they are not positively unbecoming': tr. W.H. Woodward, Vittarino da Feltre and other - Humanist Educators (Cambridge, 1897, 1912), p. 126. 46 Similarly Thomas Hardy, in his essay 'The Dorsetshire Labourer' (1883), describing the custom by which agricultural workers moved from one tied cottage to another on quarter-days, when their contracts were terminated or transferred, depicted the removal process as a light-hearted affair: 'the day of removal, if fine, wears an aspect of jollity, and the whole proceeding is a blithe one' {Thomas Hardy's Personal Writings, ed. H. Orel (Londori, 1967), p. 179). But in Tess of the D'lhhcrvilks (1891), chapter LI, the move of Tess's family is portrayed — in line with the tragic intention of the whole novel — as an experience of failure and1 defeat. 47 Cambridge, \ Mass., 1990. Page-references incorporated in the text. 48 'Reading the Oresteia makes one afraid for one's life'; Vickers 1973, p. 425.: : 49 The only review that I have seen so far (by Sebastian Gardner in the TLS for 26 April 1991, p. 14), observes that 'so many demands are loaded on to Walton's notion of make-believe that this highly stretched term loses its natural plasticity, and becomes effectively equivalent to' "imagines in some way". . .'. So 'it is the more specific forms of imaginative life and notions oft representation — of. . . discerning the content of a painting, making up' a story, and so on — that do the teal explanatory work, and feed Walton's notion of make-believe with meaning, rather than vice versa.' Instead of 'a single, across-the-board concept', then, we should consider 'a plurality of local concepts' Gardner nevertheless praises Walton's book as providing 'a superb canonical framework' for the analysis of artistic representation; his theory of make-believe making it 'a strong 456 NOTES TO PAGES 144-149 NOTES TO PAGES 149-166 457 candidate for the best account of literary fictional representation'. 50 In Borges, Labyrinths. Selected Stories & Other Writings, ed. D.Ä. Yates and J.E. Irby, 2nd ed. (New York, 1964), p. 248. 51 'Life of Milton', in Lives of Poets, World's Classics edition, 2 vols. ... (London, 1952), Vol. 1, p. 88. 52 The Road to 'Xanadu. A Study in the Ways, of the Imagination (Boston and , New.York, 1927; rev.ed., 1930). 53 See A.T. Kitchel, Quarry far Middle-march,, supplement, to Nineteenth-Century Fktion-4 (1950). 54 See, e.g., Don Gifford, 'Ulysses' Annotated, 2nd ed. (Berkeley, Cal., .1988). 55 See E. Magee, Richard Wagner and the Nibehngs (Oxford, 1991). 56 Letter- of 13 December 1898, cit, . , Norman Sherry, Conrad's Eastern World {Cambridge, 1966), pp. 139-40. 57 See, e.g., H. Levin, The Gates of Horn. A Study of Five French Realists (New. York, 1966), pp. 292-301; and A.J. Krailsheimer's excellent Penguin translation, Bouvard and Pecuchet (Harmondsworth, 1976). 58 ; See, e.g., L.M. Bemucci, Histöria de un Malentendido. Ün. Estudio Trans-textual de 'La Guerra del Fin del Mundo' (New York, 1989). I owe this reference to Sabine Köllmann. 59 See the classic study by T.W. Baldwin, Shakspere's 'Small Latine and Lesse Greeke', 2 vols. (Urbana, 111., 1944, 1966). 60. See, e.g., J.W. Lever, 'Shakespeare's French Fruits', Shakespeare Survey 6 (1953): pp. 79-90. 61 See, e.g., ' A.S. Cairncross, 'Shakespeare and Anosto: Much Ado About Nothing, King Lear, and Othello', Renaissance Quarterly 29 (1976): pp. 176-82. 62 8 volumes, London and Boston, 1957-1975. 63 Feeling, and Form. A Theory of Art (New York, 1953), p. 364. 64 See Weinberg, op.cit. in note 34; also Brian Vickers, 'Rhetoric and Poetics', in The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy, ed. C.B. : Schmitt and Q, Skinner (Cambridge, 1988),. pp. 715-45. 