468593 stanley fish
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Literature in the Reader: Affective Stylistics
Author(s): Stanley FishReviewed work(s):Source: New Literary History, Vol. 2, No. 1, A Symposium on Literary History (Autumn,1970), pp. 123-162Published by: The Johns Hopkins University PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/468593.
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8/21/2019 468593 Stanley Fish
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Literature
n
the Reader: Affective
tylistics
Stanley
ish
Meaning
s
Event
I.
F
AT THIS
moment
omeone
were
to
ask,
what re
youdoing? ,
you might
eply,
I
am
reading,
nd
thereby
cknowledge
he fact
that
reading
s
an
activity, omething
ou
do.
No one would
argue
that
the
act
of
reading
can take
place
in the
absence
of
someone who
reads-how
can
you
tell the dance
fromthe dancer?-but
curiously
enough
when it comes
time
to
make
analytical
statements
bout
the
end product of reading (meaning or understanding), he reader is
usually
forgotten
r
ignored.
Indeed in recent
iterary istory
e
has
been excluded
by egislation.
refer,
f
course,
o
the ex cathedra
pro-
nouncements
f
Wimsatt
nd
Beardsley
n
their
normously
nfluential
article
The Affective
allacy :
The Affective
allacy
is
a confusion
etween he
poem
and
its
results
(what
t is and what
t
does)
....
It
beginsby trying
o derive
he
stan-
dards
of
criticism
rom he
psychological
ffects
f the
poem
and ends
n
impressionism
nd relativism.
he outcome ..
is
that
the
poem tself,
s
an
object
of
specifically
ritical
udgment,
ends o
disappear.
In
time,
shall return
o
these
arguments,
ot so
much to refute hem
as
to affirm
nd embrace
hem;
but
I
would
first
ike
to demonstrate
he
explanatory
ower
of a method
of
analysis
which takes
the
reader,
as
an
actively
mediating
resence,
ully
nto
account,
nd
which,
herefore,
has
as its
focus the
psychological
ffects
f the
utterance.
And
I
would
like
to
begin
with a
sentence hat
does not
open
itself
p
to
the
questions
we
usually
sk.
That
Judas
perished
y
hanging
himself,
here s no
certainty
n
Scrip-
ture:
though
n one
place
it seems
o
affirm
t,
and
by
a doubtful
word
I
The Verbal
Icon
(Lexington,
Ky.,
1954),
P.
21.
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124
NEW
LITERARY HISTORY
hath
given
occasion to translate
t;
yet
in
another
place,
in
a
more
punctual
description,t
maketh t improbable,nd seems o overthrow
t.
Ordinarily,
one would
begin
by
asking
what
does
this
sentence
mean? or
what is it about? or what is it
saying? ,
ll of which
pre-
serve the
objectivity
f the utterance. For
my
purposes,
however,
his
particular
entencehas
the
advantage
of not
saying
nything.
That
is,
you
can't
get
a
fact
out of t whichcould serve s an answer
o
any
one
of
these
uestions.
Of
course,
his
difficulty
s itself fact-of
response;
and it
suggests,
o
me
at
least,
hat
what
makes
problematical
ense
as a
statementmakes
perfect
ense as a
strategy,
s an action made
upon
a
reader rather han as a container romwhich a reader extracts mes-
sage.
The
strategy
r action
here
s
one of
progressive
ecertainizing.
Simply
by
taking
n the
first lause of the
sentence,
he
reader
com-
mits
himself o
its
assertion,
that
Judas
perishedby
hanging
himself
(in
constructions
f
this
type
that
is
understood
o be
shorthand
or
the
fact
that ).
This
is not so
much a conscious
decision,
s
it is an
anticipatory
djustment
o his
projection
f
the
sentence's
uture
on-
tours.
He knows
withoutgiving
ognitive
orm
o
his
knowledge)
that
thisfirst
lause
s
preliminary
o some
arger
ssertion
it
is a
ground )
and he mustbe in control f it ifhe is to move easilyand confidently
through
what
follows;
and in the
context
of this
knowledge,
he
is
prepared,
gain
less
than
consciously,
or
any
one
of several
construc-
tions:
That
Judas
perished
y
hanging
himself,
s
(an example
for
us
all).
That
Judas
perished
y
hanging
himself,
hows
how
conscious e
was
ofthe
normity
f
his
sin).
That
Judas
perished
y
hanging
imself,
hould
give
us
pause).
The
range
ofthese
possibilities
and
there
re,
of
course,
morethan
I have
listed)
narrows
onsiderably
s
the
next threewords
are
read,
there s
no.
At this
point,
he
reader s
expecting,
nd even
predicting,
a
single
word- doubt ;
but instead
he finds
certainty ;
nd
at
that
moment
he status
of
the fact that
had served
s his
point
of
reference
becomes
uncertain.
(It
is
nicely
ronic hatthe
appearance
of
certain-
ty
should
be the
occasion
for
doubt,
whereas
he word
doubt
would
have contributed
o
the reader's
certainty.)
As a
result,
he
terms
of
the
reader's
relationship
o
the sentence
undergo
a
profound hange.He
is
suddenly
nvolved n a differentind of
activity.
Ratherthan
following
n
argument
long
a well
lightedpath
(a
light,
fter
ll,
has
gone
out),
he
is
now
looking
for
one. The natural
mpulse
n a
situa-
tion ike
this,
ither
n
lifeor in
literature,
s to
go
forward n the
hope
that what
has been
obscuredwill
again
become
clear;
but in
this
case
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LITERATURE IN
THE READER: AFFECTIVE STYLISTICS
125
going
forward
nly
ntensifies
he
readers
ense
of disorientation. he
prose
s
continually
pening,
but then
closing,
n the
possibility
f
veri-
ficationn one direction r another.There are twovocabularies n the
sentence;
one
holds out
the
promise
of
a
clarification- place,
af-
firm,
place,
punctual,
overthrow -while the other
continually
defaults n
that
promise- Though,
doubtful,
yet,
improbable,
seems ;
and the
reader s
passed
back
and forth
etween
them and
between
the alternatives-that
Judas
did or did not
perishby
hanging
himself-which are
still
suspended (actually
it is
the
reader
who is
suspended)
when the sentenceends
(trails
off?
gives up?).
The in-
determinateness
f
this
experience
s
compounded by
a
superfluity
f
pronouns. It becomes ncreasingly ifficulto tell what it refers o,
and
if the reader
takes
the trouble
o
retracehis
steps,
he
is
simply
ed
back to
that
Judas
perished by
hanging
himself ;
n
short,
he ex-
changes
an indefinite
ronoun
for n even ess definite
that
s,
certain)
assertion.
Whatever
s
persuasive
nd
illuminating
bout this
analysis
and
it
is
by
no
means
exhaustive)
is the
result of
my
substituting
or
one
question-what
does this
sentence
mean?-another,
more
operational
question-what
does this sentencedo?
