Abstract
How can wonder be produced by design, by artifice? What have literature and the arts had to say about the production of wonder, and the formal means of doing so? Beginning with Aristotle’s insightful evocation of wonder as a key to tragedy in the Poetics, then breaking away from limits of form and genre, Willmott offers a pioneering anatomy of the poetics of wonder across arts and media. His formal analysis, ranging across ancient Greek drama, English poetry, Surrealist painting, and science fiction film, proposes ethical implications: How can one learn from wonder at imaginary things? What are the political dimensions of wonder made with designs upon us, bound in ideologies of the moment? How do readers or audiences participate in the making of wonder?
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Notes
- 1.
On mimesis, see Husain 2002, 18–28. On ethical action as agent-centered, rhetorical action as patient-centered, and tragic action as object-centered, see her Chapter 4. I use the word “fabrication” rather than Husain’s “craft” for techne—the category of all things humanly made within which art is a subset—in order to avoid connotations of “craft” that would oppose it either to art or to industrial production.
- 2.
The “artistic significance” of tragedy is “intrinsic and constitutive rather than didactic” (Husain 2002, 90). On ethical decision as the end of rhetoric, see 94.
- 3.
The universal truths offered by poetry are representations of the best ways that types of persons can respond to their world (Poetics 1451b). The universal truths of tragedy pertain to virtuous persons suffering from violence or violation they have caused.
- 4.
On tragic character and good moral character, see Poetics 1452b31-1453a17 and 1454a16-19; on the subordination of character to a larger plot action, see 1450a15-25. On psychagogia, see Drake’s comments (2010, 85) regarding Aristotle’s association of it with rhetoric, 1450a32-34.
- 5.
In more direct terms, the daemonic “covers Olympian gods but also many other forces, some less iconographically precise than Olympians, and many of them chthonic, ‘of earth.’ Animal and this hold-all concept ‘daemon’ belong together in a fifth-century world, though they are generally distinct in ours” (Padel 1992, 141).
- 6.
Rorty even claims that hamartia can arise as a by-product of a virtue. While this may seem difficult to imagine, Joe Sachs (2006, 9–10) offers a compelling reading of this transpiring for Sophocles’s Oedipus. In his translation and commentary, Sachs foregrounds the centrality of wonder in the Poetics.
- 7.
In this view, catharsis refers to a tragedy itself as poetic object, which must purify itself of irrelevant action and other representation. Catharsis is the clarification, not the purgation, of pity and fear for moral action.
- 8.
On intellectual recognition or learning in relation to formal beauty, see Poetics 1448b5-17; on beauty and order in art, in the context of tragedy, see 1450b34-36; on the beauty specifically of the unexpected unity of tragic action, see 1452a10 (on this passage, see also translation commentaries in Sachs 2006, 34; and Whalley 1997, 121).
- 9.
Sachs says the same thing (2006, 15–17) and relates the process to a term Aristotle associates with wonder, ekplêxis, a “knocking away” of ordinary habits of explanation and judgment that offers the wonderer an opportunity to think and feel differently, rather than a particular lesson.
- 10.
I leave aside music and theatrical staging, which Aristotle does not require for wonder or other definitive features of tragedy as a genre. He notes them in his introduction, but does not treat them in his ensuing analysis (Poetics 1450b). I also leave aside “ideas” (1450a10), because Aristotle defines this term as a matter for rhetoric and omits it from his analysis, though his very general view of it as “all the effects that can be produced by reason” (1456a36-37) remains relevant in underlining a poetics of coherent action and deliberative learning.
- 11.
Even unity of action is a defining element of coherence in both tragedy and epic, differing only in degree (Poetics 1462b15-21).
- 12.
The relationship between wonder and narrative has been a matter of dispute since Fisher, a literary scholar, argued that “memory and narrative are antagonistic to an aesthetics of wonder,” and that only arts such as painting and architecture, in which he supposes one to apprehend the whole at once, are conducive to it (1998, 21). This claim runs contrary to nearly all scholarly accounts of wonder, including my own process-oriented one. Opposing views in philosophy are offered by Vasalou (2015, 98–9, 104) and Nussbaum (2001, 426–31).
- 13.
The natural unity of character and the organic unity of events are discussed in Drake 2010, 82–3.
- 14.
It is possible to see tragedy as founded not upon the generation of a destabilized world which must thence regain its steady state, but upon mutability itself, upon what John Jones calls tragedy’s “display [of] life’s bottomless instability” (qtd. in Drake 2010, 83n30).
- 15.
I am indebted to Robert Bagg and Mary Bagg’s commentary on this opening imagery (Sophocles 2004, 225).
- 16.
