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Texas Studies in Literature and Language
When in 1918 T. S. Eliot praised Henry James by claiming that "he had
a mind so fine that no idea could violate it/' the paradox, like many of
Oscar Wilde's pronouncements, rests on a revolution in sensibility
Only the cognoscenti who have abandoned the dearly held truths o
the past will appreciate that "a mastery and an escape" from ideas "are
perhaps the last test of a superior intelligence."1 Less than seventy-five
years before Eliot's comments, John Ruskin had declared "that the art
is greatest which conveys to the mind of the spectator . . . the greatest
number of the greatest ideas,"2 while a mere thirty years before, Walter
Pater still feels constrained, at the end of the essay "Style," to remind
the reader that "the distinction between great art and good art depend[s]
immediately . . . not on its form, but on the matter."3 The belief that
art's claim for value and for our serious attention rests not on its ideas
message, or content, but on aesthetic considerations divorced from
subject matter stands at the center of the revolution that we call mod-
ernism. Such a shift must necessarily downplay the significance of those
revelatory moments or epiphanies that are characteristic of romanticism.
Moments of insight are crucial for the nineteenth-century writer be
cause the presentation of knowledge unavailable elsewhere assures
art's importance; the artist as seer/prophet presents truths that more
mundane perspectives miss and the radiance of the epiphanic moment
captures the mysterious, often intuitive, process by which such truths
are reached. Yet, even when backing away from claims to possess an
special knowledge, the modernists retain a dependence on revelatory
moments. In part, this retention marks how habitual the formal use of
Texas Studies in Literature and Language, Vol. 32, No. 3, Fall 1990
®1990 by the University of Texas Press, P.O. Box 7819, Austin, TX 78713
self wherever the concept of bildung appears, with its conviction that t
self develops over time toward a desired end by way of a set of formati
experiences. The self must be created just as capital is accumulated, by
being buñt up through a long, purposeful process. If this process is pain
ful, so much the better; underlying this bourgeois ethics is an age-old
Christian belief that suffering is redemptive. Pater rejects any such calc
lated approach to experience. "Not the fruit of experience, but experien
itself, is the end" (219). His hedonism places the focus on the moment
itself, not on any knowledge or strength gained from the moment.
Pater can only defend the moment's integrity, its being accountable
to nothing beyond itself, by adopting the most stringent atomism. Th
radical consequences of this move are seldom noted by Pater's commen
tators, while Pater himself only appears fitfully willing to accept every
thing to which his position commits him. The moment can be sav
from the fate of becoming a pawn in some developmental sequence by
the insistence that each moment is entirely discrete, existing in a sep
rateness that allows no ties to other moments. Mirroring this isolation
of each moment from every other in Pater's text is the isolation of eac
individual from all others. His theory of knowledge proposes a solipsis
that finds the "individual mind" stimulated by "impressions, unstable,
flickering, inconsistent, which burn and are extinguished with our co
sciousness of them" (218). Pater's atomism is so extreme here that
comes close to denying the faculty of memory, since it would provide
union of impressions across time within the mind. In the Conclusio
Pater is willing only to endorse the reality of the absolute present, ev
while acknowledging that the present moment is so fleeting as to
almost imperceptible, almost unreal. Yet it is all we have, and it is lost
completely, with no remainder, once it is gone.
We see here not only Pater's willingness to submit the self to his atomi
metaphysic but also the wistful melancholy about the conclusions
which he comes.
Of course, Pater talks of "us," "he," "himself," and "ourselves"
in these very passages that claim the self is something different in each
new moment. Paradoxically, he can dissolve the self only by describing
an experience and a knowledge that is ascribed to some self. In this
view, the whole point of the Conclusion is that once we have lost as-
sured access to the meaning and reality of the outer world and other
people, our only sure knowledge of our own existence is through sen-
sation. I feel, therefore I am. When the world has dwindled down this
far, our epiphanic moments no longer tell us anything about reality out
there, but they do still let me know that I exist. They let me know only
that I exist right now in this very moment, carrying no assurance for
the next moment, which is why Pater approaches each moment with
the same quest and the same need. Interpreted this way, Pater's aesthet-
icism still aims for knowledge, although a knowledge about the self
instead of about the world and a knowledge that must be continually
renewed. And he still relies on epiphanic moments to gain that knowl-
edge. At the same time, however, his text also seeks to push beyond the
We might add that perhaps the cause is a horror of being caught within
a rigid, definable, consistent self, a horror also expressed in the curious
disclaimer at the end of "The Truth of Masks": "Not that I agree with
everything that I have said in this essay. There is much with which I
entirely disagree"(LC, 157).
