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extend access to New Literary History
Stanley E. Fish
IT HAS BEEN more than twenty years since Harold Whitehall de-
clared that "no criticism can go beyond its linguistics."1 In that
time linguistics itself has undergone a number of revolutions so
that one of the terms in Whitehall's equation has been constantly
changing. What has not changed, however, is the formulation of the
difficulties involved in any attempt to marry the two disciplines. More
often than not these difficulties have found expression in muted declara-
tions of war which are followed by a series of journalistic skirmishes
and then by uneasy, but armed, truces. Linguists resolutely maintain
that literature is, after all, language, and that therefore a linguistic
description of a text is necessarily relevant to the critical act; critics
just as resolutely maintain that linguistic analyses leave out something,
and that what they leave out is precisely what constitutes literature.
This leads to an attempt, undertaken sometimes by one party, some-
times by the other, to identify the formal properties peculiar to literary
texts, an attempt that inevitably fails, when either the properties so
identified turn out to be found in texts not considered literary, or when
obviously literary texts do not display the specified properties. In the
end, neither side has victory, but each can point to the other's failure:
the critics have failed to provide an objective criterion for the asserted
uniqueness of their subject matter; the linguists have failed to provide
the kind of practical demonstration that would support the claims they
make for their discipline and its apparatus.
It seems to me that this state of affairs is unlikely to change so long
as the debate is conducted in these terms, for what has produced the
impasse between the linguists and the critics is not the points they
dispute, but the one point on which both parties seem so often to agree.
Let me illustrate by juxtaposing two statements. The first is by the
Terms like value, aesthetic purpose, etc., are apparently an essential part
of the methods of most literary criticism, but such terms are not available
to linguists. The statements that linguists make will include references to
phonemes, stresses, morphemes, syntactical patterns, etc., and their pat-
terned repetition and co-occurrence. It remains to be demonstrated to
what extent an analysis of messages based on such features will correlate
with that made in terms of value and purpose.2
The second statement is dated 1970, and comes to us from the opposite
direction. Elias Schwartz, a literary critic, is writing in the pages of
College English:
Saporta and Schwartz can stand for all of those linguists and critics
who have confronted each other in the past twenty years.4 The
linguist says, I have done the job of describing the language; you take
it from here. The critic replies, I have no use for what you have done;
you've given me at once too little and too much. Superficially, then,
the two positions are firmly opposed, but only slightly beneath the
surface one finds a crucial area of agreement: in their concern to
characterize the properties of literary language, Schwartz and Saporta
simply assume a characterization of nonliterary or ordinary language,
and that characterization is also a judgment. In Schwartz's statement,
the judgment is made with a single word, "merely"-"a literary work
II
Let us take the two points of the aphorism in order. The trivializa-
tion of ordinary language is accomplished as soon as one excludes from
its precincts matters of purpose, value, intention, obligation, etc., every-
thing in short that can be characterized as human. What, then, is
left to it? The answers to this question are various. For some, the
13 Of course message-plus theories give the lie to the suggestion (contained in the
rhetoric of the ordinary language/literary language distinction) that there are two
orders of value. As soon as the distinction has been made and a norm has been
declared, the values have been reduced to one, and logically the only definition of
literature possible is message-minus. Message-plus theorists, then, are reacting to
an intuition that something undesirable has occurred because of the distinction to
which they perversely remain committed.
I4 "Criteria for Style Analysis," Essays on the Language of Literature, pp. 414-16.
15 "Closing Statement: Linguistics and Poetics," Style in Language, p. 358.
I6 Richard Ohmann, "Speech Acts and the Definition of Literature," Philosophy
and Rhetoric, 4 (1971), 15.
17 "Style and Good Style," Contemporary Essays on Style, ed. Glen Love and
Michael Payne (Glenview, Ill., 1969), p. 8.
These, however, are the only possibilities, for the choice of either
a message-plus or message-minus definition of literature (which is the
result of forcing a choice between ordinary and literary language) has
built into it an evaluative criterion, the criterion of formal unity. In
one context, the criterion is necessary because materials extraneous to
the message can be tolerated only so long as they contribute to its
expression or reception; in the other, the de-emphasizing of the message
leads to the requirement that these same materials cohere formally with
each other. (What else could they do?) Either everything must con-
verge on a center, or everything must converge in the absence of a
center. As always, the alternatives are severely constrained, simul-
taneously reflecting and reproducing the choice between approving the
separation of literature from life or reintegrating it with the impov-
erished notion of life implicit in the norm of ordinary language. Like
everything else in the sequence, the criterion of formal unity is dictated,
and it in turn dictates the setting up of a procedure designed to discover
and validate it. Every time the procedure succeeds, it not only confers
honorific status on a work; it also confirms the explanatory power of
the evaluative criterion; and success is inevitable, since only ingenuity
limits the ability of the critic to impose unity of either a cognitive or
purely formal kind on his materials. (Witness the number of previously
discredited works that are admitted into the canon when their "hidden"
unity is uncovered.)
My point is not that characterizations of literature as message-plus
or message-minus are inadequate (although I think they are) or that
the criterion of formal unity is trivial (although I think it is), but that
these and other positions have been determined by a decision that
has often not even been consciously made. When Roman Jakobson
declares that the chief task of literary theory is to discover "what makes
a verbal message a work of art," whether he knows it or not, he has
III