It would appear relevant that Thierry Petit has argued (2011) that the Greek sphinx, including that of the Oedipus legend, is a sort of underworld gatekeeper between life and death, or, more precisely, between mortality and immortality, and is commonly represented near a Tree of Life. Petit interprets the Tree of Life as a symbol of spiritual immortality distinct from mortal nature (166). He also associates the Theban sphinx with the riddles of orphic journeys to the underworld and its guardians, and thus also with Dionysos, who he observes is kin to Oedipus himself (204, 234–5). While the concept of individual immortality is not clearly relevant to Sophocles’s adaptation, I will suggest later in this chapter that the thematic contest of life and death, the chthonic and vegetal imagery, and the role of Kithairon, a mountain sacred to Dionysos, are all pertinent contextual associations for the sphinx in the play’s system of wondrous recognition.
- 17.
This violence, when understood in Oedipus only as an expression of high spirit and nobility, is supposed to be the basis of his success and Thebes’s flourishing (on the cause of his killing Laios as virtuous spiritedness, see Sachs 2006, 9–10). But when understood in the context of failed mastery of a system of agencies (a failed mastery, the play repeatedly makes clear, that discounts divine prophetic knowledge, and is inherited from Laios and Jokasta), the violence turns out also to be antithetical to cultivating a people and a land.
- 18.
The Chorus, for example, never expresses their own vulnerability or that of their city, only horror or sympathy for the afflicted individuals. An oblique exception is the Chorus’s apparent claim (in a line whose source text is unfortunately corrupted) that “appropriate griefs for kin-murderers [will fall] from the god on their houses.” I refer to line 1270 of the scholarly translation by Judith Mossman (Euripides 2011, 193). Mossman observes that this claim with respect to Medea is not, following her murders, borne out by the play’s turn of events (351).
- 19.
- 20.
On this and other animal imagery, see Mossman’s comments in Euripides 2011, 222–3, 230.
- 21.
Shklovsky (1965) departs from my schema for wonder when he opposes renewal of perception to cognitive aims in art. But this separation is difficult for him to illustrate or sustain, and he ends up pointing to the cognitive effects that a defamiliarized perception had on Tolstoy’s religious faith (18), and even argues that in general, the defamiliarizing perceptual effect of imagery is to produce “unique semantic modification” (21).
- 22.
I refer to an aspect of dialectics common to such diverse usages as Plato’s conversational practice, Hegel’s totalizing machinery, and Marxist materialist critique. My usage in relation to the poetics of wonder will be as specific as the many others, but it hews to Aristotle’s understanding of dialectics as an art, as well as to a persistent if contested notion, today championed in the work of Fredric Jameson , of dialectics as open-ended in results, rather than presuming closure (Jameson 2009, 26–27, 50–51).
- 23.
I am not the first to associate tragedy with dialectics: Terry Eagleton (2003, 204) asserts the two are “intimately allied.”
- 24.
Pan, Hermes, and Dionysos all had retinues of nymphs. Apollo’s bride may refer to the nymph Daphne.
- 25.
Padel discusses these associations in tragedy in general (1992, 138–61).
- 26.
Aristotle discusses the requirement of both pity and fear in Poetics 1452a1-2 and 1452b31-1453a22. He provides a fuller account of pity for another and fear for oneself in Rhetoric 1382b25 and 1386a17-27 (Aristotle 1984, 2203, 2208-9). In the latter account, pity and fear may be antithetical emotions, which sort well with the effect of estranged empathy in wonder.
- 27.
Among the formal principles I have described here, heteroglossia is the only one that might not be necessary to wonder as a poetic mode—being rather a tendency, as a transmedia device of disaccommodation, rather than a requirement in style. I can imagine a text in commonplace realist prose in which a man experiences what it is like to be a woman (an example prompted by Luce Irigaray’s argument [1999, 105–13] that sexual difference is grounds for wonder)—or, alternatively, in a common literary trope, a story in which a character supposed to be male is unexpectedly revealed to be a woman in disguise. But even in such cases, one might always find an argument that ostensibly common language is revealed either to have dialogic implications itself (as simple words like “pleasure” or “public” have roots in gendered discourses of the time and place, so that these words suddenly stand out in all their opacity as fabricated objects), or to point to an alternative logic of communication that it neither translates nor even represents (though such a purely demonstrative grammar would be difficult to sustain).
- 28.
I would like the unfinalizability of interpretation associated with Bakhtin’s notions of polyphony and dialogism to rub off on this related term, heteroglossia, but I do not use them because of their close association with specific poetics of character perspective and the form of the novel (Bakhtin 1981, 290–94).
- 29.
Though soundscape music is a rich and varied tradition, I am thinking particularly of the compositions of Petri Kuljuntausta, who composes with various nonhuman “found” sources, and includes nonhuman and alien audiences.
- 30.