Not surprisingly, Wilde associates joy with those absolutely free
moments in which the self unconstrainedly acts out its impulses. In
the prose poem "The Artist," Wilde contrasts "The Sorrow that en-
dureth for Ever" with "The Pleasure that abideth for a Moment."19
The Picture of Dorian Gray, of course, provides Wilde's most extended
meditation on this connection between pleasure, the absolute integrity
of the moment, and the freedom of the self to adopt a new identity ea
day. The novel makes it clear that only the annulment of time cou
actually achieve the triumphant ascendancy of the moment that Wild
often wants to attain. To possess eternal youth would be to exist alwa
in the present, with no actions ever being influenced by anything
the past or ever generating any future consequences. Dorian has be
liberated from bildung and lives out "a new Hedonism that was
recreate life, and to save it from that harsh, uncomely puritanism th
is having, in our own day, its curious revival." Wilde describes Dorian
goal in words taken from Pater's Conclusion: "Its aim, indeed, was
be experience itself, and not the fruits of experience."20 And the nov
makes it clear that such a life can be lived only within a completely ne
understanding of time. The new hedonism
Eternal youth means that time's passing has no effect upon body and
soul, and Wilde imagines a world that corresponds to Dorian's state.
The abolition of time's consequences does not produce a stasis imper-
vious to change (as in Yeats's "Sailing to Byzantium," for example),
but rather infinite change, since the removal of any determination of
today by yesterday makes everything and anything possible.
Poised against the fantasy life that Dorian gets to lead throughout
most of the novel is the quite different revelation stored up in the por-
trait, the soul that Dorian has created over time as he acted out each of
his whims. As in "The Decay of Lying," the fictions of art try to hold
off a more "depressing" reality. Interestingly enough, in defending
his novel against charges of frivolity and immorality, Wilde took to
explaining literature's preeminent position among the arts in terms of
its superior ability to render the effects of time's passage, a position
reiterated in "The Critic as Artist."
Thus, the novel's presentation of the temporal reality that Dorian tries
to evade becomes the mark of its value and superiority. Given Wilde's
subsequent fate, it is impossible (and I see no reason to resist the temp-
tation) not to read the novel as expressing a duality within the author:
a desire to act out his dreams of living each moment for itself and the
ever-present sense that someday a terrible price will be paid for ignoring
the reality of a self that develops over time and will be held responsible
for what it has done and been.22 (In De Profundis Wilde writes of "the
note of doom that like a purple thread runs through the texture of Dorian
Gray/')23 Against the pure moment, which means nothing other than
itself, stands the epiphanic moment in which the repressed identity of
the self, its soul, as it has been created over time will be revealed.
Wilde's individualism, his belief in the self's possession of a unifying
and unique identity, is not always as guilt-laden as in Dorian Gray,
where the indulgence of the fantasy of escape from such a rigid self
generates the violence of the revelation of identity. Much more usually,
his individualism arises in the context of celebrating the artistic genius
and is presented as a kind of Utopian liberation of late nineteenth-cen-
tury men and women from the stultifying conformities of late Victorian
culture. "The Soul of Man under Socialism" offers Wilde's most ex-
tended defense of individualism as central both to artistic production
and to the achievement of true freedom and happiness for human beings.
In this essay, in contrast to his comments about "human nature" in
"The Decay of Lying," Wilde lays all responsibility for dull uniformity
at "authority's" door; when all authority is dismantled, the result will
be the infinite variety of true individualism, where each person thinks
and acts for himself or herself, discovering in the process his or her
uniqueness. With the advent of socialism, "the State is to make what is
useful. The Individual is to make what is beautiful" (DP, 32). As a result
all will become artists under conditions that are conducive to the most
perfect artistic expression, since "a work of art is the unique result of a
unique temperament. Its beauty comes from the fact that the author is
what he is" (DP, 34). The individual's true soul will blossom under
these conditions as Wilde adopts traditional organic metaphors: "It will
be a marvellous thing- the true personality of man- when we see it. It
will grow naturally and simply, flowerlike, as a tree grows" (DP, 26-27).
