Locke and Blake

Wood s lot uncovered Romanticism on the Net.

Might I further suggest Romantic Circles, which has published an article written by my mentor, Dr. R. Paul Yoder, on the language philosophies of John Locke and William Blake:

Unlocking Language: Self-Similarity in Blake’s Jerusalem

Blake’s system differs from Locke’s in significant ways. First, it accepts, indeed insists upon a human standard, the standard of the human form rendered divine by the incarnation. Blake does not seek to remedy the obscurity to which language is “naturally liable” as Locke puts it. Instead, he sees this obscurity as having been appropriated by the Savior for the work of redemption when he took on the human form. Second, Blake’s system is not based on an atomistic object-reference language in which one must always use the same word for the same idea.

Sometimes that grain of sand is a whole world; sometimes that one man is a multitude. As is so often the case for Blake, it all depends on perspective, the expansion or contraction of the organs of perception. And third, Blake’s system respects the integrity of the minute particulars; it does not celebrate the general terms that Locke says are so essential to human thought. (21)

Generalities, though essential, are not all there is to theory. This issue, from March 2001, dealt with Romanticism and complexity. There is an odd relationship between complexity and obscurity. I like Yoder’s take on “fractal self-similarity” in all aspects of Blake’s work. The more deeply I studied Blake, the further my jaw dropped to the floor with his mastery of the manipulation of a reader. Most authors that write on Blake tend to play a similar game, insisting that Blake must be read as obscure and difficult to unravel. That’s what keeps the Blake industry in business.

It depends on your perspective, I suppose. A great deal of Blake’s work is frightfully simple— though fractured through levels of reference that seem to recede into infinity. Once you “get it” it’s actually fairly easy.

Literature in its Place

Literature in its Place by James Britton

James Britton’s Literature in its Place begins by invoking John Stuart Mill’s definition of imagination: “that which enables us, by a voluntary effort, to conceive the absent as if it were present, the imaginary as if it were real, and to clothe it with feelings which, if it were indeed real, it would bring along with it.” Mill later glosses it as “the power by which one human being enters into the mind and circumstances of another.” He might as easily have used Percy Shelley’s definition from Defence of Poetry, but the first chapter leans heavily on the anti-romantics, like Eliot, Pound, and Auden. I remember being struck, while reading Eliot’s critical articles on Shelley, that Eliot seemed to damn the qualities in Shelley that were distinctly apparent in his own poetry. In this context, Harold Bloom’s Oedipal hypotheses don’t seem too far off the mark. Similarly, Britton invokes the ghost of Shelley without ever mentioning his name.

Seen in such severely logical terms, I don’t think anyone could doubt that imagination is an essential element in the powers of perception and cerebration that characterize the human mentality, and not a special gift, bestowed only upon writers, painters, and other artists. And then, like so many of our abilities, we have to admit that it grows above all from use— from use in ever wider and more complicated areas of our concern. (vii)

Amen. I particularly like his nominalization cerebration. It is homophonic with celebration, and should be a synonym, at least when approached with the fervor of Shelley. Literature in its Place is a short little book, and I want to make some notes as I read through it. Britton makes an interesting case for the utility of imagination as a driving force for the foundation of identity, and the development of language skills. It starts, as many works on rhetoric do, with cognitive research regarding the acquisition of language by children.

Updated:

7/6 Chap. 2 and 3
7/7 Chap. 4 and 5
7/8 Chap. 6 and 7

One of the most common observations by people I meet, regarding my personality, is: “You’re so creative.” I’m never sure what to say about that. I firmly believe that everyone is. They just don’t label it as such, and perhaps don’t flex it quite as often. I suspect there are cultural reasons why cerebration— for most people— is not equivocal with celebration. This isn’t the case when we are growing up.


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