Concept Experiment #1: Romance

Let us take as an assumption that Romance (or, the Romantic Person) does conceptually, or as a conceptual disposition, what any other disposition cannot: it believes in likeness above difference. It believes, before even speaking, that its temperament is mirrored in the external universe- that the harmony of its spirit is already manifest, already active. This is a given. Richard P. Feynman, the physicist, says: “[t]here is nothing that living things do that cannot be understood from the point of view that they are made of atoms acting according to the laws of physics… [t]he question is, of course, is it going to be possible to amalgamate everything, and merely discover that this world represents different aspects of one thing?” Here I think we could also consider Hegel. A symbol is two things being thrown together. A logical proposition is two things being thrown together that we normally throw together. A metaphor is two unlike things being thrown together to create new truth and meaning.

It must be true that there is more likeness in things than difference (most of the universe being composed of hydrogen and helium), and so it is vital for both the retention of culture and the preservation of human intelligence to place a higher value on activities and insights which reconcile concepts and experience of concepts, or, the measuring of concepts up against singular, personal experience. Of course, I am speaking here of poetry.

Romance, despite some popular trends of thought, is not dead; it’s merely being smothered by consumerism and sterilized by scientists. Romance is not in a location- though it can be, of course; some rocky crag or mossy creek bed can contain a certain quantity of appeal. It is not in a profession- though jumping from planes and spying on mistresses may perhaps illicit the romantic impulse. It is not in a manner of expression or attire- a bon vivant persona- a certain swagger in the hips. It is not in lavish expense- it is not in the briefcase encrusted with diamonds- it is not in the wind or the unattained other, even, though he or she may appear the quintessence of beauty. Romance of the most gorgeous kind, I think, is found in the inner eye- as a choice of perspective- it colors, from itself, the universe as hopeful-as freshly born- the morning whispers, to a romantic temperament, the fresh insight of pillow-cased hills and undulating curtains. It does not matter what these things are made of, or even, we could expect, what they “truly are” in one sense or another from some other perspective. Romance should not be measured against correspondence- it is a new possibility in which we ourselves might correspond. It is no more deceptive than ideas themselves. Romance is not an idea proper, it is a method of approach.

If we admit that there is always choice- a kind of intentional flavoring- to perception- then it seems there is nothing whatsoever wrong with choosing to witness the romantic possibility of the world- no more wrong than “seeing” quarks and atoms, or imposing a gradient of mathematics over the visible world and certainly not less useful!
In a way, allowing things to always appear as they might yet be is the only realistic disposition- particularly since we admit that change generates so much of our experience from its’ invisible belly- that we ourselves are, to use a well-worn expression, “subject to change”- change occurs to us, we are inside change- ripening with it, at the same moment, like a blushing apple- filling with it, cracking at our very own tired old seams- leaking the unknown thrill of yet-unseen projects and persons. Once we accept this, singular reference, while useful, pales in comparison to metaphor- the creation of which, claims Aristotle, is “ . . . a mark of genius, for to make good metaphors implies an eye for resemblances” (Poetics and Rhetoric). Philosophy distancing itself from Poetry is like Romeo distancing himself from Juliet.

That change defines us is no new insight- though it never ceases to frighten us into our sad, sterile corners. We cling to our singular identities- we analyze our reflection against what we claim to have already seen in ourselves- thus dogmatism and intolerance. The absurdity of this position- that we are always behind and ahead of ourselves makes life no less meaningful. Romance, then, is the attitude of always meaning more- of expecting and hoping, of suspending altogether the tongue-twisted rhetoric of skepticism and silencing the churning ills of disbelief. The best Romance believes all things- not just the normative, stereotyped things- not just hearts and chocolates, but real, human things- the freckles, the cellulite, the barbed wire, the Civil War- believes and believes and makes it new again with a flair for something better. The light blends fantastically in the dark inner iris- pulsing out in a thousand dimensions, refusing to submit to monadic reference. And, of course, as romance chooses, we choose romance- not as a force of nature, but as a gentle sloping path in the woods, bending into breathtaking horizons… Bauchelard claims that “The metaphor is~ an origin, the origin of an image which acts directly, immediately.” In living towards limitlessness, Romance affirms the natural relationship- the natural potential- of one person to a very, very complicated universe.