The extreme individualism of "The Soul of Man under Socialism"
has obvious ties to Pater's aestheticism and to the modernist quest for
autonomy. The Wildean self is not answerable to any authority outsid
itself, and the essay indulges in a long discussion of the necessity
artistic freedom. Only when free from all outside pressures can the arti
create works marked by their purity and disinterestedness. In the
ways individualism might be said to have the same results as atomism,
especially if we accept Wilde's clever use of socialism to bifurcate t
world into the realm of necessities, which becomes the state's respons
bility, and the realm of freedom, which becomes the self's playground
As Wilde envisions it, a self freed from responsibility to anything be
yond itself can be achieved in a world of material plenty, and he w
endorse socialism insofar as it provides that plenty. (The prospects of
prideful discipline within a tight social group or even the notion
communitarian cooperation are socialist images that hold no appeal for
Wilde.) The essay uses socialism to create the conditions that woul
make a Paterian life possible; after socialism's triumph, "one will live.
To Live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all"
{DP, 26).
It is not the essay's version of socialism that undermines its Paterian
vision but its version of individualism. "'Know thyself!' was written
over the portal of the antique world. Over the portal of the new world
'Be thyself shall be written" {DP, 27). Wilde reproduces the Paterian
move of repudiating knowledge here in favor of being, but his injunc-
tion to "be thyself" introduces a fixity to the self that is foreign to the
Pater of the Conclusion. (And one would have to ask how it is possible
to "be thyself" without knowing who that self is.) The model of the
true individual as the artist leads Wilde here, as it does Pater in "Style,"
to reify the self as the preexisting unique entity that underlies the art
work. In fact, Wilde had promulgated a cult of the artist from the very
beginning of his career, and his individualism is everywhere tied to a
belief that only a strong and unified self can produce great works of art.
In "The Critic as Artist," Wilde rejects the suggestion that "the great
poems of the early world, the primitive, anonymous collective poems,
were the result of the imagination of races, rather than the imagination
of individuals" {LC, 212). For Wilde "all fine imaginative work is self-
conscious and deliberate. . . . For there is no art where there is no style,
and no style where there is no unity, and unity is of the individual"
{LC, 212). A Homer or a Shakespeare is required to shape the traditional
stories into song. "The longer one studies life and literature, the more
strongly one feels that behind everything that is wonderful stands the
individual, and that it is not the moment that makes the man, but the
man who creates the age" {LC, 213).
Wilde's individualistic promotion of the prerogatives and creative
I saw then that the only thing for me was to accept everything. Since
then- curious as it will no doubt sound- I have been happier. It
was of course my soul in its ultimate essence that I had reached.
In many ways I had been its enemy, but I found it waiting for me
as a friend. When one comes in contact with the soul it makes one
simple as a child, as Christ said one should be. (DP, 169)
sea, traversed by cloudy shapes and beings" (PA, 172). At this poin
Joyce appears to have returned fully to the romantic epiphany, findi
in its revelations a way to unite self with nature. But I want to sugge
that such a conclusion would be overhasty; the Joycean epiphany
more closely linked to separation than to unity. To make this argume
will require a detour through Stephen Hero and the rewriting of Aristo
telean aesthetics by Stephen in both Stephen Hero and A Portrait.
The key difference, for my purposes, between the two texts' differe
versions of Stephen's Aristotelean musings is that the first text explicit
links epiphany with claritas, but in A Portrait the word ' 'epiphany" do
not appear, either in the discussion of Aristotle or anywhere else.
both versions Stephen uses claritas to emphasize the object's autonomy
its separate being and integrity. "You see that it is that thing which it
and no other thing" (PA, 213). This meaning of claritas must be pr
tected against an interpretation that would emphasize the individ
thing's relation to larger structures of significance that give it its impo
tance. "I thought that he [Aristotle] might mean that claritas is the artis
discovery and representation of the divine purpose in anything o
force of generalisation which would make the esthetic image a univer
one, make it outshine its proper conditions. But that is literary talk.
understand it so" (PA, 213). Stephen here takes a recognizably Paterian
position. The beautiful thing is itself alone and its difference, its distin
ness, is the very source of its beauty. And this understanding of beau
must be defended against more traditional notions that ascribe the thin
beauty to its connection with a higher order of existence. Stephen mu
deny that Aristotle "had in mind symbolism or idealism, the supreme
quality of beauty being a light from some other world, the idea of whi
the matter is but the shadow, the reality of which it is but the symbo
(PA, 213). Stephen rejects here all sacramental theories of art- be they
religious or Coleridgean- in favor of a profane celebration of the thin
itself. What Stephen Hero adds to the account offered in A Portrait is t
identification of epiphany as the moment in which the claritas of the
thing stands revealed. "This is the moment which I call epiphany. .
