JUSTICE STAUNTON IN TORONTO, LONDON, AND ZURICH:
THE CASE OF THE MANTICORE

Camille R. La Bossiere

Tous leurs principes sont vrais....
Mais leurs conclusions sont fausses, parce que les principes opposds sont vrais aussi.
-Pascal, Pensées (20)

Nothing is like going to the bottom of things.
- Samuel Johnson, in a letter of 1770

Dante was ... in short a Methodist person in Bedlam.
- Horace Walpole, in a letter of 1782

Minatory criticism of Enlightenment "verse" is not rare in the records of Canadian Literature in English. As convention would have it, the neo-classical versifier addresses "the rational self in us," to the neglect or suppression of "our instinctive self,"¹ that part of us engaged in authentic poetry. Bliss Carman, a votary of Emersonian Transcendentalism, and Irving Layton, a preacher of Dionysius, for example, variously denounce that unpoetic mind, which emprisons or castrates the true "spirit." The denunciation, however, seems to have fallen on deaf ears, much to the scandal of inspired poets: Canada persists in the tradition of unpoetry. Motivated by "a fear of something that is not rational in any tangible way," in the eyes of David McFadden, the English-Canadian bourgeois shies away from the company of "the angels flying in and out of Blake's sun." ² The esprit épicier deafens himself to the call "to reach Transcendence."³ He regulates his life by "Attorney-Logic," to use Carlyle's term, and has no great interest in supporting poetry or the spontaneous overflow of powerful feeling, the efficacy of which is analogous to that of mysticism and sexuality, as Marian Engel's The Glassy Sea vaguely reflects. English Canada, as a whole, will have no unreason of the kind, following instead the neo-classical way of ethical distinction, of surface reason and positive law. The synthetic logic of the "totally right-hemispherical" ⁴ mystic, poet, and myth-maker it does not share. Blake's commandment of art and its attendant morality - "Rather murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unsatisfied desire" ⁵ expresses it in the extreme - no court in Canada or elsewhere would sustain.

This antithesis, of the bourgeois and the poet, of the rational self and the feeling self, is mirrored in Robertson Davies' The Manticore, the second novel of the Deptford Trilogy. There, the protagonist, a lawyer, observes that "in Canada we geld everything." Passion is "ruled out of order"; "only Reason" is "welcome." ⁶ "The miraculous underside of life" (p. 175), the equivocal stuff of myth, theology, poetry, mysticism, and sexuality, is apparently out of bounds in Canada, a field, as it were, of eighteenth-century jurisprudence. But, as this essay will attempt to illustrate, The Manticore contains in its subtext an historical irony which suggests that the disjunction between feeling and the empirical reason of law is weak, not strong. The irony, in simple outline, consists of this: the surface reason of society's law and the subsurface unreason of poetry and myth can be shown to be allied by the formal kinship of analogy. Canada, like its "embodiment," Mackenzie King, prime minister and author of law books, is "cold and cautious on the outside ... but inside a mass of intuition and dark intimations" (p. 102). The following pages offer an historical angle of vision from which to see at once the light and the darkness, the hot and the cold of the metonymic Mackenzie King, to take in these apparent opposites together in a single comprehension. How much truth that angle of vision may reveal and how significant that revelation may be, are, of course, relative to the precision of Davies's account of the human condition, local and universal, in The Manticore. By his reckoning, his fiction takes us to the heart of Southern Ontario and to similar regions beyond.

