ANCIENT AVANT-GARDE;
EDWARD YOUNG AND 'ORIGINALITY'


Born in 1683, Edward Young lived to be an old man. When he died in 1765, he had been a writer, politician, lawyer and clergyman, apparently with no great success in either profession. According to THE NORTON ANTHOLOGY OF THEORY AND CRITICISM (Leitch/Cain/Finke/Johnson, ed; New York/London, 2001), Young was unhappy with his lack of success as a poet and playwright, and the bulk of his literary production is forgotten, or ignored, today (p426). His poetry is said to be 'dismal' and 'dreary', maybe as a result of the loss of his wife and other members of his family. However, the excerpt in Norton from Young's CONJECTURES ON ORIGINAL COMPOSITION (1759) proves to be a very positive and interesting text on the need for originality in artistic expression. Of course, Edward Young was a writer, and his CONJECTURES were primarily directed towards aspiring writers, but that does not mean that his thoughts cannot be applied to other forms of artistic practise and expression. Even today, his ideals may inspire discussion within a wide variety of artistic fields, including the seemingly unlikely field of avant garde jazz or improvised music, which I will look into in the course of this essay; mainly by comparing quotations from Young's text with statements made by artists from the African-American tradition of jazz improvisation. It is also interesting to see how Young's thoughts travel through time and space, and how ideas of 'originality' seem to share certain similarities within two very different artistic traditions.

In his CONJECTURES, Young starts out by saying that there can never be enough writing, or 'composition'. He praises the fact that the contemporary advance in printing technology made it possible to produce books and printed matters in large quantities. He states that writing should be in the 'real service of mankind' (Norton, p428), but other than that, he is of the opinion that 'the more composition the better' (ibid). He goes on to describe how writing - and reading - can be a consolation and a refuge from 'life's endless evils', before he begins to elaborate on his most important theme - the need for originality in literature, and the need to realize that the potential for truly creative and original literary expression is latent in every generation of new writers.

Using a lot of botanical imagery, Young compares writing with nature, claiming that truly original writings are 'the fairest flowers' and that what he calls 'imitations' are of 'fainter bloom' (p429). The goal ought to be, he says, always to be original instead of merely duplicating the style and literary mannerisms of earlier writers. Originals, says Young, 'are great benefactors; they extend the republic of letter, and add a new province to its dominion' (ibid p429). In contrast, mere imitiation comes across as nothing but duplicates of what has already been done much better in the past, and consequently, such imitation is much less interesting. According to Young, an original contribution to literature is comparable to a 'vegetable nature' (ibid p 429) meaning that it grows directly from the root, instead of being a 'manufacture...out of pre-existent materials not their own' (ibid p429) Young's fondness of this kind of nature-laden imagery is apparent throughout the excerpt of his text, but he also compares 'originals' to 'perfect strangers' (ibid p429) that we all would like to get to know better, whereas 'imitations' are 'twice-told' tales. His fondness and demand for originality is communicated in no uncertain terms at the start of his essay.

The really interesting and thought-provoking part of Young's essay occurs when he goes on to discuss what is required to be original. His answer is to read and imitate what he calls the 'antients' - classic texts from Greek and Latin authors. The imitation, however, is not to be a superficial mimicry of style and themes, but rather an imitation of the spirit in which the classics were written. Says Young:

Imitate; but imitate not the Composition, but the Man. For may not this paradox pass into a maxim?(...)'The less we copy the renowned antients, we shall resemble them the more.' (Norton, p431)

The implication here seems to be that the crucial manner in which artists can be original, is to learn and understand a tradition, without becoming a slave to it, and then subsequently use and expand the tradition in his or her own way, suitable to whatever their artistic needs may be. Only through an awareness of 'classics' as representative of a certain time and place, will a new writer or artist be able to understand the need for taking part in his or her own time, in order to create something new - and then maybe become future 'classics' themselves. Let's take a look at another statement by Young, a few lines earlier in the text, commenting on the influence of the classics:

Let our understanding feed on theirs; they afford the noblest nourishment; But let them nourish, not annihilate our own' (ibid p431)

The parallell to the great free jazz saxophonist Albert Ayler (1936-1970) may seem very, very strange at first glance, but in many ways, his work can be seen as a latter-day, practical blue-print of Young's ideas. There is no reason to believe that Ayler had any knowledge of Edward Young, and of course, in Young's time the word 'jazz' was not even invented. To Young, the concept 'African-American' simply did not exist, and in his time, the idea that a black man would someday take improvisatory music to the world's finest stages and concert halls would probably never have been considered as anything but ravings of the most severely twisted, confused mind - if uttered at all. Still, Ayler's work reflects Young's ideas of 'originality' in the very sense that he knows his 'classics' - that is, those who were classics in his world - and that he lets their work nourish his own in such a way that he learns from them before he creates something new out of it. On the cd cover of Ayler's LOVE CRY (cd, Impulse Records, 1968), Frank Kofsky writes, about the way in which Ayler was inspired by saxophonist John Coltrane (1926-1967):

'...there can be no denying the flair and artistry with which he has transmuted the Coltrane vernacular into his own highly personal and emotionally challenged weltanschauung'.

