A definition of analytical philosophy by a true critic; Or Margaret Fuller discovered

Essays, entitled critical, are epistles addressed to the public, through which the mind of the recluse relieves itself of its impressions. Of these the only law is, "Speak the best word that is in thee."--Margaret Fuller (1840) "A Short Essay on Critics" The Dial, I, July.

The only true criticism of these or any good books may be gained by making them the companions of our lives. Does every accession of knowledge or a juster sense of beauty make us prize them more? Then they are good, indeed, and more immortal than mortal. Let that test be applied to these Essays which will lead to great and complete poems--somewhere.--Margaret Fuller (1844) "Review of Emerson's Essays."

I 'disovered' Fuller by chance yesterday; well not wholly by chance--I have Anca Gheaus to thank. While ruminating on the role of Emersonian ideas in Butcher's Crossing, I decided to teach my 2015 Spring seminar on 'natural philosophy,' -- a course I inherited and, by the absolute rules of Belgian bureaucracy, whose title I can't change -- on Emerson's On Nature (and a few other essays), Thoreau's Walden (recall) and, perhaps, if there's time, Cavell's The Senses of Walden. All books I have been meaning to re-read in part in light of each other. But before I set this all-male syllabus in stone, it dawned upon me that especially with such works of, permit the expression, male anxiety, a feminist voice could be illuminating. I asked around and that's how I encountered Fuller. After spending my first day with her, I note with surprise that at the origin of true American philosophy -- who could invent this? -- we find a distinctive feminist; more about that in the future. (In defense of my teachers, I could say that they left me to find Fuller by way of their oversights and silences.)

Fuller measures Emerson with the most exacting standards and, and after nobly refuting the charge that he is unclear and not logical, finds him, nevertheless, wanting: "We miss what we expect in the work of the great poet, or the great philosopher-- the liberal air of all the zones; the glow, uniform yet various in tint, which is given to a body by free circulation of the heart's blood from the hour of birth."* Despite Nietzsche's well-known admiration of Emerson, it is likely that Fuller's point will have to be conceded. (But I withhold judgment until after my seminar.) Yet, even falling short of greatness, Fuller insists there is plenty to strive for, and in the passage quoted above she gives us a method to develop the standard of judgment of all good books ("the only true criticism of these or any good books may be gained"). The method is:

• make them the companions of our lives.

I read this as meaning that such books are not so much a mirror to our lives, but themselves are true friends (recall Seneca, and here), in part, exemplar, in part, running commentary on our experiences, and, in part, means by which we make others, ourselves, and the world intelligible. Undoubtedly, some will flinch at this because it so obviously is meant to have some books displace the Bible in the seasons of New England (and Homer in Athens, etc.). Perhaps, 'displace' is the wrong word because (part of) the Bible is one of the many good books.* I am unsure if Fuller meant this method to be necessary or sufficient, but I am inclined to think she thought it necessary.

The standard itself is an enduringly positive answer to the following question:

• Does every accession of knowledge or a juster sense of beauty make us prize them more?

Note first what this does not say; the books are not prized because they give us knowledge (or beauty). If we valued books for the knowledge they imparted, then a textbook ought to win, say, the Noble-prize for literature every year. This is not to deny that we can end up cherishing some textbooks over a life-time of experience. Rather, Fuller is claiming that a great book is one that can withstand enduruing scrutiny in light of our lives--and, I hasten to add, not just any lives, but ones that are receptive to knowledge and increasingly attuned to beauty.

So, while books can ring false or lack intelligence (charm, humanity, etc.), it takes considerable time and effort before a book's true measure is disclosed. Criticism is as much an existential as -- one thinks of Hume and Coetzee -- a historical enterprise (see also my quote below). And, in fact, according to Fuller part of a book's goodness consists in the 'uptake' it generates. Undoubtedly, this is, in part, a matter of chance.That is, when it comes to value, Fuller does not treat a book as a self-standing substance, but as a relational object; its, permit the phrase, axiological being is only disclosed by the as of yet unwritten elements or relata of an (open-ended) relation in which it figures. So, every later good (or great) book renews, reinterprets, and even completes the earlier one(s); this is even true of those (e.g., Descartes's Meditations) that lacking civility or generosity resolutely refuse to acknowledge their progenitors. This is why great books do not become obsolete by what follows them. Either way, with Nietzsche's Zarathustra and Williams's Butcher Crossing, Fuller's philosophical prophecy, Emerson's "Essays which will lead to great and complete poems--somewhere," is renewed (recall).

It is too early for me to take the measure of Fuller as philosopher, but what about Fuller as a critic-prophet? As it happens, the answer to this returns us to philosophy anyway; she notes that a critic is a hybrid: she "should be not merely a poet, not merely a philosopher, not merely an observer, but tempered of all three." (Fuller, 1840, A Short Essay on Critics.) Here I emphasize the middle term: the act of criticism partakes of philosophy because the critic "must be inspired by the philosopher's spirit of inquiry and need of generalization, but he must not be constrained by the hard cemented masonry of method to which philosophers are prone." So, a philosopher is itself a composite with (at least) (a) spirit of inquiry and (b) need of generalization, (c) constrained by method. The critic's activity instantiates (a-b), but not (c). As an aside, we might say that the great philosophers also understand the need to generalize as a weakness, and -- with refined philosophical jiujitsu -- keep it focused on its proper objects. 

The critic is also (d) an educator. As Fuller puts it in her Short Essay:

Critics are poets cut down, says some one--by way of jeer; but, in truth, they are men with the poetical temperament to apprehend, with the philosophical tendency to investigate. The maker is divine; the critic sees this divine, but brings it down to humanity by the analytic process. The critic is the historian who records the order of creation. In vain for the maker, who knows without learning it, but not in vain for the mind of his race.

As context makes clear, by 'race' she means humanity as such here. The critic does not teach what we would call 'creativity,' but decomposes the elements (sometimes also by offering contrasts and taxonomies, as Fuller does in the quoted essay). Finally, to conclude from where we started, (e) the critic follows a law, that is, she respects authoritative limits.

Upon further, more (to use a key term of Fuller's) comprehensive reflection (drawing on lived experience and on, say, Russell's "through the greatness of the universe which philosophy contemplates, the mind also is rendered great, and becomes capable of that union with the universe which constitutes its highest good," [The Problems of Philosophy]) we might say, then, in the spirit of American optimism and generosity, that analytical philosophy as a critical enterprise is, at its apprehending best, an edifying teacher of the greatest things to the many while leaving the order of creation untouched and, in so doing, perhaps, prepares the way for greater things.  

 

 *See also "Here is, undoubtedly, the man of ideas; but we want the ideal man also --want the heart and genius of human life to interpret it; and here our satisfaction is not so perfect. We doubt this friend raised himself too early to the perpendicular, and did not lie along the ground long enough to hear the secret whispers of our parent life. We could wish he might be thrown by conflicts on the lap of mother earth, to see if he would not rise again with added powers. All this we may say, but it cannot excuse us from benefiting by the great gifts that have been given, and assigning them their due place."

Comments

[J. Edward Hackett]

Eric,

When you say:

she notes that a critic is a hybrid: she "should be not merely a poet, not merely a philosopher, not merely an observer, but tempered of all three." (Fuller, 1840, A Short Essay on Critics.)

There's something incredibly Jamesian about this quote.

[Eric Schliesser]

Thank you for the link! I hope I can encourage you to explore it more fully. (I wasn't joking about suggesting she is at the origin of American philosophy.)