A phrase coined by Keats, the 19th century poet, to describe the power of sympathy and a freedom from self-consciousness that tend to be a special (or at least a heightened) characteristic of artists. The source is a letter of 22 December 1817: there is a quality that goes "to form a Man of Achievement especially in literature & which Shakespeare possessed so enormously—I mean Negative Capability, that is when man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact & reason."
The concept of negative capability is one that has been further developed in both the romantic amd modernist literary traditions, contributing both to the rival doctrines of sincerity and "the truth of masks".
One wonders whether the issues and debates that have surrounding negative capability within the sphere of literary criticism have not now achieved a wider and more general significance in online communities, where essentially literary production is now a commonplace, though not always appreciated as such. In essense, it seems to me a far greater proportion of the population have become (loosely speaking) "artists," due to the commonplace availability of the internet and Web as a means of distribution and presentation, and thus are faced with the issues of identity, self and selflessness about which Keats' notions have prompted speculation and debate. One can see virtually the same conflict in play between those who prefer (or demand) that online personae be "real" and sincere and those who glory in their seeming freedom to assume and discard various masks and disguises at will, sometimes for criminal purposes, but probably more often for sheer play value and to explore one's own psyche or to probe the responses of others.
My first thought when I bit this off and started chewing was, are some people really there?
I mean. I try to imagine meeting Keats (1795-1821) and probing him to see whether he was really made of the same stuff as people of today. I suppose not. I suppose, also, that he wasn't really made up the same as those in his day 1.
Even reading, twenty-five years later, ebbixx's reflection on the tension between the sincere and the masquerader feels anachronistic. The beast, which then was only beginning to hatch, is now fully fledged and prowling on souls.
Do I think we've come a long way from artists being able to channel that ecstasy Keats talked about? Probably.
Is it gone? I hope not.
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the man whose epitaph reads, "Here lies one whose name was writ in water." ↩
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