Such “respect” could be taken to be morally indeterminate. But Knickerbocker goes further, asserting that writing the wonder of nature will “nudge consciousness to a more ecologically ethical state” by helping us to realize our innate “biophilic urges and act upon them” (2012, 17–18). If this is so, then it is not the only kind of effect a poetics of wonder may have upon ecological structures of feeling or ethical outlook.
- 31.
I will be using “metaphor” in a wider sense of analogy, including simile and comparison.
- 32.
See the translation and commentary by Stanley (2013). Psalm 19, which the poem adapts, itself portrays a universe of intelligent primal elements without language or voice, but communicating through words of music. I am grateful to Ruth Wehlau for introducing me to this text.
- 33.
This generalization does not exclude either direct sensual experience from the meaning of lyric poetry (e.g., when it is performed, or viewed as a spatial form on the page) or the imagination of sensual forms in viewing painting.
- 34.
At time of writing, this painting was in private auction. A color image and notice were accessible at www.notey.com/@artmarketmonitor_unofficial/external/15981843/miró-constellation-to-be-sold-at-sotheby’s-in-june.html. A color print reproduction may be found in Rowell 1993, 116.
- 35.
In an interview in 1937 regarding his work, Miró speaks of the wonder of nature as an animistic experience: “Wherever you are, you can find the sun, a blade of grass, the spirals of a dragonfly. Courage consists of staying at home, close to nature, which could not care less about our disasters. Each grain of dust contains the soul of something marvelous. But in order to understand it, we have to recover the religious and magical sense of things that belong to primitive peoples” (1987, 153). What he means by that understanding is not explained, but as a kind of “meaning,” it is perhaps indicated by his insistence that his work is realist rather than abstract in a formalist sense, and that this realism involves “concrete” subjective and objective representations as signs in material media, generating both sensual astonishment and thought: “A rich and vigorous material seems necessary to me in order to give the viewer that smack in the face that must happen before reflection intervenes. In this way, poetry is expressed through a plastic medium, and its speaks its own language” (151).
- 36.
Guy Weelen (1989, 122) captures this heteroglossic wonder of the Constellations as an effect of mixed writing against a background that is itself figural and alive but illegible: “The picture grounds, with their marvelous subtlety obtained by the freest of means—scraping, moistening, rubbing, polishing—in themselves constitute a spatial mystery. With their velvety blues, all degrees of white, every nuance of gray, they sound and vibrate like a note struck lightly yet firmly, seeming to invoke the appearance of the signs. Miró’s entire world rises into view: curves, broken lines, points minute as a flower seed or dilated like the pupil of a cat, exclamation marks, colons, commas, double-feathered arrows, hearts, eyes, wolf’s fangs, tiny gnomes sporting the Catalan peasant’s red baretina, hourglasses distilling the measure, somnolent suns, crescent moons, great lemon-colored fiery tresses of comets, ultramarine blue oscillations of celestial bodies, stars, sexual parts. Like Cornelius Agrippa… Miró seemed to want to write a new De Occulta Philosophia (1531), like the one in which that Renaissance surrealist claimed to be able to decipher in the trajectories of the stars, galaxies, and planets a nonhuman handwriting of surprising graphic character that marked the world below with celestial signs.”
- 37.
Either familiarity with this idiolect (in this series and other paintings) or a comparison of the title with the painting (so that there must be one woman and multiple birds) will allow the viewer to recognize the principal figures.
- 38.
Margit Rowell (1993, 14) argues that the “constellation” is a pictorial syntax developed uniquely by Miró to express his realist sense of an incompletely known, but organized, world of nature: “Miró’s subject is the real world, as he has repeated time and again. But whereas his motifs are immediately recognizable, the syntax of his visual idiom is at times more mysterious…. The analogy that seems best to correspond to the structure of his compositions is that of the Constellation. This term, with its root stella or star, calls to mind a disposition of stars which, scattered in a space of incalculable dimensions, are nonetheless governed by laws which are imperceptible to the naked eye and to common understanding.”
- 39.
I am referring to Fredric Jameson’s concept of cognitive mapping and its dialectical application (2000, 277–87). The art of Miró would fall under Jameson’s reading of modernist cognitive mapping , according to which artists resort to innovative styles and “play of figuration,” or aesthetic dialectic of presence and absence, to represent the apprehension of a globally extending imperialist capitalist society that defies coherent mimesis or individual cognitive grasp (278–9).
- 40.
The Bechdel test asks whether a story features at least two female characters who talk to each other about anything other than male characters.
- 41.
Sigourney Weaver, who played the protagonist Ripley, revealed that the rationale for her being semi-naked in her final encounter with the Creature involved a kind of reciprocal wonder and suspended moral experience: “You’re almost seeing me through the alien’s eyes. Suddenly I go from a dark green animal to a pink and white animal.” In an alternate ending she and director Ridley Scott considered, “there would have been a moment when the alien would see me between suits [i.e., naked] and be fascinated. Because the alien isn’t evil. It’s just following its natural instincts to reproduce through whatever living things are around it” (qtd. in Thomson 1998, 57–8). An echo of this scene does occur in the movie, when for a moment the Creature pauses to study Jones, a cat, through the window of its travel carrier.