And
what
the
sentence
does
is give the readersomething nd thentake it away, drawinghim on
with the
unredeemed
promise
of its return.
An observation
bout
the
sentence
s
an
utterance-its refusal
o
yield
a declarative
tatement-
has
been transformednto an
account of
its
experience
not
being
able
to
get
a
fact out of
it).
It
is no
longer
an
object,
a
thing-in-itself,
ut
an
event,
omething
hat
happens
to,
and
with the
participation
f,
the
reader. And it s this
vent,
his
happening-all
of t
and not
anything
that could be said about it
or
any
information
ne
might
take
away
from
t-that
is,
I
would
argue,
the
meaning
of the
sentence.
(Of
course, nthis ase there s no informationotakeaway.)
This is
a
provocative
hesis
whose
elaboration
and
defense
will be
the
concern
of
the
following
pages,
but
before
proceeding
to
it,
I
would
like
to
examine another
utterancewhich
also
(conveniently)
saysnothing:
Nor did
they
ot
perceive
he
evil
plight.
The
firstword of this line
fromParadise Lost
(I,
335) generates
rather
precise if abstract) expectation
f
what
will follow:
a
negativeassertionwhich will
require
for ts
completion
subject
and a verb.
There are then
two
dummy
slots
n the reader's
mind
waiting
o
be
filled. This
expectation
s
strengthened
if
only
because
it is not
chal-
lenged)
by
the
auxiliary
did
and the
pronoun they.
Presumably,
the verb
is not far behind.
But in its
place
the reader is
presented
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S126
NEW
ITERARYISTORY
with a
second
negative,
ne
that can not
be accommodatedwithin
his
projection
of the
utterance'sform.
His
progress hrough
he
line
is
halted and he is forcedto come to termswiththe intrusive because
unexpected)
not.
In
effect hat the reader
does,
or
is
forced
o
do,
at
this
point,
s
ask
a
question-did
they
or didn't
they?-and
in
search
of
an
answer he
either
rereads-in
which case
he
simplyrepeats
the
sequence
of
mental
operations-or goes
forward-in which
case he
finds
he
anticipated
erb,
but
in
either ase
the
syntactical
ncertainty
remains
nresolved.
It
could be
objected
that the solution
to the
difficulty
s
simply
o
invoke
the
rule
of the double
negative;
one cancels
the
other
and
the
correct reading s thereforetheydid perceive heevil plight. But
however
atisfactory
his
may
be
in
terms
f
the nternal
ogic
of
gram-
matical
utterances
and
even in those terms there are
problems,2
it
has
nothing
o do with the
logic
of
the
reading
experience
or,
I
would
insist,
with ts
meaning.
That
experience
s a
temporal
ne,
and
in
the
courseof t the two
negatives
ombinenot
to
produce
an affirma-
tive,
but to
prevent
he reader
from
making
the
simple
(declarative)
sense which would
be the
goal
of a
logical
analysis.
To clean the
line
up
is to
take from
t
its most
prominent
nd
important
ffect-the sus-
pensionofthe readerbetween the alternativestssyntaxmomentarily
offers.
What is
a
problem
f the
line is
considered
as
an
object,
a
thing-in-itself,
ecomes
a
fact
when
it is
regarded
as
an occurrence.
The reader's
nability
o tell
whether
r not
they
do
perceive
nd his
involuntary
uestion
or
its
psychological
quivalent)
are
events n
his
encounter
with
the
ine,
and as
events
hey
re
part
of
the
ine's
mean-
ing,
even
though they
take
place
in the
mind,
not
on the
page.
Sub-
sequently,
we discoverthat
the
answer
to the
question
did
they
or
didn't
they,
s,
they
did and
they
didn't.
Milton s
exploiting
and
callingour attentiono) the twosensesof perceive : they the fallen
angels)
do
perceive
he
fire,
he
pain,
the
gloom;
physically
hey
ee
it;
however
hey
re
blind
to
the
moral
significance
f their
ituation;
nd
in that
sense
they
do not
perceive
the evil
plight
n which
they
are.
But that s
another
tory.
Underlying
hese
two
analyses
s
a
method,
rather
imple
in
con-
cept,
but
complex
(or
at least
complicated)
in execution. The
con-
cept
is
simply
the
rigorous
nd
disinterested
sking
of
the
question,
what
does
this
word,
phrase,
entence,
aragraph,chapter,
novel,
play
poem, do?; and the execution nvolves n analysisof the developing
responses
f
the
reader
in
relation
to the words as
they
ucceed
one
2
Thus
the line
could read:
They
did not
perceive,
which
is not the same
as
saying
they
did
perceive.
(The
question
is still
open.)
One could also
argue
that
not
is
not
really
negative.
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LITERATURE
IN
THE READER: AFFECTIVE
STYLISTICS
I27
another n time.
Every
word n
this
tatement ears a
special
emphasis.
The
analysis
mustbe of the
developing esponses
o
distinguish
t from
theatomism f muchstylisticriticism.A reader'sresponse o thefifth
word
n
a line
or
sentence
s to a
large
extent he
product
f his
responses
to
words
one, two,
three,
nd
four.
And
by
response,
intendmore
than
the
range
of
feelings
what
Wimsatt
nd
Beardsley
all the
purely
f-
fective
eports ).
The
category
f
response
ncludes
any
and
all
of
the
activities
rovoked
by
a
string
f words:
the
projection
f
syntactical
and/or
lexical
probabilities;
their
subsequent
occurrence
or non-oc-
currence;
attitudes owards
persons,
r
things,
r ideas
referred
o;
the
reversal
r
questioning
f those
attitudes;
nd much
more.
Obviously,
this mposesa greatburdenon the analystwho in his observations n
any
one
moment
n
the
reading
experience
must take
into account
all
that
has
happened
(in
the
reader's
mind)
at
previous
moments,
ach
of which was in
its turn
subject
to
the
accumulating
pressures
f
its
predecessors.
He
mustalso
take
nto account
nfluences nd
pressures
pre-dating
he actual
reading
experience-questions
of
genre,
history,
etc.-questions
we shall
consider
ater.)
All of this
s
included
in
the
phrase
in time.
The basis of
the method
s a consideration
f the
temporal
flow
of
the
reading
experience,
nd
it is assumed
that
the
readerresponds n terms fthatflowand not to thewhole utterance.
That
is,
in
an utterance
of
any length,
here s
a
point
at which
the
reader
has taken
n
only
the first
word,
and then
the
second,
and then
the
third,
nd so
on,
and the
report
f
what
happens
to the reader
s
always
a
report
f what has
happened
to that
point.
(The
report
n-
cludes the
reader's set
toward future
experiences,
but
not those ex-
periences.)
