Bertrand Russell's Early Approaches to Literature

MARGARET MORAN Bertrand Russell's Early Approaches to Literature When in 1950 Bertrand Russell was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in recognition of the exemplary clarity of his philosophical prose, the honour must have seemed to him tinged with some irony. Although he took legitimate pride in the lucid expression of his professional thought, he was disappointed by his failure to distinguish himself in literature as a creative author. For this reason, there was probably no other field in which he felt a greater disparity between his aspiration and his achievement . In an ill-conceived attempt to rectify the situation, he set about during his eighties to write a series of short stories.1 Twice before (in 1902-3 and in 1911-13), he had turned to imaginative writing, but the results on those occasions had not pleased him. Despite all his striving to do more, Russell's contribution to literature was limited to two functions: as an essayist,2 and as a character for other authors to portray. With the essay, a genre in which argument takes precedence over imagination, his genius as an analytical thinker found an appropriate form. Although he nevercomposedtheimaginativemasterpieceshesoambitiouslyintended, he did serve unwittingly as a model for a number of portraits by other writers. Of these the most famous are Mr Apollinax, the eponymous character of T.S. Eliot's poem, Sir Joshua Malleson in D.H. Lawrence's Women in Love, and Scogan in Aldous Huxley's Crome Yellow.3 These representations could, to say the least, have offered little to assuage his general dissatisfaction about his role in literature. Russell's discontent as an author manque was undoubtedly more acute than his hesitancy about venturing into literary theory. Yet his resistance to literature in a critical capacity must have arisenfrom the same sources that thwarted his creative aims. Justification is provided for this assumption by Russell's own tendency to think that creative and critical endeavours in the arts needed the same talents, though in varying degrees of intensity. Instead of applying the complete force of his mind to literary commentary,4 he typically used his wide reading to enliven his discussion of other topics with quotations, apt (but often unexpected) analogies, or witty asides. This habit shows how pleasurable his contact was with a great array of imaginative works. Still, his tendency to cast no more than passing glances at the subject demonstrates an ambivalence to the disciplined study of literature. A consideration of Russell's reading UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO QUARTERLY, VOLUME 54, NUMBER I, FALL 1984 BERTRAND RUSSELL 57 habits unti11902- the year when he tried unsuccessfully to make a general statement about the function of literature - may help to explain his reticence. The absence ofany works focused onliterarycriticismmight notin itself be surprising except for the fact that Russell felt able to remark so freely on nearlyevery other aspect ofhuman endeavouror custom. Overa longlife, the commitmenthe made in 1895 to undertake a comprehensiveinvestigation into virtually allforms oflearningwas achieved, albeitin ways that he could not have foreseen. In his Autobiography, he recalled walking in the Tiergarten in Berlin: I thought that I would write one series of books on the philosophy of the sciences from pure mathematics to physiology, and another series of books on socialquestions. Ihoped thatthe two series mightmeetultimatelyin a synthesis at once scientific and practical.5 The original scheme had been devised when Russell was absorbed by neo-Hegelian philosophy. Underlying the plan was the assumption that all areas of knowledge must be taken into account if a great harmonious vision of the cosmic order were ever to be acquired. Thus, although a study of literature was not mentioned in his retrospective account and its place in the plan cannotbe ascertained, its place in the complete synthesis must have been anticipated initially. Even after Russell rejected neoHegelianism , he retained the determination to become a polymath. Butno matter how successful he might have been in other fields, he felt continually inhibited by literature, except as a prose stylist. The heady optimism of the spring day in 1895 when he vowed to master all knowledge might have been muted if he had remembered an experience from the previous autumn. During...