photo by me

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk :
‘Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness, -
That thou, light winged Dryad of the trees,
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.

John Keats, Ode to a Nightingale

John Keats wrote about a theory he called negative capability.

I had not a dispute but a disquisition, with Dilke on various subjects; several things dove-tailed in my mind, and at once it struck me what quality went to form a Man of Achievement, especially in Literature, and which Shakespeare possessed so enormously – I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason-Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge. This pursued through volumes would perhaps take us no further than this, that with a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration. (source: http://www.mrbauld.com/negcap.html)

Keats’ theory was that great people, and great poets in particular, reach a point where they can transcend the need to resolve everything. They know that it cannot be done, that at some point a higher authority takes over.

It is at this point that the greatest artistic endeavors are undertaken – that point of in-between. The artist is not wholly cemented to the ground in reality nor so flighty as to not be accepted.

I wonder if that is still possible in this day and age. Are we able to transcend belief in what we see, to go a bit further? Do artists do this today? Or is it the scientists and the dreamers who create new and fantastical technology who are now able to transcend that grounded space?

What does it take to make a person great? What does it take to make someone a genius in their field? What kind of drive or natural abilities are held by a person who reaches that status. And is genius or greatness accepted universally? Do we all agree that Keats was a genius poet? Do we all agree that Einstein was a great man? If we do, why are these beliefs universal?

Keats continued on in his letter to say that Shelley was out. His poetry didn’t quite meet the criteria. But would we, today, consider Shelley one of the great Romantic poets of that age? I would say that he is considered great. His poetry has lived on for more than 200 years. There is something to be said for that. But does it reach the great aspirations of Keats, Shakespeare, or Coleridge? Isn’t that subjective?

Isn’t it, then, conceivable that genius is subjective? That the honor of greatness that is bestowed upon people is subjective?

When does the line between negative capability cross over into madness or blind belief in something greater than yourself? Do you hold a responsibility to your patrons to stay within that realm of negative capability? I think that should a person follow blind faith in this way, it could not only result in losing patrons of a certain ilk but it may garner patrons of an entirely different breed.

Keats was a mere 26 years old when he died. He was tackling, at the time, theories that take lifetimes to comprehend, if it can be done at all. As the anniversary of his birth approaches (October 31, 1795), I am reminded of how much time I have squandered away on things that don’t matter to me. I am reminded of how much I love to read theory and bury myself in the words of people who make me think. Keats made his short life mean something. Can I say the same of my own?