The
importance
f this
principle
s
illustrated
when
we reverse he
first
wo
clauses of the
Judas
sentence:
There is no
certainty
hat
Judasperished yhanginghimself. Here the statusof the assertions
never
n
doubt
because
the reader
knows
from
he
beginning
hat
t
is
doubtful;
he is
given
a
perspective
romwhich
to
view
the
statement
and that
perspective
s
confirmed ather han
challenged
by
what
fol-
lows;
even the confusion
f
pronouns
n the
second
part
of the
sen-
tencewill not be
disturbing
o
him,
because
it can
easily
be
placed
in
the
context f
his initial
response.
There
is
no
difference
n these
two
sen-
tences
n
the nformation
onveyed
or
not
conveyed),
or
in
the
exical
and
syntactical
omponents,3
nly
n
the
way
these
are
received.
But
thatonedifference akes ll the difference-betweenn uncomfortable,
unsettling
xperience
n which he
gradual
dimming
f a fact s attended
by
a
failure
n
perception,
nd
a
wholly elf-satisfying
ne in which
an
3
Of
course,
That
is no
longer
read
as the fact
that,
but
this is
because the
order
of the clauses
has resulted n
the
ruling
out
of that
possibility.
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128 NEW
LITERARY
HISTORY
uncertainty
s
comfortably
ertain,
nd
the
reader's onfidence
n
his
own
powers
emains
nshaken,
ecause
he
s
always
n
control.
t
is,
insist,differencenmeaning.
The
results
I
will
ater
all
them
dvantages)
f
this
method re
fairly,
hough
ot
exhaustively,
epresented
n
my
two
examples.
Es-
sentially
hat
the
method
oes
s slow down
the
reading xperience
so
that events ne does
not
notice
n
normal
ime,
utwhich
o oc-
cur,
are
brought
efore ur
analytical
ttentions.t is as if a slow
motion amerawith n
automatic
top
ction
ffect ere
ecording
ur
linguistic xperiences
nd
presenting
hem to us
for
viewing.
Of
course he
value
of
uch
procedure
s
predicated
n
the
dea of
mean-
ingas an event,omethinghat s happeningetween he words nd
in the
reader's
mind,
omething
otvisible o
the
naked
ye,
ut
which
can
be made visible
or
at
least
palpable)
by
the
regular
ntroduction
of a
searching
uestion
what
does this
do?).
It is
more
usual
to
assume
hat
meaning
s
a functionf the
utterance,
nd
to
equate
t
with
he nformation
iven
the message)
or
the
attitude
xpressed.
That
is,
the
components
f
an utterance
re
considered
ither
n
rela-
tion o each
other
r
to a
state
f
affairs
n
theoutside
world,
r
to
the
state
fmind
fthe
peaker-author.
n
any
nd all
of
these
ariations,
meanings located presumedobe imbedded) n theutterance,nd
the
apprehension
f
meaning
s
an act
of
extraction.4
n
short,
here
is little
ense f
process
nd even ess
f
the
reader's
ctualizing
artici-
pation
n that
rocess.
This
concentration
n theverbal
bject
s
a
thing
n
tself,
nd
as
a
repository
f
meaning
as
many
onsequences,
heoretical
nd
practi-
cal. First
f
all,
t creates
whole
lass
of
utterances,
hich
because
of
their
lleged
ransparency,
re
declared
o
be
uninteresting
s
ob-
jects
of
analysis.
entences
r
fragments
f sentences
hat
mmediately
makesense a deeply evealinghrase f onethinksbout t) are
examples
f
ordinaryanguage;
hey
reneutralnd
tyleless
tatements,
simply
eferring,
r
simply
eporting.
ut the
application
o such
utterances
f
the
question
what does it
do?
(which
assumes
hat
something
s
always appening)
eveals
hat
great
eal s
going
n
n
their
production
nd
comprehension
every
inguistic
xperience
s
af-
fecting
nd
pressuring)
lthough
most f t s
going
n so close
up,
at
such
basic,
preconscious
evelof
experience,
hatwe tend o
over-
look
t. Thus
the
utterance
written
r
spoken)
theres
a
chair
s
at
onceunderstoods thereportitherfan existingtate f affairsrof
an
act
of
perception
I
see a
chair).
In either
rame f
reference,
t
4
This is
not
true
of
the Oxford
school
of
ordinary
language
philosophers
(Austin,
Grice,
Searle)
who
discuss
meaning
in terms
f
hearer-speaker
elationships
and
intention-response
onventions,
.e.,
situational
meaning.
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LITERATURE IN THE READER:
AFFECTIVE STYLISTICS
129
makes
mmediate
ense. To
my
mind,
however,
hat s
interesting
about the
utterance
s
the sub rosa
message
t
puts
out
by
virtue
f
itseasycomprehensibility.ecause t gives nformationirectlynd
simply,
t
asserts
silently,
ut
effectively)
he
givability ,irectly
nd
simply,
f
nformation;
nd t
s
thus
s
extension
f he
rdering
pera-
tion
we
perform
n
experience
hen
ever
t
is
filtered
hrough
ur
temporal-spatial
onsciousness.n
short
t makes
ense,
n
exactly
he
way
we make
i.e.,
manufacture)
ense
f
whatever,
f
anything,
xists
outside
s;
and
by
making
asy
ense
t tells
s
that ense an be
easily
made
and thatwe
are
capable
of
easily
making
t.
A
whole
document
consisting
f such
utterances-a
hemistry
ext
r a
telephone
ook-
willbetellings that llthe ime; ndthat, ather han nyreportable
content,
ill
be its
meaning.
uch
anguage
an be
called
ordinary
only
ecause t
confirmsnd
reflects
ur
ordinary
nderstanding
f
the
world nd our
position
n
it;
but for
precisely
hat
reason t
is
extra-
ordinary
unless
we
accept
naive
epistemology
hich
grants
s un-
mediated ccess
o
reality)
nd
to
eave
t
unanalyzed
s to
risk
missing
much
f
what
happens-to
us
and
through
s-when we
readand
(or
so we
think)
nderstand.
In
short,
he
problem
s
simply
hat
most
methods
f
nalysis
perate
at sohigh level fabstractionhat hebasicdataofthemeaningx-
perience
s
slighted
nd/or
bscured.
n the rea of
pecifically
iterary
studies,
he
effects
f a naive
theory
f
utterance
meaning
nd
of
its
attendant
ssumption
f
ordinary
anguage
can
be
seen
in
what
is
acknowledged
o
be
the
orry
tate f
thecriticism
f
the
novel nd
of
prose
n
general.
This
s
usually
xplained
with eference
o
a distinc-
tion
between
rose
nd
poetry,
hich
s
actually
distinctionetween
ordinary
anguage
nd
poetic
anguage.