"Equivocation is madness." ⁷ This is the sort of pronouncement one expects of the Enlightenment philosopher. Not for him the bafflements of metaphysical contradiction, the vagaries of mystical unknowing. He is a lover of the law of reason, which "excludes all dialectic and all reconciliation ... ; everything must be either waking or dreaming, truth or darkness, the light of being or the nothingness of a shadow," according to Michel Foucault's formulation in his history of insanity in the Age of Reason. ⁸ The protagonist of The Manticore, criminal lawyer David Staunton, "eighteenth century in his outlook" (P. 70), appears to be modelled on that paradigmatic and therefore anonymous creature of reason. As a student of "the formal science of positive law" (p. 205) under the formidable Pargetter of Balliol, David has learned to "put [his] ... emotions in cold storage" (p. 196) and to rein the enthusiasms of Pegasus (p. 207). He follows, or thinks he follows, the way of "exactitude, calm appraisal, close reasoning" (p. 198). In his professional life, he succeeds. A devotee of "logic" (p. 135) with a "razorlike ethical sense" (p. 242), David despises those who "lack the guts to push anything to a logical conclusion" (p. 191); having enough guts, he is appalled by absurdity and irritated by contradiction. David would not be counted among those who find "truth ... in the vapours of dreams" (p. 22), in the turbulence of "feeling and . . . inexplicable emotions" (p. 44). The world of his profession is dominated by the Royal Arms of Canada, with its motto straight from the Enlightenment: "Reason, not Passion" (p. 62). Like Dr. Samuel Johnson, a professed enemy of equivocation, David's Jungian analyst, Dr. Johanna von Haller, appears certain of her diagnosis: life, according to the self-deceived lawyer David, is "cool and dry" (p. 75).

The trouble with David Staunton - and, by extension, with English Canada - is that he "can think," but he "cannot feel" (p. 94). At forty-one years old, nearly a quarter of a century has passed since his first and last complete sexual experience with a woman. Life, in truth, is "hot and steamy" (p. 75), not cool and dry, his analyst informs him. According to Dr. Von Haller, David is "a clever thinker and ... a primitive feeler" (p. 193). By immersion in the equivocal world of dreams, duplicating by analogy the world of such refined feelers as poets and psychiatrists, the lawyer is gradually brought closer to seeing "the essence and miraculous underside of life" (p. 175). Subsequent to a course of dream analysis, he is transported to "Sorgenfrei," a Castle of Learned Ignorance after the "Gothic Revival" style (pp. 248-49), to make further progress along the "inward journey into the unknown" (p. 266). There, opposites cannot be unambiguously distinguished: in the chess game of life, "each plays both black and white" (p. 264). David's "spiritual" initiation is virtually done when he returns from the bowels of a mountain and the shadowy experience of a theology of bear worshippers. He is now prepared to join Dante, to take "the circular staircase" that leads "down into the earth" (pp. 19, 280), there to see more deeply into the underlying truth of himself and life. Opposites unite in the innermost circle of the dark world below. By the end of the fiction, David the "lover of light and law" (p. 274) is on his way to being thoroughly disabused of his illusory belief in clarity. He is advised that law is built from "fantasy" and "instinct" (p. 164), and that God is "to be found in darkness" (p. 274). "Jung ... the descendant of parsons and professors" (p. 265), and the father of a generation of these in Canada, has shown the way. The logic of Pegasus and dreams, whereby a man, a lion, and a scorpion are brought together to form the image of "the Manticore," has shown the ostensible rationality of David, the grandson of a "hell-fire Methodist" parson (p. 82), deficient in both humanity and divinity. To remedy these deficiencies, he must descend further into infernal regions. "To enter heaven, travel hell, / Be piteous or terrible .... / For every true-born mysticist / A Dante is," writes James Joyce in a satirical broadside. ⁹ Reason is no guide in this vortical descent into the mystic element where fire and ice unite, since, as Shelley observes, "Reason respects the differences ... of things. " ¹⁰