- 42.
Other formal comparisons of the two movies’ opening sequences involve montage, composition, and musical soundtrack. Star Wars consists primarily of a typical shot-countershot structure to organize a space defined by the opposing character groups, Rebel and Imperial. Alien has no character interaction, and consists instead mainly of jump cuts among nervous tracks and pans showing different parts of the Nostromo, almost entirely of the interior (the exception, the shot-countershots of the terminal and helmet mask, subverts the normal way of reading this montage form as a reciprocal character perspective). In the absence of a conventional way of reading this opening syntax, we study the images more closely, looking for clues in the mise-en-scène. In contrast to the clean surfaces of the Star Wars interiors, these are complex, dark and cluttered, marked everywhere by unknown purpose and the patina of an unknown history. The clutter paradoxically offers both too much to see and too much difficulty in seeing it. Here, and later on the planet, lighting is persistently chiaroscuro; everything emerges or recedes occluded by other things, in dirt or shadow. This is a dialectical montage: each image feeds forward both its new information and its new obscurities or riddles to the next (and feeds back to the prior), in an increasing pursuit of new understanding. In Star Wars, the play of scale within composition and across images falls into rifts—the scale of mysteriously massive ships as opposed to familiar human rooms and corridors, and the inference that one is simply an accumulation of the other; or, later in the narrative, the contrast between ordinary human visibility and the vast invisibility symbolized by the blank light of the lightsaber. In Alien, the constriction of Nostromo’s spaces seems to subordinate a presumed human accessibility to superior interests or functions, not mystical but simply not legible. The alien ship is the inverse, on a weirdly larger scale, but one that is incommensurate with ordinary human use, not actually incommensurable, like the spatial collapse of telekinetic or telepathic action in Star Wars. The Creature itself, like the Corporation that is its monstrous, symbiotic counterpart, is similarly imposing in size, but not beyond measure. Again, wonder sustains its cognitive open-endedness. These contrasting dynamics of wonder and awe are, finally, expressed in the musical soundtracks for these opening sequences. Star Wars overlays Romantic orchestral music by John Williams in a triumphal march genre, ordered by an insistent rhythm, dominated by drums and brass. Alien overlays modernist orchestral music by John Goldsmith in an impressionist style, wandering and uncertain, with little rhythm and dominated by strings. Instead of order and decisive action, it conveys indirection and reflective mood. The effect recalls what Fredric Jameson says of the modernist transformation of transcendental good and evil, no longer tenable, into the obscure, secular enchantment of mood, “when a landscape seems charged with alien meaning” (1981, 135). Finally, the variously mixed visual composition of the Creature, explored in a brilliant analysis by Roger Luckhurst (2014, 49–62), reveals a heteroglossic construction of this central iconology.
- 43.
Luckhurst sees the entire film as “stuck between biology and technology” (2014, 28–29).
- 44.
A propos is Fredric Jameson’s view of dialectics as slow deconstruction (2009, 27).
- 45.
What makes me assume this? (1) The solemnity of the political and existential content; and (2) when I get to the end of her book, the poet says so: “The lyric undertakes the task of deciphering and embodying a ‘particularizable’ prosody of one’s living” (Kim 2002, 111).
- 46.
“Proceeding by fragment, by increment,” Kim says, “[t]hrough proposition, parataxis, contingency,” and she approvingly cites Adorno’s dialectics of totalization without totality, associating it with “the contrapuntal, the interruptive, the speculative” (2002, 107–8).
- 47.
The latter citation refers to Bacon’s discussion of the limitations of knowledge in bk. 1, sec. 1, par. 3 of Advancement of Learning, together with his discussion of the value of aphorisms in bk. 2, sec. 17, par. 7. In the former paragraph he calls wonder “the seed of knowledge,” but also, with respect to God, “broken knowledge”; in the latter paragraph he observes that “aphorisms, representing a broken knowledge, do invite men to inquire further; whereas methods [i.e., reasoning alone], carrying the show of a total, do secure men, as if they were at furthest.”
- 48.
“The insect world is nature’s most astonishing phenomenon,” Carson quotes a Dutch biologist: “Nothing is impossible to it; the most improbable things commonly occur there. One who penetrates deeply into its mysteries is continually breathless with wonder. He knows that anything can happen, and that the completely impossible often does” (1962, 245).
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Willmott, G. (2018). Making Wonder. In: Reading for Wonder. Literatures, Cultures, and the Environment. Palgrave Macmillan, Cham. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-70040-3_3
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