Poetry,
t is
asserted,
s
char-
acterized
y
a
high
ncidence
f
deviance
rom
ormal
yntactical
nd
lexical abits.tthereforeffershe nalyst-criticgreatmany ointsf
departure.
rose,
n the ther and
except
or
Baroque
ccentrics
ike
Thomas
Browne nd
James
Joyce)
s, well,
ust
prose,
nd
just
there.
It
is
this
helplessness
efore
ll
but
themost
pectacular
ffects
hat
would
remedy;
lthough
n
one
way
the
two
examples
ithwhich
his
essay
egan
were
badly
hosen,
ince
hey
were
nalyses
f utterances
thatare
obviously
nd
problematically
eviant.
This,
of
course,
was
a
ploy
o
gain
your
ttention.
ssuming
hat now
have
t,
et
me
n-
sist
that
the
method
hows
o
best
advantage
when
t is
applied
to
unpromising aterial.Consider orexample his entenceactually
part
of a
sentence)
rom
ater's
Conclusion
o The
Renaissance,
which,
while t
s
hardly
he tuff
f
everyday
onversation,
oes
not,
t
first
ight,
fford
much
cope
for
he
ritic's
nalytical
kill:
That clear
perpetual
utline
f face and limb
s
but an
image
of ours.
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130
NEW LITERARY
HISTORY
What can one
say
about a sentence ike this? The
analyst
of
style
would,
I
fear,
find
t
distressingly
traightforward
nd
non-deviant,
simple declarativeof the form X is Y. And if he were by chance
drawn
to
it,
he
would not be
likely
o
pay
very
much attention
o
the
firstword- That. It is
simply
here. But
of
course
t is not
simply
there;
t
is
actively
here,
oing something,
nd
what
that
something
s
can
be discovered
y asking
he
question
what does t
do? The answer
is
obvious,
right
here
n
front
f
our
noses,
lthough
we
may
not
see
it
untilwe ask the
question.
That
is
a
demonstrative,
word
that
points
out,
and
as
one takes t
in,
a sense
of its
referent
yet
unidentified)
s
established. Whatever that
is,
t s
outside,
t a distance
from he
ob-
server-reader;t is pointable to (pointing s what theword that
does),
something
f substance and
solidity.
In
terms
of
the
reader's
response,
that
generates
n
expectation
hat
mpels
him
forward,
he
expectation
f
finding
ut
what
that is. The word and its
effect re
the basic data of the
meaning
experience
nd
they
will
direct
our
de-
scription
f that
experience
ecause
they
direct
he reader.
The
adjective
clear
works
n
two
ways;
it
promises
he reader
that when
that
appears,
he will
be able
to
see
it
easily,
nd,
converse-
ly,
that
it
can be
easily
seen.
Perpetual
stabilizes
he
visibility
f
that evenbeforet s seen and outline gives tpotential orm,while
at
the ame
time
raising
question.
That
question-outline
of
what?-
is
obligingly
nswered
by
the
phrase
of
face and
limb,
which,
n
ef-
fect,
ills he outline
n.
By
the time
the reader reaches
the declarative
verb is -which
sets
the
seal
on the
objectivereality
f what has
pre-
ceded
it-he
is
fully
nd
securely
riented
n
a world
of
perfectly
is-
cerned
objects
and
perfectly
iscerning
bservers,
f whom
he is one.
But then
the sentence
urns
n
the
reader,
nd takes
away
the world
t
has
itself reated.
With
but
the
easy progress
hrough
he sentence
is impeded (it is a splitsecondbeforeone realizes that but has the
force of
only )
;
the
declarative
force of is
is
weakened
and
the
status
of the
firmly
rawn
outline he
reader has been
pressured
o ac-
cept
is
suddenly
uncertain;
image
resolves
that
uncertainty,
ut
in
the direction
f
insubstantiality;
nd the now blurredform
disap-
pears
altogether
when the
phrase
of
ours
collapses
the
distinction
between
he reader
nd that
which s
(or
was)
without
Pater's
own
word).
Now
you
see
it
(that),
now
you
don't. Pater
giveth
nd
Pater
taketh
away.
(Again
this
description
f the reader's
experience
s
an analysisof the sentence'smeaningand if you were to ask, but,
what does
it mean?
I would
simply epeat
the
description.)
What is true
of
this entence
s
true,
believe,
of
much
of what
we
hold ourselves
responsible
for
as
criticsand teachers of literature.
There is
more to
it,
that
s,
to
its
experience,
han
meets
he casual
eye.
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LITERATURE IN THE READER: AFFECTIVE
STYLISTICS
131
What
is
required
hen
s
a
method,
machine
f
you
will,
which
n its
operation
makes
observable,
r
at
least
accessible,
what
goes
on below
the level ofself-consciousesponse. Everyonewould admitthat some-
thing
funny happens
n
the
Judas
sentence
from
Browne's
Religio
Medici
and that there
s
a
difficulty
uilt into the
reading
and under-
standing
of the
ine
from
Paradise
Lost;
but
there s a
tendency
o as-
sume that the Pater sentence
s
a
simple
assertion
whatever
that
s).
It
is of
course,
nothing
f
the
kind.
In fact t
is
not
an assertion
t
all,
although the
promise
f)
an
assertions one
of
ts
components.
t
is
an
experience;
t
occurs;
it does
something;
t makes us
do
something.
Indeed,
I
would
go
so far as to
say,
n direct ontradiction
f
Wimsatt-
Beardsley,hatwhat tdoes s what tmeans.
The
Logic
and Structure of
Response
II.
What
I
am
suggesting
s that
there
s no direct
relationship
etween
the
meaning
of
a sentence
(paragraph,
novel,
poem)
and what its
words
mean.
Or,
to
put
the matter ess
provocatively,
he nformation
an
utterance
ives,
ts
message,
s a
constituent
f,
but
certainly
ot
to
be
identified
with,
ts
meaning.
It is the
experience
f an utterance-
all
of
it and
not
anything
hat could be
said about
it,
includingany-
thing
could
say--that
s
ts
meaning.
It
follows,
hen,
hat t is
impossible
o mean the same
thing
n two
(or
more)
different
ays,
although
we tend to
think hat
it
happens
all the
time. We
do this
by
substituting
or our
immediate
inguistic
experience
n
interpretation
r abstraction f
it,
in which it is
in-
evitably ompromised.
We contrive
o
forget
what has
happened
to us
in our ifewith anguage,removing urselves s faras possiblefrom he
linguistic
vent before
making
a statement
bout
it.