65 See Weinberg, op.cit,., in note 34, and B. Hathaway, The Age of .... Criticism (Ithaca, N.Y., 1962)., 66 See Leo Salingar, Shakespeare and the Traditions of Comedy. (Cambridge, 1974). 67 On academic drama see F.S. Boas, University Drama in the Tudor Age (Oxford, 1914); G.C. Moore Smith, College Plays Performed in the University of Cambridge .(Cambridge, 1923). . 68 B.inns, Intellectual Culture , in Elizabethan and Jacobean England. The , Latin Writings of the Age (Leeds, 1990). .69 On collaboration see Bentley 1986, pp. 197-23.4, and Chillington 1980 (although her argument that 'Hand D' in the ms. of Sir Thomas More is the writing of . Webster, not . Shakespeare, has received very little support: see G.R. Proudfoot in Wells ,1990, ,.p. 390).. For the . plausible arguments of Roger... Holdswotth that Shakespeare and Middleton collaborated in Timpn of Athens see S. Wells and G. Taylor, .William Shakespeare. A1 Textual Companion (Oxford, 1987), pp. 127-8,.501.-7, which I welcomed in Review of English^Studies 40 (1989), pp. 406-7. 70 For a basic list of books on Renaissance literary and dramatic theory see Brian Vickers, Bibliographical Appendix to The Age of Shakespeare, ed. Boris Ford (Harmondsworth, . rev.ed. 1991), pp. ,499-576, at pp. 522-4, especially the works by Smith, Spingam, Herrick, Klein, Stroup, and Weinberg. 71 See M.W. Black, .'The Sources of Shakespeare's Richard II', in J.G. McManaway et ni. (edd.) Joseph Quincy Adams Memorial Studies (Washington, DC, 1948), pp. 199-216, at pp. 212-13 ('Shakespeare looked first at the marginal notes'). See also the stimulating discussion of 'Shakespeare At Work: Preparing, Writing, Rewriting' by E. A J. Hönigmann, Myriad-Minded : Shakespeare (London, 1989), pp. 188-221, and other comments oh the sources elsewhere (subject to ■ some'reservations I made in Modern Philology 89 (1991): pp. 106-109). 72 Max Bluestöne, From Story to Stage: The Dramatic Adaptation of Prose Fktion in the Period of Shakespeare and His Contemporaries (The Hague, 1974). 73 See Muriel Bradbröok, 'What Shakespeare did to Chaucer's Troilus and CriseydV, repr. in Bradbrook, The Artist and Society in Shakespeare's England (Brighton, 1982), pp. 133-43. 74 See A. Harbage, As They Liked It; A Study of Shakespeare's Moral Artistry (New York, 1947), p. xiii: 75 See R. Levin, The Multiple Plot in English Renaissance Drama (Chicago, 1971), with an Appendix on The Double Plot in Roman Comedy', pp. 225-45. 76 See, e.g., Salingar, op.cit. in note 66, pp. 65-7, -207-208, 253-6, 307-309,, 77 John Lyly. The Humanist As Courtier (London,; 1962), ch.vi: 'Lyly and Shakespeare', pp; 298-349. 78 Bulloch VII: 299. See ibid., pp. 414-20, for some excerpts from Harsnett. He is also discussed in Muir 1961, pp. 147-61. 79 For his Use of Pliny's Natural History and the self-defence by C. furius Cresius, see Muir 1961, pp. 127-8; Bullough VII: 211. 80 Bullough-VII: 216, 230; and Ned B, Allen, 'The Two Parts of OtheHo', ■ Shakespeare Survey 21 (1968): pp. 13-29. Chapter Three: Decomtntctkm 1 Deeonstrwetive Criticism (New York, 1983), p. ix; cit. Ellis 1989, p. 88. 2 Signs of the Times. Deconstruction and the Fall of Paul de Man (New! York, 1991), especially pp. 131—268J Louis Menand, reviewing it for the Neu> YorkReview (21 Nov, 1991, pp. 39-44), did not approve of Lehman's analysis of deconstruction but had to agree with his diagnosis of the deplorable reaction of American decoristructionists to the revelation of de Man's collaborationist journalism, showing that the deconstnictive method was not1 'the slightest help to its practitioners and defenders' either to establish what de Man had actually meant iri these writings (which they distorted to give the most favourable picture), or to make an ethical judgement of them; 3 See, in my bibliography,: Abrams 1977, Abrams 1979, and' Abrams 1986, all collected in, and cited from Abrams 1989. 