“[I]f the only form of tradition, of handing down,
consisted in following the ways of the immediate generation before us in a
blind or timid adherence to its successes, ‘tradition’ should positively be
discouraged. We have seen many such simple currents soon lost in the sand; and
novelty is better than repetition. Tradition is a matter of much wider
significance. It cannot be inherited, and if you want it you must obtain it by
great labour. It involves, in the first place, the historical sense, which we
may call nearly indispensable to anyone who would continue to be a poet beyond
his twenty-fifth year; and the historical sense involves a perception, not only
of the pastness of the past, but of its presence; the historical sense compels
a man to write not merely with his own generation in his bones, but with a
feeling that the whole of the literature of Europe from Homer and within it the
whole of the literature of his own country has a simultaneous existence and
composes a simultaneous order. This historical sense, which is a sense of the
timeless as well as of the temporal and of the timeless and of the temporal
together, is what makes a writer traditional. And it is at the same time what
makes a writer most acutely conscious of his place in time, of his
contemporaneity.”—American-born English Nobel Literature laureate T.S. Eliot (1888-1965),
“Tradition and the Individual Talent: An Essay,” in Selected Prose of T.S. Eliot,
edited by Frank Kermode (1975)
Disruption, we have been told endlessly by
self-promoting tech titans, is the spirit of the age. Look around you, in
business and politics, to understand the wreckage involved in that philosophy.
In the 20th century, there may have been
no greater disruption than World War I. I don’t think that it’s coincidental
that its aftermath saw the publication of what Robert Crawford, in his 2015
biography Young Eliot, termed his subject’s “greatest manifesto, his ‘programme
for the métier of poetry.’”
This passing year marks the centennial of “Tradition and the Individual Talent,” a
groundbreaking piece of literary criticism that appeared in the September and
December 1919 issues of The Egoist.
In it, T.S. Eliot argued that “the
past should be altered by the present as much as the present is directed by the
past.” His second point was more problematic: that a poet should be “impersonal,”
acting, in effect, as a “receptacle” of past images, phrases and feelings so as
to create “a new art emotion.”
The extent to which Eliot himself could be “impersonal”
in his work is debatable, as Crawford outlines in some detail. But he certainly
would use his feelings about tradition in a time of displacement as he shortly
began to work on The Waste Land, perhaps the keystone of modernist poetry.
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