Thus
we
say,
for
example,
that
the book
of the
father and
the
father's
book
mean
the same
thing, forgetting
hat
father and book
occupy
different
ositions
of
emphasis
in
our
different
xperiences;
and as
we
progress
n
this
forgetting,
e become
capable
of
believing
hat
sen-
tences
s
differents these
re
equivalent
n
meaning:
This fact
s
concealed
by
the
nfluence
f
anguage,
moulded
by
science,
which oistsn usexactconcepts
s
though hey epresented
he
mmediate
deliverances
f
experience.
A. N. Whitehead
And
ifwe continue o
dwell
n
thought
n this
world,
not of
objects
n
the
olidity
ithwhich
anguage
nvests
hem,
ut of
mpressions,
nstable,
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11/41
132
NEW
LITERARY
HISTORY
flickering,
nconsistent,
hich
burn
and are
extinguished
ith our
con-
sciousness
f
them,
t
contractstill
urther.
Walter
Pater
It
is
(literally)
tempting
o
say
that these
sentences
make the same
point:
that
anguage
which
pretends
o
precision perates
to
obscure
the
flux
and
disorder f
actual
experience.
And of
course
they
do,
if
one
considers hem
t
a
high
enough
evel
of
generality.
But
as individ-
ual
experiences
hrough
which
a
reader
ives,
they
re not
alike
at
all,
and
neither, herefore,
re
their
meanings.
To
take the
Whitehead
entence
irst,
t
simply
oesn'tmean what
it
says; for s thereadermovesthrought,he experiences hestability f
the world
whose existence
t
supposedly
enies.
The
word
fact itself
makes
an
exact
concept
out
of
the dea of
nexactness;
nd
by
referring
backward to find ts
referent- the
radically
untidy
ll-adjusted
har-
acter
of...
experience -the
reader
performs
he characteristic
ction
required
of him
by
this
entence,
he
fixing
f
things
n
their
place.
There is
nothing ntidy
ither
n the
sentence
r
in
our
experience
f
it.
Each clause is
logically
relatedto its
predecessors
nd
prepares
he
way
for what
follows;
and
since
our active
attention
s
required
only
at thepoints frelation, hesentence sdividedbyusintoa succession f
discrete
reas,
each of which s dominated
by
the
anguage
of
certainty.
Even the
phrase
as
though
they
represented
alls
nto
this
category,
since its
stress
falls on
they
represented
which
then thrusts s
for-
ward to the
waiting
deliverances f
experience.
In
short,
he sen-
tence,
n
its action
upon
us,
declares
the
tidy
well-ordered haracter
f
actual
experience,
nd that
s ts
meaning.
At
first
he Pater sentence s
self-subverting
n the
same
way.
The
least
forcefulword
in
its first
wo
clauses is
not,
which is
literally
overwhelmed ythewordsthat urroundt- world, objects, solid-
ity, language ;
and
by
the timethe readerreaches he
but
in
but
of
mpressions,
e findshimself
nhabiting
dwelling n)
a
world
of
fixed and
solid
objects.
It is of course a world
made
up
of
words,
constructed
n
large
part by
the reader himself
s he
performs ram-
matical
actions
which
reinforce he
stability
f its
phenomena. By
re-
ferring
ackwards from
them
to
objects,
the reader accords
ob-
jects
a
place
in the
sentence
whatever
can
be referred ack
to
must
be
somewhere)
and in his
mind.
In the second half of the
sentence,
however, his ame world s unbuilt. There is stilla backward
depen-
dence to the
readingexperience,
ut
the
point
of
reference
s
the word
impressions ;
nd the eries
which
follows
t- unstable,
flickering,
'inconsistent -serves
nly
o accentuate ts
nstability.
ike
Whitehead,
Pater
perpetrates
he
verydeception
he is
warning against;
but
this s
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12/41
LITERATURE
IN
THE
READER:
AFFECTIVE
STYLISTICS
133
only
one
part
of
his
strategy.
The other s to break down
(extinguish)
the
coherenceof
the
illusion
he has
created.
Each successive
tage
of
thesentence s less exact (in Whitehead'sterms)than itspredecessors,
because
at
each successive
tage
the reader
s
given
ess
and
less to
hold
on
to;
and when
the
corporeality
f this
world
has
wasted
away
to
an it
( it
contracts
till
further ),
he is
left
with
nothing
t
all.
One could
say,
suppose,
hatat
the east
these wo
sentences
esture
toward
the same
insight;
but even this
minimal statement
makes
me
uneasy,
because
insight
s
anotherword that
mplies
there
t
is,
I've
got
it. And this s
exactly
he difference etween the
two
sentences:
Whitehead
lets
you
get
it
( the
neat, trim,
tidy,
exact
world ),
while Pater gives you the experienceof having it meltunder your
feet.
It
is
only
when one
steps
back
from
the sentences
hat
they
are
in
any
way
equivalent;
and
stepping
ack
is what
an
analysis
n
terms
of
doing
and
happenings
does
not allow.
The
analysis
of
the Pater sentence llustrates
notherfeatureof the
method,
ts
independence
of
linguistic
ogic.
If
a casual reader
were
asked
to
point
out the
most
important
word
in
the second clause-
not of
objects
n
the
solidity
with which
anguage
invests
hem -he
would
probably
answer
not,
because as a
logical
marker not
controls verythinghat follows t. But as one component n an ex-
perience,
t is
hardly ontrolling
t
all;
for
as the
clause
unfolds,
not
has less
and
less
a claim on our attention nd
memories;
working gainst
it,
and
finally
verwhelming
t,
as we
saw,
is
an
unbroken uccession
f
more
forcefulwords.
My
point
of course
s
that
n an
analysis
of the
sentence
s a
thing
n
itself,
onsisting
f
words
arranged
n
syntacto-
logical relationships,
not would
figure
rominently,
hile in
an
ex-
periential
nalysis
t is noted
chiefly
or ts weakness.
The
case
is
even clearer
and
perhaps
more
interesting
n this sen-
tencefrom neofDonne's sermons:
And
therefore,
s
the
mysteries
f our
religions
re
not
the
objects
of
our
reason,
ut
by
faithwe
rest
n
God's
decree
nd
purpose it
is
so,
O
God,
because
t
s
thy
will
t
should
be
so)
So
God's
decrees
re ever
to
be
considered
n
the
manifestation
hereof.
Here the
not -again logically
ontrolling-is
subverted
y
the
very
construction
n
which
t s
mbedded;
for
hat
construction,
nobtrusive-
ly,
but nonethless
ffectively,ressures
he reader to
perform xactlythose mental
operations
whose
propriety
hestatement f the sentence
-what it is
saying-is challenging.
That
is,
a
paraphrase
of the
ma-
terialbefore he
parenthesismight
ead- Matters of faith
nd
religion
are not
the
objects
of
our
reason ;
but the
simple
act of
taking
n the
words And therefore
nvolves
s
unavoidably
n
reasoning
bout mat-
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134
NEW ITERARY
ISTORY
ters
f
faith nd
religion;
n fact
o
strong
s
the
pull
of
thesewords
hat
our
primary esponse
o this
part
of the
sentence s
one of
anticipation;
we are waitingfora so clause to completethe logicallybased se-
quence
begun by
And
therefore
s.
