University of Toronto
1. A brief scan of the likely spots has not revealed these remembered words in Bradley's text; but their substance may be found in Appearance and Reality, 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1897), p. 3.
2. Francis Sparshott, "On the Possibility of a General Theory of Literature," Centrum 3 (1975): 5-22; "On the Possibility of Saying What Literature Is," in Paul Hernadi, ed., What Is Literature? (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1978), pp. 3-15.
4. Steve Fuller suggests (in a letter, which I hope I have not misunderstood) that philosophical texts might be assigned a similar special, quasi-fictional status. One does not, after all, believe philosophical positions in the same way that one believes commonplace assertions; one entertains them, but in a special way, not quite as hypotheses, but rather as suggestions for regulating the mind — as philosophy, in fact.
6. This is not to deny that there are forms of word use in which reading and writing are intimately related: copying, paraphrasing, translating. But a consideration of such activities should not lead us to obliterate the distinction between the reading and the writing that are related in them. When this paper was read to an audience, a questioner asked: "Is a translator reading or writing?" The question seemed fatuous. Why should he not be doing both? I suppose a translator reads one text and writes another closely related to it and dependent on it. Insofar as I am reading I do not have as target a second string of words, either as type or as token, distinct from the string I am reading.
7. Barthes's "pleasure of the text" comes closest; but his metaphor gives one pause (Roland Barthes, The Pleasure of the Text, trans. Richard Miller [New York: Hill and Wang, 1975]). The idea is that one takes a quasi-sexual pleasure in enjoying the text. But a jouissance that takes no account of the personhood of the one whose body is enjoyed does not rank very high among values. See the text of the next paragraph.
11. Barthes does not actually say, and certainly did not mean to say, what I make him say here. He seems to imagine the text as giving itself voluptuously to the reader. But there is no such thing that it does. It does nothing at all. At most, we can picture it as yielding itself to the reader, inertly complaisant, with no will of its own. It is hard to believe that Barthes thought of the implications of his metaphor. But to any reader sensitive to sexist overtones the text he produced has the manner of someone implausibly defending himself against a rape charge.
13. R. G. Collingwood, Principles of Art (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1938), p. 116; Mikel Dufrenne, The Phenomenology of Aesthetic Experience, trans. Edward S. Casey and others (Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1973), p. 31.
14. For my own contributions to this literature, see Francis Sparshott, "Philosophy and the 'Creative Process,'" West Coast Review, 1 (1966): 4-13; Looking for Philosophy (Montreal: McGill-Queen's University Press, 1972), pp. 135-64; "Every Horse Has a Mouth," in Denis Dutton and Michael Krausz, eds., The Concept of Creativity in Science and Art (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1981), pp. 47-73.