We recognise that it is that thing which it is. Its soul, its whatness, lea
to us from the vestment of its appearance. The soul of the commones
object, the structure of which is so adjusted, seems to us radiant. T
object achieves its epiphany. "2g
I can only speculate as to why Joyce decided to drop all reference to
epiphanies in A Portrait and, more particularly, why he severed the con
nection between epiphany and claritas. M) I would like to think that a
good clue is found in the passage in A Portrait that comes closest to d
cussing epiphany, even though the word is not used.
no longer used (as they are in section 4) to reveal "that which a thing is
then a thing's identity (especially a person's identity) comes to seem a
matter of will, not of being (as section 5 often suggests). Taken this wa
Stephen's story would not be about his discovery of his true identity as
artist, but about his determination neither to discover nor to inherit a self;
if he is to have a self, it must be entirely self-created. But that willful asser
tion of identity can be easily seen as fostered by the need to exclude for
fully from the self precisely those characteristics that most frighten it, tha
most strongly pull it in directions contrary to its conscious, willful inte
tions. All of which amounts to another way of raising the long-moote
issue of A Portrait's irony.11 The novel grants us a variety of viewpoin
from which Stephen's construction of his identity can be criticized.32 A
obvious example is Cranly's comment that Stephen's "mind is supe
saturated with the religion" that he claims to be escaping (PA, 240). Th
novel invites us at various moments to recognize that Stephen's artisti
ambitions are not so radically different from his earlier religious ambitions
as Stephen would like to think. Less explicitly, the novel also documen
Stephen's sexual confusions and asks us to interpret many of his aesthe
theories in relation to his frustrated romantic longings. (In the noteboo
for A Portrait, we find this wonderful, unused, thought: "One effect o
the resurgence of the Irish nation would be the entry into the field o
Europe of the Irish artist and thinker, a being without sexual education.")31
The epiphany on the beach at the end of section 4 loses much of its exalt
transcendence when we interpret it in terms of Stephen's troubled re
tion to women; his separation from the girl, with whom he exchanges
"no word" {PA, 172) makes his substitution of the warm embrace
mother earth take on a comic note. In this view it is Stephen's position
an alienated, separated observer (almost a voyeur)- a position reinforce
by the epiphany- that generates the compensatory romantic vision (all
his head) of mother earth's taking "him to her breast" (PA, 172). Simi-
larly, Stephen's insistence that "art must not excite desire" (PA, 205) an
his definition of "unesthetic emotions" as those that "are not more than
physical" {PA, 206) is ironically undermined by the source of his villa-
nelle being his desire for Emma.
The connection of epiphany with separation means that epiphanies
as well as Stephen's pretensions to autonomy will be ironized by all
those features of the novel that indicate how completely Stephen is
immersed in and influenced by the world he longs to escape. Stephen
finds in the willful assertion of identity the best strategy for asserting
his distance and difference from the world he perceives as a threat. But
the novel ironically suggests at times that identity is a willful fiction
imposed on the self that is, in fact, different in different moments.
Stephen not only contains elements of all those forces- family, religion,
University of Rochester
Rochester, New York
NOTES
changing urban culture that uproots traditional values and social formations,
Andreas Huyssen, After the Great Divide: Modernism, Mass Culture, Postmoderni
(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986), chap. 1; Marshall Berman,
That is Solid Melts into Air (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1982); and Perr
Anderson, "Modernity and Revolution," in Marxism and the Interpretation o
Culture, ed. Cary Nelson and Lawrence Grossberg (Urbana: University of Illino
Press, 1988), 317-38.
8. Harold Bloom (Introduction, in Walter Pater: Modern Critical Views [New
York: Chelsea House, 1985]) discusses Pater's influence on subsequent writ
in an essay that has, in its turn, influenced much recent work on Pater. Bloo
also comments that " Pater remains the most honest reader of epiphanies, by
asking so little of them" (6).
9. Irving Howe (Introduction, in The Idea of the Modern [New York: Horizo
Press, 1967]) declares that "a central direction in Modernist literature is towa
the self-sufficiency of the work" (27). Huyssen (After the Great Divide, esp. ch
3) offers a more recent discussion of modernism's attempt to secure the au-
tonomy of the art work from outside influences. In my essay ' 'Postmodern
Dilemmas," Southwest Review 72 (1987): 357-76, I consider the contemporary
réévaluation of autonomy's desirability, possibility, and consequences.
10. J. Hillis Miller ("Walter Pater: A Partial Portrait," in Walter Pater: Moder
Critical Views, ed. Harold Bloom [New York: Chelsea House, 1985], 75-95) writ
that Pater "is the nearest thing to Nietzsche England has" (75), and his essay
emphasizes the extremism of Pater's position; Robert Keefe ("Walter Pater: T
Critic and the Irrational," Victorian Newsletter 69 [Spring 1986]: 12-16) also pr
vides an interesting discussion of what he calls Pater's "radically new view of
the self" (12).