But
when that
so
appears,
t
is
not at all what we had
expected,
or t s
the so of divinefiat-it is so
O
God because it is
thy
will
it should be so-of
a
causality
more real
than
any
that can be
observed
n
nature or described
n a natural
(human)
language.
The
speaker,
however,
ompletes
is
explaining
and
organizing
statement
s
if its silent
claim
to be
a
window
on
reality
were still
unquestioned.
As
a
result he reader
s
alerted
o
the
inadequacy
of
the
very
process
n
which he
is
(through
the
syntax)
involved,and at the same time he accepts the necessity, or limited
human
beings,
of
proceeding
within
he now discredited
ssumptions
ofthat
process.
Of
course,
formalist
nalysis
f
this
entencewould
certainly
ave
discovered
the tension
between the two
so's,
one a
synonym
or
therefore,
he other horthand
or so be
it,
and
might
ven have
gone
on
to
suggest
hat the
relationship
etween
them
s
a mirror f the
re-
lationship
between
the
mysteries
f faith nd
the
operations
f reason.
I
doubt, however,
hat a formalist
nalysis
would
have
brought
us
to
thepointwherewe could see thesentence, nd themode ofdiscourse
it
represents,
s
a
self-deflating
oke ( thereof
mocks
therefore ),
to
which the
reader
responds
nd
of
whichhe
is
a
victim.
In
short,
nd
to
repeat
myself,
o consider
he
utterances
part
from he
consciousness
receiving
t is
to
risk
missing great
deal of
what
is
going
on.
It is a
risk
which
analysis
n
terms of
doings
and
happenings
works
to
minimize.
Another
dvantage
of the method s its
ability
o deal
with
entences
(and works)
that
don't
mean
anything,
n
the sense of not
makingsense.
Literature,
t is oftenremarked
either
n
praise
or with con-
tempt)
is
largely
made
up
of
such utterances.
It
is an
interesting
om-
mentboth
on
Dylan
Thomas
and the
proponents
f
a
deviation
heory
of
poetic
language
that
their
examples
so
often
are taken from
his
work.)
In
an
experiential
analysis,
the
sharp
distinction
etween
sense and
nonsense,
with the attendant value
judgments
and
the
talk
about truth
ontent,
s
blurred,
because the
place
where sense
is
made
or
not
made
is
the reader's mind rather han the
printedpage
or the space betweenthe covers of a book. For an example,I turn
once
again,
and forthe last
time,
to Pater.
This
at
leastof
flame-like,
ur life
has,
that t is but the
concurrence,
5
I borrow this
phrase
from
P.
W.
Bridgman,
The
Way Things
Are.
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LITERATURE IN
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READER: AFFECTIVE STYLISTICS
135
renewed
from
moment
o
moment,
f
forces
arting
ooner
or
later
on
theirways.
This
sentence
deliberately
rustrates he reader's natural desire
to
organize
the
particulars
t offers.
One
can
see
for
nstance
how
dif-
ferent ts
experience
would be if
concurrences f forces were sub-
stituted or
concurrence,
enewed rom
moment o
moment,
f forces.
The
one
allows and
encourages
he formation f
a
physical
mage
which
has a
spatial
reality;
the mind
imagines
(pictures)
separate
and
dis-
tinctforces
onverging,
n an
orderly
ashion,
n
a
centerwhere
they
form
new,
but
still
recognizable
nd
managable
(in
a
mental
sense),
force;the otherdeterminedlyrevents hat image fromforming. e-
fore the
reader
can
respond fully
o
concurrence,
renewed
stops
him
by making
the
temporal
status
of
the
motion unclear. Has the
concurrence
lready
taken
place?
Is
it
taking place
now?
Although
frommoment
o moment answersthese
questions,
t does
so at the
expense
of the
assumptions
ehind
them;
the
phrase
eaves no
time for
anything
o
formal
nd chartable s a
process.
For
a
moment,
t
of
forces,
here s a
coming together;
but
in
the
next
moment,
he
moment when
the
reader takes
in
parting,
they
separate.
Or
do
they? sooner or later upsetsthis new attempt o findpatternand
direction
n
our
life
and
the
reader s
once more
disoriented,
patial-
ly
and
temporally.
The final deterrent o order s the
plural
ways,
which
prevents
he
mind's
eye
from
ravelling
own a
singlepath
and
insistson the
haphazardness
and randomness
of
whatever
t is that
happens
ooner r
ater.
Of
coursethis
reading
of
the
sentence
that
is,
of its
effects)
gnores
its status
s
a
logical
utterance.
Concurrence,
enewed
frommoment
to
moment,
f
forces s
meaningless
s a statement
orresponding
o
a
state of affairs n the real world; but its refusalto mean in that
discursive
way
creates
he
experience
hat s
its
meaning;
and an
analy-
sis
of
that
experience
rather
than of
logical
content s able
to
make
sense
of one
kind-experiential
ense-out
of nonsense.
A
similar
and
saving) operation
can
be
performed
n units
arger
than
the sentence.
One
of
Plato's
more
problematical
ialogues
s
the
Phaedrus,
n
part
because
its
final assertion- no
work
.
.
. has
ever
been
written
r
recited hat
s
worthy
f serious attention -seems
to
be
contradicted
y
its
very
existence.
This embarrasment has
been
the cause of a
great
many
articles,
ftenentitled The
Unity
of the
Phaedrus,
in
which the
offending
ection s somehow
accounted
for,
usually
by explaining
t
away.
What
these tudies
ttempt
o discover
s
the nternal
nity
f the
Phaedrus,
ts coherence
s a self-contained
rti-
fact;
but
if we look
for the coherenceof
the
dialogue
in the reader's
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136
NEW LITERARY
HISTORY
experience
f
it rather
han n
its
formal
tructure,
he
inconsistency
is
less a
problem
to be
solved
than
something
hat
happens,
a fact of
response;and as a fact of response t is thekeyto theway thework
works.
Rather than a
single
sustained
argument,
he Phaedrus
is
a
series
of
discrete
onversations
r
seminars,
ach
with
ts
own
carefully
posed
question,
nsuing
discussion
nd
firmly
rawn
conclusion;
but so
arranged
that to enter nto
the
spirit
and
assumptions
f
any
one
of
these
self-enclosed nits
s
implicitly
o
reject
the
spirit
and
assump-
tions
of
the unit
mmediately
receding.
This is a
pattern
which can be
clearly
llustrated
y
the
relationship
etween he
speech
of
Lysias
and
the first
peech
delivered
by
Socrates.