In the same text, Kofsky also mentions how Ayler reworked and remolded the old African-American tradition of collective improvisation into his own vehicle for artistic expression, and his love of simple folk melodies. The point to get from this, is just this way of imitating the creative spirit and ideas of his predecessors, which is a cornerstone in all of Ayler's work, as well as in the whole tradition and history of black music.

And then, when we get back to Edward Young, it gets even more interesting to consider his idea that every generation has the potential of greatness. '...we are as strong as our predecessors' (Norton p432), he writes, and goes on to say that too much reverence for the classics will

'...dwarf our understanding, by making a giant of theirs. Too great awe for them lays genius under restraint, and denies it that free scope, that full elbow-room, which is requisite for striking its most masterly strokes. (ibid p432)

To Young, the idea of putting genius under any kind of restraint seems a horrible crime. A genius should be allowed to grow, and be respected. To Young, it is important to bear in mind that genius is not always understood and appreciated in its own time. There is a chance that genius will be met by ignorance, ridicule, contempt and prejudice, simply because the world is not really ready for what it has to say, or the way in which it is put forward. Whether or not this is Young's reflection on his own lack of success as a writer, must be up to others to decide. More interesting is the way he thus seems to defend new material, or new modes of expression. One of the most interesting points made by Young is the need he states for artists to set themselves apart from their predecessors in such radical manner as to be almost totally different:

All eminence, and distinction, lies out of the beaten road; excursion, and deviation, are necessary to find it; and the more remote your path from the highway, the more reputable...' (Norton, p432)

In every age, there has been a tendency among the general public, as well as among the artistic and cultural upper strata, to miss this point completely when something new, unexpected and different has come along. Rather than embrace such new, and possibly disturbing, creation, it has been more comfortable, or safe, to cling to old truths, old views, old forms, old words and old thoughts. What Young seems to say is that we always must take new, 'original' writing very seriously, and accept the fact that we do not know everything. After discussing the difference between 'learning' and 'genius' ( he sees 'learning' more as a collection of rules and what he calls 'famed examples' (Norton,p433), whereas 'genius often owes its supreme glory' (ibid p 433) to liberty), Young mentions how genius is to be admired rather than merely understood, and how it is deserving of praise rather than explanation:

Genius often then deserves most to be praised, when it is most sure to be condemned; that is when its excellence, from mounting high, to weak eyes is quite out of sight' (Norton p433)

What may be implied from this, is that an artificial, contrived need to understand and explain everything may actually be an obstruction when it comes to extracting meaning from whatever it is we read, see or hear. To return to the world of Albert Ayler, who was frequently misunderstood and ridiculed in the course of his brief life and career, we often have to lay aside our western academic binoculars to be able to appreciate fully the magnitude and beauty of his work. On the LOVE CRY cd cover, Ayler is quoted as follows, giving a response to allegations that his music is difficult to understand:

Never try to figure out what happens, because you would never get the true message (cd, LOVE CRY, Impulse Records, 1968)

Ayler and his music is obviously very far from Edward Young's old England, but at the core here is the notion that learning and cleverness will get you nowhere, if that learning and cleverness is merely used as a means of reaffirming what is already known, or as a means of running away from the given work of art, because you do not have the will or the courage to let it hit you in the subconscious. According to Young,

'There is something in poetry beyond prose-reason; there are mysteries in it not to be explained, but admired; which render mere prose-men infidels to their divinity'.(Norton p433).

