meaning does not deal with the function of speaking. Davhar, in thrusting forward what is concealed in the self, is concerned with oral expression, with getting a word, a thing, a deed out into the light. 38
Naturally, Bloom prefers the Hebrew notion, for in contrast to the Greek sense of order and context in logos, davhar emphasizes linguistic acts of the self that establish the priority of personal being. Although Bloom relates Derrida's kabbalistic sense of language to davhar, his general critique of deconstruction (and probably all philosophies derived from Greek models) follows from its continued reliance on logos, "word referring only to another word." 39 Genuinely assertive acts of speech are thrust forward by the (obviously phallic) self; they are creative insofar as they emulate the original act of Creation in Genesis. As Bloom well knows, Torah is traditionally understood as davhar: as "the concentrated power of God Himself, as expressed in His Name," it is "an instrument of Creation, through which the world came into existence." 40
There is much to be said for this position, if not from a philosophical than at least from a literary point of view. Davhar empowers the speaking self, allowing for a sense of priorityand hence authoritythat guarantees a vision of independent life. Thus Bloom can ask of Wordsworth in conjunction with Milton, "what is the Word ( davhar ) of his own, both as against and related to the Word of Milton, that Wordsworth is compelled to bring forward in Tintern Abbey? " 41 The same could be asked of all strong writers and their precursors, regardless of whether they are members of Bloom's particular pantheon, for dahvar specifies individual human relations among texts, however agonistic they might be. The self of the text is never entirely dispersed among linguistic or social practices, and while it resists a communal identity, its agon guarantees it will never be entirely isolated.
The same embattled humanism is apparent in Bloom's various pronouncements regarding contemporary concern over the formation and perpetuation of authoritative literary canons. The subject calls forth some of his most elliptical and gnomic prose, generating numerous digressions and verbal substitutions in an already restless discourse. Bloom first approaches canon formation via the vexed term tradition, which he defines as "good teaching, where 'good' means pragmatic, instrumental, fecund." 42 In a later discussion, he first asserts that "we cannot define traditionand I suggest we stop trying,"
Page 39
then shifts to the related term canonization and states that "when you declare a contemporary work a permanent, classic achievement, you make it suffer an astonishing, apparent, immediate loss in meaning." 43 What is beginning to emerge is Bloom's great ambivalence toward his subject and hence toward his culturally burdened role of sage: whereas the teaching or passing-down of tradition initially or ideally serves as personal empowerment, it invariably finds itself complicit in the procedures of canonization, which reify or sterilize the text, leaving the teacher's handing-over of fecund knowledge powerless and the student bereft. It is better, then, not to seek to define the process in which we are engaged, but Bloom is temperamentally incapable of following his own advice. From canonization he switches again to his perennial master-trope of influence, concluding that
"influence," substituting for "tradition," shows us that we are nurtured by distortion, and not by apostolic succession. "Influence" exposes and de-idealizes "tradition," not by appearing as a cunning distortion of ''tradition," but by showing us that all "tradition" is indistinguishable from making mistakes about anteriority. The more "tradition" is exalted, the more egregious the mistakes become. 44
When he is most gloomily humanistic, Bloom always consoles himself with notions of distortion and mistakes. Because tradition can never be what we wish
Naturally, Bloom prefers the Hebrew notion, for in contrast to the Greek sense of order and context in logos, davhar emphasizes linguistic acts of the self that establish the priority of personal being. Although Bloom relates Derrida's kabbalistic sense of language to davhar, his general critique of deconstruction (and probably all philosophies derived from Greek models) follows from its continued reliance on logos, "word referring only to another word." 39 Genuinely assertive acts of speech are thrust forward by the (obviously phallic) self; they are creative insofar as they emulate the original act of Creation in Genesis. As Bloom well knows, Torah is traditionally understood as davhar: as "the concentrated power of God Himself, as expressed in His Name," it is "an instrument of Creation, through which the world came into existence." 40
There is much to be said for this position, if not from a philosophical than at least from a literary point of view. Davhar empowers the speaking self, allowing for a sense of priorityand hence authoritythat guarantees a vision of independent life. Thus Bloom can ask of Wordsworth in conjunction with Milton, "what is the Word ( davhar ) of his own, both as against and related to the Word of Milton, that Wordsworth is compelled to bring forward in Tintern Abbey? " 41 The same could be asked of all strong writers and their precursors, regardless of whether they are members of Bloom's particular pantheon, for dahvar specifies individual human relations among texts, however agonistic they might be. The self of the text is never entirely dispersed among linguistic or social practices, and while it resists a communal identity, its agon guarantees it will never be entirely isolated.
The same embattled humanism is apparent in Bloom's various pronouncements regarding contemporary concern over the formation and perpetuation of authoritative literary canons. The subject calls forth some of his most elliptical and gnomic prose, generating numerous digressions and verbal substitutions in an already restless discourse. Bloom first approaches canon formation via the vexed term tradition, which he defines as "good teaching, where 'good' means pragmatic, instrumental, fecund." 42 In a later discussion, he first asserts that "we cannot define traditionand I suggest we stop trying,"
Page 39
then shifts to the related term canonization and states that "when you declare a contemporary work a permanent, classic achievement, you make it suffer an astonishing, apparent, immediate loss in meaning." 43 What is beginning to emerge is Bloom's great ambivalence toward his subject and hence toward his culturally burdened role of sage: whereas the teaching or passing-down of tradition initially or ideally serves as personal empowerment, it invariably finds itself complicit in the procedures of canonization, which reify or sterilize the text, leaving the teacher's handing-over of fecund knowledge powerless and the student bereft. It is better, then, not to seek to define the process in which we are engaged, but Bloom is temperamentally incapable of following his own advice. From canonization he switches again to his perennial master-trope of influence, concluding that
"influence," substituting for "tradition," shows us that we are nurtured by distortion, and not by apostolic succession. "Influence" exposes and de-idealizes "tradition," not by appearing as a cunning distortion of ''tradition," but by showing us that all "tradition" is indistinguishable from making mistakes about anteriority. The more "tradition" is exalted, the more egregious the mistakes become. 44
When he is most gloomily humanistic, Bloom always consoles himself with notions of distortion and mistakes. Because tradition can never be what we wish
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