Lysias'
speech
is
criticized or
notconformingo the definition fa good discourse: everydiscourse,
like
a
living
creature,
hould be so
put together
hat
it
has
its
own
body
and
lacks
neither
ead
nor
feet,
middle nor
extremities,
ll com-
posed
in
such a
way
that
they
uit
both
each
other
and the
whole. 6
Socrates,
n
fact,
s
quite
careful
to rule out
any
other
standard
of
judgment:
it is the
arrangement
rather
than the invention
or
relevance that concerns
him
as
a critic.
Subsequently,
ocrates
own effort
n the
same theme s criticized or
ts
mpiety,
n
impiety,
moreover,
hat
is
compounded by
its
effectiveness
s
a
piece
of rhe-
toric. In otherwords,Lysias' speech s bad because itis not well put
together
nd
Socrates'
speech
s bad because it
is
well
put
together.
Although
neither
Socrates nor
Phaedrus
acknowledges
the
con-
tradiction,
he
reader,
who
has fallen
n
(perhaps
involuntarily)
with
thestandards f
udgment
stablished
y
the
philosopher
imself,
s
cer-
tainly
onfronted ith
t,
and asked
implicitly
o
do
something
with t.
What he
does
(or
should
do)
is
realize that
in
the condemnation f
Socrates'
speech
a new standard
(of
impiety)
has been
introduced,
one
that invalidatesthe
very
basis on
which
the
discussion
and
his
reading experience) had hitherto een preceding. At that moment,
this
early
section
of the
dialogue
will
have
achieved
its true
purpose,
which
is,
paradoxically,
o
bring
the reader to
the
point
where
he
is
no
longer
nterested
n
the issues t
treats;
no
longer
nterested
ecause
he has come
to
see
thatthe real ssues
xist t a
higher
evel of
generality.
Thus,
in
a
way peculiar
to
dialectical form
nd
experience,
his
pace
of
prose
and
argument
will have been the
vehicle of
its own
abandon-
ment.
Nor is
that
by any
means the end of
the
matter. This
pattern,
n
whichthe reader s first
ncouraged
to entertain
ssumptions
e
prob-
ably
already
holds
and
then is later
forced to
re-examine
nd
dis-
credit
hose ame
assumptions,
s
repeated
gain
and
again.
In
the
mid-
6 Ed.
W.
C.
Helmbold
and
W.
G.
Rabinowitz
(New
York,
1956), p.
53.
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LITERATURE IN
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READER: AFFECTIVE STYLISTICS
137
dle
section
of
the
dialogue,
the two friends
gree
to
explore
the
sub-
ject
of
good
and bad
writing;
and Socrates
argues against
the
sophistposition hat an orator may neglectwhat is really good . . .
for t is from
what seems to be true that
persuasion
comes,
not
from
the
real
truth
p.
46).
It
is
essential,
ounters
ocrates,
for
a
com-
petent
speaker
to know the truth
bout all
things
nd
subjects,
for
unless he
does,
and
here the
reader
anticipates
ome
kind of
equation
between
good
writing
nd a
concernfor he truth-he will
be
unable
to
deceive
( When
a man sets out
to
deceive someone
else without
being
taken in
himself,
e
must
accurately
grasp
the
similarity
nd
dissimi-
larity
of the
facts ).
While art
and truth
have
been
joined
in one
context-the ruthlessly ractical contextof manipulativerhetoric-a
wedge
has been drivenbetween them
in
another-the
moral context
assumed at
the
beginning
f
the
discussion.
To
the earlier
nsight
hat
a well-made
speech
is not
necessarily
true
speech
(in
the moral
sense),
the reader must now add the further
and extending)
nsight
that well-madeness s
likely
o
be a
weapon
in
the arsenal
of Truth's
enemies.
So
that
what was at
first tandardof
udgment
o
which
Soc-
rates,
Phaedrus
and the
reader
repaired,
s
now seen
to be
positively
deleterious o the
higher
tandard now
only graduallyemerging
rom
thedialogue.
The
important
word in
my
last sentence s
seen ;
for
it
suggests
that what
is
being
processed
by
the Phaedrus
is not an
argument
r a
proposition,
ut
a vision. As
an
argument,
n
fact,
he
dialogue
makes
no
sense,
since Socrates
is
continually
eaching
conclusionswhich
he
subsequently,
nd
without
omment,
bandons.
But
as an
attempt
o
refine
ts
reader's
vision
t
makes a
great
deal
of
sense;
for then the
contradictions,
he moments
of
blurring,
become
invitations
o ex-
amine
closely
remises
oo
easily
cquiesced
n. The readerwho
accepts
this invitationwill find,on retracinghis steps,that statements nd
phrases
which had
seemed
unexceptionable
re
now
suspect
and
du-
bious;
and
that ines of
reasoning
which
had seemed
proper
nd
to
the
point
are
now
disastrously
arrow.
Of course
they-phrases,
state-
ments,
premises
and conclusions-haven't
changed
(as
Socrates
re-
marks
ater,
written
words
.
go
on
telling
you
the same
thing
over
and
over ),
the reader
has,
and with
each
change
he is able
to
dis-
pense
with whatever ection
of
the
dialogue
he has been
reading,
be-
cause
he has
passed
beyond
the level
of
perception
t
respresents.
To read the
Phaedrus,
then,
s to use it
up;
for the value of
any
point
n
it is that
t
gets
you
(not
any
sustained
rgument)
to the next
point,
which s
not so
much
a
point
(in logical-demonstrative
erms)
as
a
level
of
insight.
t is thusa
self-consuming
rtifact,
mimetic
nact-
ment n the reader's
experience
of the Platonic ladder in which each
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138
NEW LITERARY
HISTORY
rung,
s
it
is
negotiated,
s
kicked
away.
The final
rung,
he
intuition
which
stands
(or,
more
properly,
n
which the reader
stands),
be-
cause it is thelast, s of course the rejectionof written rtifacts, re-
jection
that far
from
ontradicting
hat has
preceded,
s
an
exact de-
scription
f
what the
reader,
n
his
repeated
abandoning
of
successive
stages
n
the
argument,
as
been
doing.
What
was
problematical
ense
in
the structure
f
a self-enclosed
rgument,
makes
perfect
ense
n the
structure
f
the
reader's
xperience.
The Phaedrus s a radical criticism f the dea of internal oherence
from
a
moral
point
of
view;
by
identifying
he
appeal
of
well-put-
together
rtifacts iththe
sense
of
order
n the
perceiving
i.e.,
receiv-
ing) mind, tprovides strong rgument or hebanishing f thegood
poet
who is
potentially
he
good
deceiver.
We can
put
aside the
moral
issue and still
profit
rom
he
dialogue;
for
f
the
laws
of
beginning,
middle,
and end
are laws of
psychology
ather
han form
or
truth),
a
criticism
hich has as its
focus
the
structural
ntegrity
f the artifact s
obviously
misdirected.