11. Ross Borden ("Pater's Temporizing: The Conclusion to The Renaissance,"
Victorian Newsletter 68 [Fall 1985]: 29-31) presents and discusses the changes
Pater made to the Conclusion to The Renaissance in the 1888 version.
12. Pater s attempt to show that the self gains nothing from its experience of
art works provides his own extreme version of the "disinterestedness" that
Matthew Arnold tries to annex to criticism in "The Function of Criticism." John
Kucich (Repression in Victorian Fiction [Berkeley: University of California Press,
19871) has brilliantly outlined a whole panoply of strategies by which Victorian
novelists attempt to protect the disinterestedness of their heroes and heroines
while, at the same time, providing them in the end with the spouses they desire
and a comfortable financial situation.
13. Borden, "Pater's Temporizing," 30.
14. This sentence's 1888 version (quoted in my essay) is more tame than the
1868 version, which reads: "The service of philosophy, and of religion and
culture as well, to the human spirit, is to startle it into a sharp and eager obser-
vation" (qtd from Borden, "Pater's Temporizing," 29).
15. Oscar Wilde, The Literary Criticism of Oscar Wilde, ed. Stanley Weintraub
(Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1968), 63; hereafter referred to as LC. I
have made it clear in each case which particular essay by Wilde is being cited.
lb. 1 have discussed the Victorians suspicion or figurative language and their
almost universal call for a plain style in my book, Representation and Revelation:
Victorian Realism from Carlyle to Yeats (Columbia: University of Missouri Press,
1986).
17. Richard Ellmann, Oscar Wilde (New York: Knopf, 1988), 311; hereafter
referred to as OW.
and of the grand epiphany at the end of section 4 of A Portrait, see Morris
Epiphany in the Modern Novel (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 19
13-111.
29. James Joyce, Stephen Hero (New York: New Directions, 1963), 213.
30. We do know that Joyce had plenty of time to change his views on epiphanies;
he wrote his prose epiphanies (some of which are incorporated into the final
version of A Portrait) between 1902 and 1904. Stephen Hero was written between
1904 and 1906, while the first version of A Portrait was written from 1907 to 1911.
That version was revised substantially in 1913-14. See Hans Gabler, Preface, in
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man: A Facsimile of Ephiphanies, Notes, Manu-
scripts, and Typescripts (New York: Garland, 1978); and Hans Gabler, 'The Seven
Lost Years of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man," in Approaches to A Portrait,
ed. Staley and Benstock, 25-60. In Ulysses (New York: Vintage Books, 1961),
Stephen thinks mockingly of his epiphanies and his early ambitions as a writer:
"Remember your epiphanies on green oval leaves, deeply deep, copies to be
sent if you died to all the great libraries of the world including Alexandria?' ' (40).
31. The Viking Critical Library edition of A Portrait collects the classic essays
on the problem of irony in the novel; for a good quick summary of the way critics
have approached the issue, see Thomas F. Staley, "Strings in the Labyrinth:
Sixty Years with Joyce's Portrait," in Approaches to Joyce's Portrait, 3-24. More
recently, Marguerite Harkness (The Aesthetics of Dedalus and Bloom (Lewisburg:
Bucknell University Press, 1984], chap. 5) takes up the issue of irony explicitly in
reference to Stephen's aesthetic theories. (In chapter 4, she considers those
theories' relation to Pater's and Wilde's aestheticism.)
32. Maud Ellmann ("Polytropic Man: Paternity, Identity, and Naming in The
Odyssey and A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man," in James Joyce: New Perspec-
tives, ed. Colin McCabe [Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 19821, 73-104)
offers the fullest attempt to read those elements in A Portrait that undermine the
unified integrity of Stephen's self.
33. Quoted from Robert Scholes and Richard M. Kain, The Workshop of Dedalus
(Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1965), 100
34. For two discussions of the nature of the self in Ulysses, see Franco Moretti,
Signs Taken for Wonders, trans. Susan Fischer, David Forgacs, and David Miller
(London: Verso Editions, 1983); and Jay Cantor, The Space Between (Baltimore:
Johns Hopkins University Press, 1981). The former believes that the novel un-
reservedly brings personal identity into question, whereas Cantor writes, "The
dissolution of Bloom's character makes him appear as almost only a function of
different languages, different signifying systems." But the "almost" here proves
important, as Cantor concludes that "there is, we are to feel, an irreducible core
to Bloom" (41).