Dunstan Ramsay, hagiographer, mythographer, and a teacher to the adolescent David, has a view of logic similar to Dr. von Haller's. "Logic is like cricket," he tutors schoolboys; "it is admirable as long as you are playing according to the rules" (p. 111). But, clearly, life is not as "regular" as a cricket match. Delighting in "contradictions and illogicalities" (p. 111), Ramsay preaches the way of "la pensée analogique" as described by Paul Claudel, for example: "[L'ancienne logique] avait le syllogisme pour organe, celle-ci a la métaphore ... l'opération qui résulte de la seule existence conjointe et simultanée de deux choses différentes."¹¹ The analogical thought of this Ontario mythographer "devoted to a modernized version of a nineteenth century Protestant attitude toward life" (p. 111) sets aside the rule of traditional formal logic. Ramsay, by an undistributed middle, unites the Füfrer with St. Joan - both were "inspired by voices" - and Il Duce with "St Appollonia of Tyana" ¹² - neither suffered from sensitive teeth (p. 111). In his marrying of heaven and hell, Ramsay departs from the ethic of St. Joan. "Elle savait où était le blanc et où était le noir," as Réjean Ducharme writes of the Maid of Orléans in Le Nez qui voque. ¹³ The mythographer feels more at home in Sorgenfrei, where he plays both black and white in accordance with "la loi des contraires." ¹⁴ An agent of the synthetic logic of myth and imagination, Ramsay is a respecter of similitudes, not differences. "History is the mass of observable or recorded fact, but myth is the abstract or essence of it" (p. 109), David's old teacher informs him. This essence is made available by analogy, the instrument which Ramsay shares with the Jungians: they go "to that part of you which is beyond the unique, to the common heritage of mankind" (p. 68). Myth contains "some truth that was applicable to widely divergent situations" (p. 110). The synthetic mythographer Ramsay joins the company of unreason in a romantic version of a Gothic structure incorporating the infernal Dantesque logic of coinciding opposites.

David, on the other hand, appears to suffer from a want of integration. He is a thinker of strong disjunctions and unequivocal distinctions - or so it would seem. On the surface, he is a lawyer, logical, lucid, cool, and professional, but, below the surface, he is turbulent soul caught in a whirlpool of feeling centered on the mysterious death of his father. David goes to Zilrich to unravel the mystery, to reconcile the man of thinking to the man of feeling. The disjunction between the two Davids, however, is not so strong as the fiction might be seen to propose in its overall design. David, we are told, is a brilliant thinker; yet his creator does not choose to show him thinking lucidly. In fact, David's power of reasoning is less than acute. When, for example, Dr. von Haller, in accordance with her profession of unreason, argues that "if psychiatry worked by rules, every policeman would be a psychiatrist" (pp. 126-27), David tacitly concedes. Marlowe's Wagner - Dr. Faustus makes an appearance early in The Manticore(p. 57) - had not let such nonsense by without playing for a while. David might have learned to recognize an undistributed middle some years before his tuition under Pargetter of Balliol. The unreason is eloquent, for it testifies to the profound similarity between the logic of the Jungian psychiatrist and that of her patient, both of whom, at bottom, are agents of feeling and analogy. And analogy, as we know, has no logical validity: it is always raised on an undistributed middle. Though it undercuts the novel's superficial sentence, in favour of feeling or imagination, such a formal alliance suggests the precision with which Davies incorporates in his fiction the history of a reason transformed into a species of feeling.

The current of that history takes us to the origins of David's professional heritage. As Dr. von Haller informs him, "Mr. Justice Staunton sounds a little too eighteenth century in his outlook to be really good at his work" (P. 70). She would have him "see the law in a modem light" (p. 70). A reading of Edmund Burke's Reflections on the Revolution in France, the 1790 classic on British jurisprudence and empirical reason, however, illustrates that the psychiatrist's distinction between "eighteenth century" and "modem" is unwittingly ironic: the law which guides David of the eighteenth -century mind is formed upon a synthetic logic similar to that of modem imaginative thought. Following in the steps of Blackstone, Burke in the Reflections defines reason as analogy. The "rational and manly" system of British jurisprudence "formed upon analogical precedent" reproduces the dialectical structure of history and Nature, "all that combination, and all that opposition ... that action and counteraction which, in the natural and political world, from the reciprocal struggle of discordant powers, draws out the harmony of the universe. " ¹⁵ Burke is guided by "the spirit of reason," "the spirit of philosophic analogy." ¹⁶ The practical reason of British law, unlike the formal logic of France's revolutionaries, is analogical and dialectical - it is hardly a fit subject for the philosopher of reason sketched by Michel Foucault. Significantly, the law-maker's logic is also at work in the imaginative sublime. As Burke speculates in his Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful (1757, 1759), an analysis of which is "prerequisite to an understanding of Burke's moral philosophy," according to Peter J. Stanlis, ¹⁷ contraries come together in the sublime: "light ... is converted into a species of darkness.... Thus are two ideas, as opposite as can be imagined, reconciled in the extremes of both; and both, in spite of their opposite nature, brought to concur in producing the sublime." 18 The "anti-intellectual bias" noted by James T. Boulton ¹⁹ is manifest: "A clear idea is ... another name for a little idea"; "darkness is more productive of sublime ideas than light."²⁰ The Enquiry, like the Reflections, describes an optic well adjusted to mystic darkness. Neither the sublime nor empirical law is founded on the principle of contradiction, of clear and unequivocal distinction.