It
is
the
experience
f
works,
not
worksthat
have
beginnings,
middles,
nd
ends.)
A new look
at
the
question
may
result
n
the rehabilitation f
works
ike
The
Faerie
Queene
which
have
been
criticized
because their
poetic
worlds lack
unity
and
consis-
tency. And a new look at thequestionmayresult lso in a more ac-
curate account
of
workswhose formal
features re so
prominent
hat
the critic
proceedsdirectly
rom
hemto
a
statement f
meaning
with-
out
bothering
o
ask whether
heir
high
visibility
as
any
direct rela-
tionship
o
their
operation
n the
reader's
experience.
This
analysis
f
the Phaedrus
lllustrates,
ot
incidentally,
he
ability
of the method
to handle units
arger
than the
sentence.
Whatever
he
size of
the
unit,
he focus
of
the method
remains he
reader's
xperience
of
it,
and the mechanism f the method
s
the
magic question,
what
does this do?
Answering
t of course s more difficulthan it
would
be for a
single
entence. More
variables
creep
n,
more
respon-
ses
and
more
different inds of
responses
have to
be
kept
track
of;
there re
more contextswhich
regulate
nd
modulate he
temporal
low
of the
reading
experience.
Some of
these
problems
will
be considered
below.
For the
present
et
me
say
that
have
usually
foundthat
what
might
e
called the basic
experience
f
a work
do
not
read basic
mean-
ing)
occurs
at
every
evel. As an
example,
we
might
onsider,
riefly,
The
Pilgrim'srogress.
At one
point
n
Bunyan's prose
epic,
Christian
sks
a
question
and
receives
n
answer:
7
See
Paul
Alpers,
The
Poetry of
The Faerie
Queene (Princeton,
1967),
where
exactly
this
point
is
made.
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LITERATURE IN
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READER: AFFECTIVE
STYLISTICS
139
Chr. Is this he
way
to
the
Celestial
City?
Shep. You are ust n yourway.
The
question
s asked in
the
contextof certain
ssumptions
bout
the
world,
the
stability
f
objects
n
it,
the
possibility
f
knowing,
n
terms
of
measurable
distances nd
locatable
places,
where
you
are;
but the
answer while it
is
perfectly
atisfactory
ithin
that assumed
context,
also
challenges
t, or,
to
be more
precise,
forces he reader to
challenge
it
by
forcing
im to
respond
to the
pun
on the word
just.
The
in-
escapability
f the
pun
reflects
ackward on
the
question
nd the
world
view
it
supports;
and it
gestures
oward another
world
view
in
which
spatial configurationsave moral and innermeanings, nd being n the
way
is
independent
f
the
way
you happen
to
be in. That
is,
if
Chris-
tian
s
to
be
truly
n
the
way,
the
way
must
first e
in
him,
and thenhe
will
be
in
it,
no matter
where-in
what
merely hysical
way-he
is.
All
of
this
s
meant,
hat
s
experienced,
n the reader's
ncounterwith
just
which s
a comment ot
only
n
Christian
or
sking
he
question,
but on
the reader for
aking
t
seriously,
hat
s,
simply.
What has
hap-
pened
to the
reader
n
this
brief
pace
is the
basic
experience
f The
Pilgrim's
Progress. Again
and
again
he
settles
nto
temporal-spatial
forms fthought nly obe brought p shortwhentheyproveunable to
contain
the
insights
f
Christian aith. The
many
evels
on
which
this
basic
experience
occurs
would be the
substance
of
a
full
reading
of
The
Pilgrim'sProgress,
omething
he
world
will soon
have,
whether
it
wants t or
not.
The
method, hen,
s
applicable
to
larger
units
and
its chiefcharac-
teristics
emain
he
same:
(I)
it refuses
o
answer
or
even ask
the
ques-
tion,
what is
this
work
about;
(2)
it
yields
an
analysis
not
of
formal
features,
ut
of
the
developing responses
f the reader
in
relationto
the wordsas they ucceedone another n time; (3) the resultwill be a
description
f
the structure
f
response
which
may
have
an
oblique
or
even
(as
in
the
case
of The
Pilgrim's
Progress),
a
contrasting
elation-
ship
to
the
structure f
the
work as
a
thing
n itself.
The Affective
allacy Fallacy
III.
In the
precedingages
have
argued
hecase
for method
f
analysis
whichfocuseson the readerrather han on the
artifact,
nd in what
remains
f this
ssay
would
like
to consider ome
of
the
more obvious
objections
to that
method. The
chief
objection,
of
course,
s that
af-
fective riticism
eads
one
away
from
he
thing
tself n all its
solidity
to
the
nchoate
mpressions
f
a
variable
and variousreader.
This
argu-
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8/21/2019 468593 Stanley Fish
19/41
140
NEW LITERARY HISTORY
ment
has
several
imensions
o
it,
and
will
require
multi-directional
answer.
First, hecharge fimpressionismas beenanswered, hope,by
someof
my ample nalyses.
f
anything,
he
discriminations
equired
and
yielded
y
the
method
re
too fine or
ven hemost
nalytical
f
tastes.This
s
in
large
part
because
n
the
category
f
response
in-
clude
not
only
tears,
rickles,
nd
other
sychologicalymptoms, 8
but
all the
precise
mental
perations
nvolved
n
reading, ncluding
theformulationf
complete
houghts,
he
performing
and
regretting)
of
acts
of
udgment,
he
following
nd
making
f
logical
equences;
and also because
my
nsistencen
the cumulative
ressures
f
the
reading xperienceuts estrictionsnthepossible esponsesoa word
or a
phrase.
The
larger
bjection
emains. ven
fthe
reader's
esponses
an be
described ith
ome
precision, hy
bother
with
hem,
ince
he more
palpable objectivity
f
the
text
s
immediately
vailable
the
poem
itself,
s an
object
f
pecifically
ritical
ulgment,
ends
o
disappear ).
My
reply
o this s
simple.
The
objectivity
f he
ext
s
an
illusion,
nd
moreover,
dangerous
llusion,
ecause t is so
physically
onvincing.
The
illusions
one
of
elf-sufficiency
nd
completeness.
line
of
print
or a pageora book s so obviouslyhere-itcan be handled, hoto-
graphed,
r
put
away-that
t seems
o be
the
ole
repository
f
what-
ever
alue nd
meaning
e
associate
ith
t.
(I
wish
he
pronoun
ould
be
avoided,
ut n
a
way
t
makes
my
point.)
This s of
course heun-
spoken
ssumption
ehind
he
word content.
The line
or
page
or
book
contains-everything.
The
great
merit
from
his
oint
f
view)
of
kinetic
rt s t