First of all, I apologize for this late and somewhat scattered (and probably quite grammatically incorrect) post. I’ve just driven back to town from Phoenix (where I’ve spent the last 5 days having my brain thoroughly cooked by the insane heat) and read the blogs others have posted on Wilde and De Profundis. I feel that Erika, Michael, et al have already brought up most of the themes I had planned on discussing (i.e.: Wilde’s self-conscious performance of indignant innocence and his enactment of a public self-defense through the guise of a private letter; the way he narrativizes his relationship with Douglas through a conspicuous reliance on “cause and effect” sequences; the way his final passage (pg 779) describes the “accidental conditions” of time and space, and how the purported flexibility of these elements seem to contradict Wilde’s frequent invocation of the inescapable powers of fate and doom at work in his life and his relationship with Douglas; etc.). Unlike Prof. Tongson and some of the people in our class, I know very little about Wilde, his life, his work, and his philosophies – or the themes of past or present Wilde scholarship – but I am really intrigued by De Profundis and the work it seems to be doing. In fact, the evident labor it performs is what interests me.
I got the following quote from the Wikipedia Oscar Wilde page: “[Wilde] wrote, in The Picture of Dorian Gray, ‘All art is quite useless’, a statement meant to be read literally, as it was in keeping with the doctrine of ‘Art for art’s sake’…” (By the way, I promise I do not normally throw info from Wikipedia around so cavalierly. But I am hoping it’s OK in an informal blog like this one). Wilde was evidently committed to the “uselessness” of art and the value of the non-utilitarian. However, his letter to Lord Douglas quite obviously “works” or “labors” at a variety of tasks, from justifying Wilde’s motives and actions to providing Douglas and the reading public with morality lessons on what makes a good (Wilde) or bad (Douglas) friend/subject/artist/son/etc. Due to the utilitarian purposes of the letter, it seems unlikely to me that Wilde would consider this specimen of his writing “art.” And yet… doesn’t it seem to be written with particular care and attention, even a grace and beauty similar to his other literary endeavors? (Maybe I haven’t read enough Wilde to justify that comparison, but even the editorial note at the beginning of our photocopy that describes the evident editing and copying Wilde did of his own manuscript seems to indicate that there was as much thought going into the style and form as the content of the letter.)
Both Wilde’s interest in “useless” art and his frequent descriptions of Douglas’s faults and his own superior virtues brought to mind Cardinal Newman’s description of the “gentleman” (from our BlackBoard link). I’ve copied it below, and I’ve put in bold the phrases that I thought most aligned with Wilde’s description of himself and his conduct toward Douglas:
It is almost a definition of a gentleman to say he is one who never inflicts pain. This description is both refined and, as far as it goes, accurate. He is mainly occupied in merely removing the obstacles which hinder the free and unembarrassed action of those about him; and he concurs with their movements rather than takes the initiative himself. His benefits may be considered as parallel to what are called comforts or conveniences in arrangements of a personal nature: like an easy chair or a good fire, which do their part in dispelling cold and fatigue, though nature provides both means of rest and animal heat without them. The true gentleman in like manner carefully avoids whatever may cause a jar or a jolt in the minds of those with whom he is cast; — all clashing of opinion, or collision of feeling, all restraint, or suspicion, or gloom, or resentment; his great concern being to make every one at their ease and at home. He has his eyes on all his company; he is tender towards the bashful, gentle towards the distant, and merciful towards the absurd; he can recollect to whom he is speaking; he guards against unseasonable allusions, or topics which may irritate; he is seldom prominent in conversation, and never wearisome. He makes light of favours while he does them, and seems to be receiving when he is conferring. He never speaks of himself except when compelled, never defends himself by a mere retort, he has no ears for slander or gossip, is scrupulous in imputing motives to those who interfere with him, and interprets every thing for the best. He is never mean or little in his disputes, never takes unfair advantage, never mistakes personalities or sharp sayings for arguments, or insinuates evil which he dare not say out. From a long-sighted prudence, he observes the maxim of the ancient sage, that we should ever conduct ourselves towards our enemy as if he were one day to be our friend. He has too much good sense to be affronted at insults, he is too well employed to remember injuries, and too indolent to bear malice. He is patient, forbearing, and resigned, on philosophical principles; he submits to pain, because it is inevitable, to bereavement, because it is irreparable, and to death, because it is his destiny. If he engages in controversy of any kind, his disciplined intellect preserves him from the blunder. [From The Idea of a University, 1852]
Wilde’s descriptions of himself – as generous to a fault with both his money and time, gracious to Douglas despite the latter’s frequent outbursts, willing to let Douglas dictate their plans and activities, and unwilling to chastise him too strongly or hurt him too deeply, no matter how much he may deserve it – seem to align quite neatly with many of Newman’s ideas about what makes a gentleman a gentleman. And Wilde’s many complaints about Douglas’s selfishness, thoughtlessness, and bad temper seem predicated on the very incompatibility with gentlemanly virtues such faults indicate. However, with De Profundis, Wilde seems to be abandoning the gentlemanly virtues on which he has previously prided himself, even as he uses stories about the presence and lack of those same virtues to indict Douglas. In the letter, Wilde is clearly abdicating his position as “one who never inflicts pain;” he is finally refusing to “make light of [the] favours” he has bestowed upon Douglas, and he is most definitely refusing to be “merciful towards the absurd” any longer (quotes from Newman, above).
It seems to me that the gentleman, as described by Newman, is a somewhat useless, almost purely aesthetic figure with little to no practical value. So what does it mean that Wilde describes himself in his letter to Douglas as this kind of man, yet in order to write this letter at all, Wilde must no longer be this kind of gentleman (because Newman’s “gentleman” would be incapable of writing such a letter)? And how could this question tie in with the question I previously posed about the letter itself and how its use-value seems to preclude its eligibility as “art,” at least by Wilde’s former “art for art’s sake” standards?
My eyes are beginning to cross. I hope some of this made at least a little sense, and if it didn’t I’d be happy to try to clarify what I mean in tomorrow’s class.
Trisha
I believe that Trisha has identified one of Wilde’s famous, if maybe this time a little unintentional, paradoxes.
And after reading the LA Times this morning, I will never again chide a person for quoting Wikipedia. According to a Mr. Andy Shlafly, Wikipedia’s penchant for, say, allowing its random authors to use acronyms like “BCE” is evidence of the site’s liberal bias. In reaction, he has started a competing site called Conservapedia.com that preaches “certain principles.” Don’t worry though, Mr. Schlafly insists that “Beyond that we welcome the facts.”
Typical Entry:
Femininity: “The quality of being childllike, gentle, pretty, willowy, submissive.”
I don’t know what this has to do with our topic. Let’s just say I’m responding to the idea of the “gentleman.”
- Erika