The Ontology of Literature

When dealing with literature--whether scientific, philosophical, artistic or all the rest--we are dealing not with the matter of which the literature is made, but with the ideas that it communicates. Quite strictly, in a literal, materialistic sense, Joyce's Ulysses is manifested in the molecules that make up the paper and ink of every copy of the book. But it is an obvious falsity to hold that Ulysses is made of matter at all. If Ulysses were made of atoms and molecules, it would be manifested in all the extant copies of the work itself; it would exist nowhere else, nor reach beyond that material that makes up the physical books to point to anything else other than the atoms that make up those books.

Obviously the novel itself has a kind of Platonic ontology; its being is manifested in a world of ideas--pointed to by the physical matter of the copies of the book, but not having its being in molecules of ink and paper. Its being is the ideas of the book, not this particular copy or that; and the bare physical copies of the book serve as the shadows of Plato's Cave, always imperfect representations of the thing and not the thing itself. The thing itself, when dealing with this novel, is of a cognitive nature and has its being in a realm of ideas apprehensible to the human mind by means of the "shadow-stuff" of the physical material that makes up the physical copies of the book.

I shall now say a little facetiously that if the materialist is right, and there is nothing but atoms in the world, the study of Einstein's relativity should properly consist in observing and testing the ink and paper molecules that make up his writings, rather than looking beyond those ink molecules into what they mean. This is said in a spirit of jest, and it is obviously absurd to think the essence of Einstein's ideas are contained in the ink and paper molecules he left as a record of his thought. But this serves to illustrate my point that the ontology of any literature cannot be a material ontology; it is what those words mean that their true being resides in, and this realm of ideas is fundamentally immaterial and of the spirit. Plato's allegory of the Cave is the best expression of the relation between the ideas of literature and its physical manifestation: the inked symbols on this page are the crude material that indicate what these ideas (which I am currently conveying) are; but obviously these ideas do not have their being in ink molecules here, but are of the spirit and reside in a realm of ideas.

Of course, the materialist doctrine holds that the essence of what thought is, is certain chemicals and neuron-activity in the brain. And this he means very seriously; the very ideas I am now communicating via language have their ultimate--and probably sole--being in chemicals and neurons in my brain. The materialist cannot suppose that these neuron events are merely symbols that point "beyond" into any nonphysical cognitive realm, no. While before I said in jest that according to the materialist the study of Einstein's Relativity should consist of studying ink molecules, I shall now say very seriously that if the materialist is right, when we study Einstein we are studying certain neuron events that happened in his brain, of which he has left a record in his writings and theories. According to the materialist, then, it must be true that these neuron events in Einstein's brain cannot ultimately reach out into any external universal plane or realm of ideas; and so studying Einstein ultimately consists in the study of certain neuron events that once took place inside his cranium.

Usually the products of human labor are physical: nature is transformed into an object: a TV set, a car, a screwdriver, a computer. Even a painting is basically a physical creation and manipulation of physical material; it has its being in the particular form the physical colors take on the canvas. But let anyone hold that the ontology of literature is fundamentally material, and we are pushed to the conclusion that all Darwin did when he wrote his evolutionary theory was put physical ink into a given physical state. Certainly he did do this, but he also did much more. He worked with ideas and truths, toyed with concepts and things of the intellect. When he was writing he was putting ink into a given form that was capable of communication; but his On the Origin of the Species is a fundamentally spiritual work that has its realm in a purely mental plane. Otherwise it would be the same as any product of labor--being the result of physical pressures to create an object--and its ontological status would ultimately be certain forms of ink on a page.

Obviously the true ontology of literature of whatever sort does not reside in material at all, whether in ink molecules or in records of neuron events that the language recorded. If it were impossible that there were any realm of ideas over and beyond the material, it would likewise be impossible for any material--whether brain events or ink on a page--to reach beyond its nature as material. It would be impossible for either a given neuron firing, or form of ink on a page, to reach beyond its nature as atoms and "mean" something universal and all-encompassing. If all thought is ultimately material, it cannot "mean" anything but commentary on that physical material of which it is made; it cannot go out and signify any idea that reaches beyond its nature as a string of atoms, nor can it transcend its nature as a bit of matter and "describe", "mean", or "signify" any universal idea. Materialism means not only that everything that is, is composed of atoms and energy; it means also that the only possible horizon is the material horizon, and atoms cannot transcend their nature as material and reach beyond what-they-are into what-they-mean. A thousand atoms in a given constitution--whether on a page or in a brain--cannot be anything but that thousand atoms, nor can they reach beyond themselves and signify something on the other side of the globe, if the materialist has it right.

Obviously the very materialist doctrine, according to the conclusions of it itself, must be composed of matter and atoms; the materialist doctrine exists, after all, and everything that exists is made of matter. And so we must treat the doctrine as we treat any matter; we shall not investigate it by means of cogitating what it means, no; we shall perform material experiments on the books and the neuron events of which it is made, and in which it has its ultimate being.

There is but needed a few simple thoughts to destroy materialism. Suppose the materialist believes in Einstein's Relativity. We shall ask him, Does the theory of Relativity exist? Obviously he thinks it does. Therefore it must itself be made of matter. Where is its location? How big is it, and how much does it weigh? What sorts of molecules and material elements is it made of? Is it possible to destroy it? Does it exist in America, and if so, what states and cities does it reside in? If we were to find it, lock it in a room with a nuclear weapon, and blast it to bits, would it then cease to be, and would the theory of Relativity have been annihilated?

The materialist's scheme is the most base literalism that there can be; it calls Ulysses not a novel that conveys meaning and art, but a certain configuration of atoms that make up the book in my hand. And Hume's ideas are ultimately certain shapes and forms of ink on paper, and have their ontology here. Whether we say Hume's ideas are material ink on the page, or neuron events in his brain of which that page is a record, we are making the same ultimate claim. But the fact is that Hume's ideas have their being neither in molecules of ink in certain shapes nor in neuron-firings in this and that configuration; rather, it is what that ink, and what those neuron firings mean, that is the ontology of Hume's thought. And this ontology is a spiritual ontology, in a realm of ideas.

If all were made of atoms, atoms could never have their being in anything but the horizon of what-they-are as matter. But it is obvious that literature has its being in the nonphysical; it is communicated by means of matter, but the essence of literature is not what-it-is, but what-it means. A given configuration of atoms could never "mean" anything but that this "meaning" has its being right there, locally, in that material. If materialism is correct, then, the study of Relativity should consist in looking at the neuron events in a man's head while he is considering the ideas of the theory. Such would be the mistake of the prisoners in Plato's Cave allegory in their taking of shadows of things as being the real things.

Angelhaunt.net: Because earth's madness is heaven's sense.