This view of poetry (and other ways of artistic expression) and genius as something mysterious, or even divine, is a predecessor of later ideals of the romantic period. The divinely 'inspired genius' who sits in his ivory tower producing great art as a result of his inspiration only, has become a cliche image of what it is like to be an artist. Young is clearly aware, however, that there are more ways than one by which to reach genius as a writer. In the excerpt in Norton, he discusses two types of genius, exemplified by William Shakespeare and Jonathan Swift. Shakespeare, he says, was what he calls an 'adult genius' (Norton p434), a genius which is full-blown from the very start, a genius which is like a force of nature, almost impossible to hold back. Young stresses that Shakespeare had very little formal education, and that his greatness may stem from that very fact. He was, according to Young, 'at full growth, and mature' (ibid p434) from the start. Shakespeare's genius made him a true original, a brother to any of the classic writers from antiquity. In that way, Young holds him up as an example for other aspiring artists to follow. Jonathan Swift, on the other hand, was of a different kind. He was the kind of genius that needed to be 'nursed, and educated' to reach his full potential - what Young calls an 'infantine genius' (ibid p434). It seems diffuse to me whether Young holds these two types of genius up as two irreconcilable opposites, or if he seems to imply that a combination of the two is possible. However, there is an implication of the earlier mentioned conflict between 'learning' and 'genius', even if Young apparently admits that a little bit of learning may be a good thing after all, whether one is a genius or not. To achieve true genius, whether in the 'adult' or the 'infantine' way, the artist must revere himself or herself. The most important thing is to trust one's own abilities, and be aware of the fact that every generation contains its own possible future classics. In this view, every age contains something worthwhile. Even though Young states early in the text that thoughts and words 'may grow old, and die' (Norton, p430), he seems to be quite clear in his opinion that every age contains the potential for greatness, and that a 'classic' may stem from any period in time, including the present. As long as the writer is true to himself, and has reverence for himself, he will be in a position to strive for that 'originality' which is needed to produce literature of lasting quality. In my opinion, this is just as valid in a discussion of other art forms. In the essay JAZZ AND THE WHITE CRITIC (written in 1963, and republished in THE AMIRI BARAKA READER, Thunder's Mouth Press, New York, 1999) African-American poet, playwright and critic Amiri Baraka (b.1934) comments on how every age produces classics, and the worth needing to be attained to them, independently of which period they stem from:

'The point is, it seems to me, that if the music is worth something now, it must have been worth something then (...)A critic who praises Bunk Johnson at Dizzy Gillespie's expense is no critic at all, but then neither is a man who turns it around and knocks Bunk to swell Dizzy (Baraka, p184)

A short explanation may be useful: Bunk Johnson was an early jazz pioneer, who came out of the first New Orleans brass band and jazz tradition. He did not record until 1942, when he was an old man, and remained a faithful representative of old school jazz styles all his life. On the other hand, Dizzy Gillespie (1917-1993) was a founder of bebop in the late 1940s, when there was a clear line between followers of older and newer styles of jazz. Baraka's point - as if lifted straight out of Young's argumentation - is that both these musicians were classics and originals, simply because they came up with something new in their chosen field of artistic expression. When they started out, they were off the beaten path, diverting from contemporary aesthetic and artistic rules and guidelines. In this way, they become similar in spirit, which is to say that they reached their potential for excellence - latent in every person throughout all periods in history.

As mentioned, Edward Young was a writer, and his CONJECTURES were in all likelihood mainly intended as literary criticism. According to the Norton Anthology, the text is a precursor of Romantic thought on poetic originality and the roles of artists. Young's agenda may have been to set the record straight concerning his own apparent misfortunes as a writer, but the text rather comes across to a modern reader as a celebration of individual creativity; and as a wonderful tribute to artists who dare to look outside the mainstream for inspiration. The introduction in Norton also links Young's text to writings by Greek author Longinus, Joseph Warton and Edmund Burke. Whatever the inspiration and motivation behind Young's work, he remains in his CONJECTURES an uplifting voice, and his thoughts appear to be greatly encouraging to artists of all sorts. My main point in this little essay has been to discuss how Young may be relevant even today, and that his ideas are not limited to literature only. Another point is, of course, that thoughts and ideas similar to Young's may arise in places and environments which seem vastly different. The need for 'originality' may well be a universal craving, taking a firm hold of artists' minds in every culture, every period of time and every mode of artistic expression. Skimming through Young's text for the first time, I simply could not help associating him with lines of thought often expressed by exponents of African-American artists on creativity and their various aesthetic practises. As a matter of fact, studying the different theories or concepts of originality and creativity in several cultures of the world might be a great task. However, in conclusion, I will let Baraka have the last word as for now. This is his description of a creative, original musician:

'It is expanding the consciousness of the given that they are interested in, not merely expressing what is already there, or alluded to. They are interested in the unknown. The mystical. (from 'THE CHANGING SAME (R&B AND NEW BLACK MUSIC); 1966, reprinted in THE AMIRI BARAKA READER; 1999)

The similarities here between Baraka and Young should not be too difficult to spot. Why should not this be just as relevant to a writer as to a musician - or indeed, to anyone aspiring to be an artist in any field?



Sources:

Young, Edward: CONJECTURES ON ORIGINAL COMPOSITION (excerpt), (1759)
Printed in THE NORTON ANTHOLOGY OF THEORY AND CRITICISM, V.Leitch (ed)
London, New York, 2001

Kofsky, Frank: Liner notes to Albert Ayler's recording LOVE CRY, released as an LP by Impulse Records, 1968.
Re-released as cd by Impulse/MCA, 1991

Baraka, Amiri: JAZZ AND THE WHITE CRITIC (essay, 1963)
THE CHANGING SAME (essay, 1966)
Both texts reprinted in THE AMIRI BARAKA READER; W.Harris (ed)
Thunder's Mouth Press
New York, 1999