4 See, in the bibliography, Graff 1979, Graff 1980, and Graff 1981. 5 See Donoghue 1980, Donoghue 1981. 6 See Searle 1977, a critique of Derrida's essay in the same volume of Glyph (Derrida 1977), to which Derrida replied a year later in an article called 'Limited Inc a b c. . .', Glyph 2 (1978): pp. 162-254, a bloated and inspissated; self-defence which reminds one of the squid, when injured, emitting a cloud of black ink. Searle discussed Derrida again in the New York Review (Searle 1983; with a reply: Searle 1984). 1 remember being in America when this review-essay appeared, and hearing it: described by colleagues teaching literature as an underhand piece of work, written outof personal malice, just to 'get even with Derrida'. These are, all too often, the terms iri which supporters of deconstruction describe its critics. So Said imagines that Foucaiilt's criticisms of Derrida derive from 'personal animus' (Said 1983, pp. 212—13). Searle's essay is balanced, critical, and quite lacking in personal animus. AH the more regrettable, then, that neither his 1977 nor 1983 evaluations of Derrida are cited by later critics, such as Graff, Abrams, and Said. On Derrida's deplorably 458 NOTES TO PAGES 166-171 violent response to those who criticised his attempt to exculpate de Man for his anti-Semitic journalism, a self-justifying exercise which simply heaped abuse, on those who disagreed with him, see: Lehmann 1991, pp. 234-9, 252-8. 7 See Butler 1984. . 8 See Lentricchia 1930, pp. 72-9, 122-3, 159—77 for enthusiastic endorsements of Derrick, and pp. 188-210 for even warmer words on Foucault. But see pp. 121, 177-88 for critical comments on the,Yale Derridians, especially pp. 281-317 for a highly ambivalent evaluation of de Man. The ambivalence soon yielded to unequivocal condemnation of the 'insidious effect' of de Man's work in producing 'the paralysis of praxis itself': see Len-tricehia 1983, pp. 38-52. The new hero is Kenneth Burke. 9 Said wrote a latgely favourable survey of the new Paris critics, 'Abecedarium Cukurae: Absence, Writing, Statement, Discourse, Archeology, Structuralism', in TriQuarterb/ 20 (1971), pp. 33-71, reprinted in Said 1975, pp. 277-343. But in his later collection, The World, the Text, and the C-ritic (Said 1983), it is instructive to follow the growing disillusionment through four essays, 'Roads Taken and Not Taken in Contemporary Criticism' (pp. 140-57; originally in Contemporary literature, 1976); 'Reflections on American "Left" Literary Criticism' (pp. 158- .. ■ 77; originally in Boundary, 1979); 'Criticism Between Culture and System' (pp. 178-225); originally in Critical Inquiry .4 (1978) as 'The Problem of Textuality:. Two Exemplary Positions'); and Traveling Theory' (pp. 226-47; originally in Raman, 1982), and from there to the Introduction (pp. 1—30). Written for this collection in 1983,- this essay on 'Seculat Criticism' reveals , a major loss of sympathy, especially with 'textuality' as a concept outside history, outside: political engagement in the real world (pp. 3-5), and with critical systems that have hardened into dogma (pp. 28-30). 10 See Fischer 1985 (together with Altieri 1979, Scholes .1988); Harris .1988; Tallis 1988 (a wide-ranging book .with detailed critiques of Derrida and Lacan, which unfortunately lapses at times into sarcastic dismissal); and Ellis 1989, a lucid and penetrating study, which deserves to become required reading on all courses teaching contemporary literary theory. 11 See . Timpanaro 1975; Anderson 1983, 12: See Descombes 1980; Descombes 1986. 13 See Clarke 1981;, Merquior 1986a; Merquior 1985. 14 See Frank 1989. 15 See Dews 1987. 16 See Pavel 1989. 