The practical reason which Burke sees at the foundation of British jurisprudence is neither unequivocal nor linear. Montaigne, as though to prefigure the inevitable circularity of Burke's line of thought, writes this of the empirical method: "Pour juger des apparences que nous recevons des sujets, il nous faudroit un instrument judicatoire; pour verifier cet instrument, il nous y faut de la demonstration; pour verifier la demonstration, un instrument: nous voilà au rouet.... Et nous, et nostre jugement, et toutes choses mortelles, vont coulant et roulant sans cesse." ²¹ The empiricist Burke admits to the truth of the sceptic's equivocation: men's rights "are often in balances"; they are "in a sort of middle, incapable of definition." ²² The balance of justice, "the constant and perpetual wish to render everyone his due"(The Manticore, p. 61), is the balance of an equivocation reconciling opposites. It is, in a sense, a balance of unknowing. By this account, law is beyond reason. David Staunton lawyer has been instructed in a tradition of thought anticipated in Montaigne and which finds its logical conclusion in another sceptic, David Hume, who remarked "that every affinnation implies the existence of its opposite; consequently every affirmation involves a contradiction" ²³ According to Hume, what men call reason is nothing but feeling: " 'Tis not solely in poetry and music we must follow our taste and sentiment, but likewise in philosophy.... When I give preference to one set of arguments above another, I do nothing but decide from my feeling concerning the superiority of their influence." ²⁴ And likewise in the science of law, which builds on "the roundabout logic of emotions," in the words of Joseph Conrad,²⁵ the logic of "moral sentiments," according to Burke.²⁶ Stéphane Lupasco's formulation of "the basic science of the dynamic contraries in human experience" ²⁷ may be seen to include "the formal science of positive law" (The Manticore, p. 205). The harmony of law is drawn out from "the reciprocal struggle of discordant powers," Burke argues in the Reflections. ²⁸

How much of the essence of eighteenth-century empiricism finds embodiment in The Manticore is further suggested by David's kinship with another Oxford student, Samuel Johnson. The co-author (with Chambers) of Vinerian lectures on law and an admirer of Burke's ability as a logician, Johnson is a living prolepsis of the equivocation at the centre of Davies' fiction. John Wain, in a biography with epigraphs from Rasselas and Alice in Wonderland, proposes of the "great thinker" he places in "the torld of Aristotle and Aquinas" ²⁹ that "Johnson had an immensely powerful reasoning intellect He also had equally powerful and imaginative whirlpools just below the surface." ³⁰ In Samuel Johnson and the Tragic Sense, Leopold Damrosch Jr. reflects a similar antithesis when he states that while Johnson's mind was "open ... to the contradictory nature of reality," he certainly believed that life made "sense." ³¹ The sensible man and the absurdist are near allied, though Johnson is "no Kafka." ³² This irony is refined and extended in The Uses of Johnson's Criticism, where Damrosch locates his subject in an "eddy" (though, paradoxically, a "calm" one),³³ and shows that the irony incorporated in Johnson's larger life is present in his criticism as well. Johnson's criticism "more closely resembles what Montaigne might have written if he had been more concerned with critical applications of his moral thought." ³⁴ Montaigne, we recall, is the circular logician who recorded: "ll n'y a raison qui n'en aye une contraire." ³⁵ For the sceptical Gascon, what may appear as fire fromone point of vantage may appear as ice from another.³⁶ Such propositions take us far from the world of Aristotle and Aquinas, to a world of relatively and ambiguity. They take us dose to the world of Johnson, who concludes a letter of 20 July 1771 with a quotation from Congreve, "Life ... is chequer-work," an observation he repeats in a letter of 18 November 1783. ³⁷ In the earlier letter, healso cites Abraham Cowley - by his own reckoning, a "metaphysical" poet of the discordia concors ³⁸ in support of the conviction that his emotional life with Mrs. Thrale is equivocal: their intercourse "good and bad does equally confound." ³⁹ Echoing, by analogy, Hume's philosophy of feeling in another letter to Mrs. Thrale, of November 1781, Johnson confesses: "I have throughout my life of authorship ... offered my opinion as a rule." ⁴⁰ Justice Johnson, the voice of practical reason, can set "fundamentally opposite interpretations of human existence ... side by side as if there were no reason for conflict," as an exasperated Patrick O'Flaherty complains in his essay, "Dr. Johnson as Equivocator: The Meaning of Rasselas." ⁴¹ Johnson, like the English Teacher in Conrad's tale of "Eastern logic" unrolled "under ... Western eyes," ⁴² refuses to make "two and two add up to four," O'Flaherty protests.⁴³ The judge and great thinker is a man of feeling. The commentator, clearly, does not follow the logic of Johnson, for whom, as Wain ingenuously concludes, "every opinion is valid from the point of view from which it is uttered." ⁴⁴ By that logic, the opposite of a true proposition may also be true; otherwise stated, everything is relative for Johnson, a principle validated by its self-contradiction. This is a notion to stimulate such an explorer of unreason as Dr. von Haller and to delight such a reveller in illogicality as Dunstan Ramsay.

As a student in the tradition of reason he shares with Burke and Johnson, David Staunton lawyer, too, has the right to claim a share of unreason. Ironically, the powerful myth-maker Blake, a professed enemy of empiricism and all its works, sustains in principle the legal practice of realivity: "In Equivocal Worlds, Up and Down are Equivocal," he comments on his illustrations of Dante's Inferno.⁴⁵ Since thinking is a matter of feeling, "a train of thought is never false," as the "devil-like" philosophy student Razumov records in Under Western Eyes.⁴⁶ Under such an illumination, it seems dear that David's descent down a circular staircase leading to the centre of the earth began years before his translation to Zurich.

The illumination is intensified by a tracing of the logic of unreason into the nineteenth century. The ironic science of reconciliation, as analogy or dialectic, at the roots of empirical law knows other growths in the synthetic philosophy of Coleridge, Hugo, ⁴⁷ Amiel, ⁴⁸ Emerson, ⁴⁹ and Carlyle, for example, all of whom owe a debt of gratitude to nineteenth-century German metaphysics. As Carlyle, by the voice of Herr Teufelsdrbckh, proclaims in Sartor Resartus, the man of imagination and the mystic follow the way of analogical or "vortical" thought; they hear the "mystical" music of "discord set in unison," they take in "Like/Unlike" together. ⁵⁰ Like Luther, whose version of the Bible Teufelsdröckh consults to supplement his readings from Goethe's Faust,⁵¹ Carlyle may be heard to profess: "Only without Aristotle can we become theologians." ⁵² Teufelsdröckh is a metaphysician who denies the validity of the principle of contradiction and the law of the distributed middle. He proceeds to unfathomable truth by analogy and contraries. Coleridge, who along with Carlyle, provided Emerson with translations of German philosophy, expresses a similar idea, though with none of the volcanic fury of the Chelsea visionary: the imagination of the faculty which "reveals itself in the balance or reconciliation of opposite or discordant qualities." ⁵³ Burke's dialectic of history and law, pictured live in Johnson, formally converges with Carlyle's and Coleridge's logic of the imagination.