17 For an (at this point in his reading) sympathetic account of Derrida's concept of ecriture double, see Said 1983, pp. 185-207. 18 See, e.g., J. Schäfer, Documentation in the O.E.D.: Shakespeare and Nashe as Test Coses (Oxford, 1980); Early Modem English Lexicography, 2 vols. (Oxford, 1990). 19 See, e.g., Skinner 1988, pp. 114-16 andi 119-32, a devastating review . (1979) of Raymond : Williams's Keywords (1976), which resulted in its second edition (1983) being largely-rewritten (p. 312, n. 1); Brian Vickersj.'Leisure and idleness in the Renaissances' the ambivalence of otium', Renaissance Studies 4 (1990); pp. ;l-37 and 107 54. 20 See, e;g., Graff 1980, p, 419; Butler 1984, pp. 79-80; Ellis 1989, p. 126. 21 Pavel 1989, p. 15. . 22 See Lentricchia 1980, pp. 76-7 and passim; Cain 1979, pp. 381-2; Fischer 1985, pp. xi-xiii, 83-109. Lentricchia 1983, p. 38, states that de Man's, two collections of essays, .Blindness & Insight ,(1971), and Allegories of Reading : (1979), 'provided ; a reading-machine for his disciples: rhe models of deconstruc-tive strategy, the terminology, the NOTES TO PAGES 171-176 459 idea of literature and literary history', even a'prose style'. 23 See, e.g., Graff 1979, pP: 173-5; Graff 1980, pp. 405, 409; Lentricchia 1980, p. 301; Ellis 1989, p. 65 ('For since meaning is an aspect of a sign, can it mean anything to say that sign and meaning do not coincide?'). 24 See, e.g., Donoghue 1980, pp. 38-9; Graff 1980, pp. 413-15; Fischer 1985, pp. 65-76, a collective documentation of omissions and misreadings that will surprise readers who have heard of decohstruction's reputation for close textual scrutiny. The gap between normal critics and the hagiography applied to de Man by other deconstructionists is enormous. Hillis. Miller has judged that 'the millennium would come, if all men and women became good readers in de Man's sense': Ethics of Reading (New York, 1986), p. 58. 25 As Denis Donoghue wittily observed, 'Derrida seems to get as much vigor from a state of suspicion' as naive people get from a state of certitude. Rendering certain places of the mind ' uninhabitable, he derives satisfaction - from the integrity of achieving this result. De Man's mind is so ascetic that It thrives without joy, it finds no pleasure in the suspicion which is as near Derrida comes to a principle* (Donoghue 1981, p. 185). Many of de Man's essays gain, as Donoghue puts it, a purely Pyrrhic victory (ibid.), attaining no more than what de Man himself calls a 'state of suspended ignorance' (de Man 1979a, p. 19). 26 Denis Donoghue bluntly commented: !I don't'understand this: De Man, implacable in denying to the poet any active power, is evidently willing to ascribe" an "act" to "language"; he apparently does this merely for the satisfaction of reporting that the "acts" of language are mechanical, arbitrary, and reperitive' (Donbghue 1980, p. 38), 27 See, e.g.; Donoghue 1980, pp. Jeffrey Bamouw; reviewing 172- ■■' '' Allegories of Reading, Comparative Literature Studies 19 (1982): pp. 459-63; Butler 1984, pp. 68-70. 28 New York Review of Books, 1 March 1990, p. 40. See also that journal, 24 June 1989, pp. 32—7, for a review-essay by Denis Donoghue, 'The Strange Case of Paul de Man', suggesting some links between his anti-Semitic journalism and his later criticism. A more pointed connection was made by Stanley Corngold in a letter to the TLS, 26 August 1988, p. 931. For further commentary on the violent oppositions in de Man's thought,1 see Corngold, 'Error in Paul de Man'," Critical Inauiry 8 (1982): pp. 489-507, and my essay; 'Decoiistruction's Designs on Rhetoric', in W.B. Homer arid M. Left" (edd.), A Festschrift for ].]. Murphy (forthcoming), i 29 - See, e.g., The World as Will and Ref>resent