Opposites converge - this is the ironic subtext of The Manticore. Before leaving for Zilrich to

hear sermons
From mystical Germans
Who preach from ten till four,

David notes that "Zurich is a long way from Toronto" (p. 13). In a figurative sense, history suggests that he is self-deceived. The mystical Germans as well as Burke and Johnson are present in the Toronto courtroom of Justice Staunton. The lawyer of empirical reason and the imaginative man of feeling are difficult to distinguish with precision in a dream-fiction analogous to The Soirée of Illusions (p. 7) conjured up by Magnus Eisengrim. in the Royal Alexandra Theatre in Toronto, a playhouse mirroring a larger world. The kinship of imagination and empirical reason calls for a translation of the motto on the Royal Arms of Canada. Perhaps it should read, "Feeling, not Feeling," thereby expressing the logic which has perennially enchanted mystics and explorers of the underworld of fire and ice. Such a motto seems appropriate for a land where jurisprudence, archetypal criticism, and myth-making are practiced with enthusiasm.

Notes

¹ Bliss Carman, "Subconscious Art" (1904), in Canadian Anthology, third edition, eds. Carl F. Klinck and Reginald E. Watters (Toronto: Gage, 1974), p. 118.

² David McFadden, "The Twilight of Self-Consciousness," in The Human Elements, ed. David Helwig (Toronto: Oberon, 1978), p. 96.

³ McFadden, p. 94.

⁴ McFadden, p. 96.

⁵ Cf. Colin Wilson's The Outsider (London: Victor Gollancz, 1970; repr. of 1956 ed.), p. 63; A Casebook of Murder (London: Leslie Frewin, 1969), p. 5; and Poetry and Mysticism (London: Hutchinson, 1970), p. 14. Finding support in Blake, Wilson condemns the "spiritual tooth decay" in society: "The problem is how intelligent beings can escape the enstiflement of bourgeois society" (Poetry and Mysticism, p.16).

⁶ Robertson Davies, The Manticore (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1976), pp. 62-63. First published in 1972. Further page references, incorporated in the essay, are taken from this edition.

⁷ See Michel Foucault Madness and Civilization: A History of Insanity in the Age of Reason, trans. Richard Howard (New York: Vintage, 1965), p. 33.

⁸ Foucault, pp. 109-110.

⁹ James Joyce, "The Holy Office" (1904), in The Critical Writings of James Joyce, eds. Mason Ellsworth and Richard Ellmann (New York: Viking, 1959), p. 150.

¹⁰ Percy B. Shelley, "A Defence of Poetry," in Criticism: The Major Texts, enlarged edition, ed. Walter Jackson Bate (New York: Harcourt Brace Javanovich, 1970), p. 429.

¹¹ Paul Claudel, Art poétique (Paris: Gallimard, 1903), p. 52.

¹² Ramsay's urge to marry is indeed strong. Here, he weds St. Apollonia of Alexandria, patroness of dentists, to Apollonius of Tyanal Neopythagorean philosopher and alleged wondermaker. None of Ramsay's students corrects him.

¹³ Réjean Ducharme, Le Nez qui voque (Paris: Gallimard, 1967), p. 258.

¹⁴ Ducharme, p. 94.

¹⁵ Edmund Burke, Reflections on the Revolution in France (London: Dent, 1971), pp. 12,36.

¹⁶ Burke, p. 32.

¹⁷ Peter J. Stanlis, Edmund Burke and the Natural Law (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1965), p. 169.

¹⁸ Edmund Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful, edited with an introduction by James T. Boulton (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1958), 11, xiv, 81.

¹⁹ Boulton, "Editor's introduction" to A Philosophical Enquiry, p. xx.

²⁰ Burke, A Philosophical Enquiry, pp. 63, 81.

²¹ Michel Montaigne, Les Essais, ed. PierTe Villey (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1965), pp. 600-601. Cf Michel Butor, Essais sur les Essais (Paris: Gallimard, 1968) p. 71.

²² Burke, Reflections, p. 59.

²³ Wylie Sypher, "The Late-Baroque," in Four Stages of Renaissance Style (New York: Doubleday, 1955), p. 293.

²⁴ David Hume, A Treatise of Human Nature (London: Dent, 1911), p. 105. From Book 1, Part 3.

²⁵ Joseph Conrad, Nostromo (London: Dent Collected Edition, 1946-1951), p. 85.

²⁶ Burke, Reflections, p. 62.

²⁷ Stéphane Lupasco, Logique et contradiction (1947), as cited by Wylie Sypher, Loss of Self in Modem Literature and Art (New York: Vintage, 1962), p. 99.

²⁸ Burke, Reflections, p. 36,

²⁹ John Wain, Samuel Johnson (New York: Viking, 1974), p. 229.

³⁰ Wain, p. 156.

³¹ Leopold Damrosch Jr., Samuel Johnson and the Tragic Sense (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972), pp. 248, 253.

³² Damrosch, p. 248.

³³ Leopold Damrosch Jr., The Uses of Johnson's Criticism (Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 1976), p. 225.

³⁴ Damrosch, The Uses, p. 225.

³⁵ Montaigne, p. 612.

³⁶ Montaigne, p. 574.

³⁷ The Letters of Samuel Johnson, ed. R W. Chapman (Oxford: Clarendon Press,

1952), 1, 265; 111, 99.

³⁸ Samuel Johnson, "Life of Cowley," in Criticism: The Major Texts,p. 218.

³⁹ Letters of Samuel Johnson, I, 264.

⁴⁰ Letters of Samuel Johnson, II, 448.

⁴¹ Patrick O'Flaherty, "Dr. Johnson as Equivocator: The Meaning of Rasselas," MLQ, 1 (June 1970), 207.

⁴² Joseph Conrad, Under Western Eyes (London: Dent Collected Edition, 1946-1951), p. 95: the English Teacher, a representative of British common sense, is proud of his "faculty of putting two and two together." in practice, however, he imitates the unreason celebrated in the "mystic revolutionary salon" (p. 115). The Teacher admits that "there is little logic to be expected on this earth" (p. 150).

⁴³ 0'Flaherty, p. 207.

⁴⁴ Wain, p. 346.

⁴⁵ William Blake, The Portable Blake, ed. Alfred Kazin (New York: Viking, 1968),. p. 594.

⁴⁶ Conrad, Under Western Eyes, p. 35.

⁴⁷ See, e.g., Victor Hugo, Les Travailleurs de la mer (Paris: Hachette, 1880),II, 44: the sea, like imagination, night, and dreams, "marie les phénomènes. Il se simplifie dans l'infini dans la combinaison.... Parce qu'il est plein de tempêtes, il devient l'équilibre." Burke and Kant agree with Hugo: "the sublime is to be found in objects which suggest 'limitlessness' " (Boulton, "Editor's Introduction" to A Philosophical Enquiry, p. cxxvi).

⁴⁸ See, e.g., Henri-Frédéric Amiel, Fragments d'un Journal intime, sixth edition (Geneva: H. Georg, 1893), 11, 141-42: imagination, like dreams, has the power "de fondre ensemble les incompatibles, d'unir ce qui s'exclat, d'identifier le oui et le nom."

⁴⁹ See, e.g., Ralph Waldo Emerson, Representative Men (New York: A. L. Burt, 189-?), pp. 105, 37.

⁵⁰ Thomas Carlyle, Sartor Resartus (London: George Routledge, 1888), pp. 90-100.

⁵¹ See Kenneth Marc Harris, Carlyle and Emerson: Their Long Debate (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1978), p. 92. Harris refers to Carlyle as "a modem-day Luther."

⁵² Martin Luther, Disputatio contra Scholasticam Theologiam (1517), as translated by Etienne Gilson, Reason and Revelation in the Middle Ages (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1938), p. 94.

⁵³ Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Biographia Literaria,ed. John Shawcross (London: Oxford University Press, 1907), I, xiv, 12.