Rhetoric of Youth, or Bridges to Nowhere
10.13125/2039-6597/1241
Architectonically speaking, there comes a stage in life that looks like a house. Everything appears already built up, all filled with kids and furniture, functionally disposed in interconnected spaces. The age of adulthood. Childhood instead is a playground, with apparatuses for swinging and climbing and an open court to serve their somewhat anarchic whims. What leads to the adult house is a road, which most people embark on in their twenties, as they decide what to do with their lives. But before one finds this road one needs to pass a bridge: the architectonics of youth, which, as I understand it in this paper, entails a passage between two distinct terrains, each more distinct than the passage between them: childhood and adulthood. Youth is not the road to the house of adulthood, which is discovered later; youth is a bridge, taking us to a place from which many roads start. Committing to an adult project means choosing one of them.
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2039-6597
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Thomas Harrison
Between
The Emancipation of Dissonance
Su <i>1910. L'emancipazione della dissonanza</i>: Rhetoric of Youth, or Bridges to Nowhere
Text.Serial.Journal
https://ojs.unica.it/index.php/between
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In discussion: Ed. Niccolò Scaffai
2014-06-02
2014-05-27
2014-06-02
1
Thomas Harrison
2014
10.13125/2039-6597/1241
University of California at Los Angeles (UCLA)
2039-6597
7
The Emancipation of Dissonance
en
Su <i>1910. L'emancipazione della dissonanza</i>: Rhetoric of Youth, or Bridges to Nowhere
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4
  




                       Rhetoric  of  Youth,    
                     or  Bridges  to  Nowhere  
                                   Thomas    Harrison  


       Architectonically   speaking,   there   comes   a   stage   in   life   that   looks  
like   a   house.   Everything   appears   already   built   up,   all   filled   with   kids  
and  furniture,  functionally  disposed  in  interconnected  spaces.  The  age  
of  adulthood.  Childhood  instead  is  a  playground,  with  apparatuses  for  
swinging   and   climbing   and   an   open   court   to   serve   their   somewhat  
anarchic   whims.   What   leads   to   the   adult   house   is   a   road,   which   most  
people   embark   on   in   their   twenties,   as   they   decide   what   to   do   with  
their   lives.   But   before   one   finds   this   road   one   needs   to   pass   a   bridge:  
the   architectonics   of   youth,   which,   as   I   understand   it   in   this   paper,  
entails  a  passage  between  two  distinct  terrains,  each  more  distinct  than  
the  passage  between  them:  childhood  and  adulthood.  Youth  is  not  the  
road   to   the   house   of   adulthood,   which   is   discovered   later;   youth   is   a  
bridge,  taking  us  to  a  place  from  which  many  roads  start.  Committing  
to  an  adult  project  means  choosing  one  of  them.  
       In   concrete   fact,   life   is   composed   of   many   bridges,   and   often  
where  we  least  expect  them.  One  avoids  them  only  by  dying,  and  then,  
of   course,   at   the   cost   of   staring   another,   colossal,   bridge   in   the   face—
perhaps   the   same   one   we   crossed   unconsciously,   and   in   the   opposite  
direction,  by  being  born.  Even  so,  the  development  of  an  individual  life  
usually   posits   a   major   crossing   between   two   big   banks   that   Freud  
synthetically  characterized  as  governed,  one,  by  the  pleasure  principle,  
and  the  other  by  the  principle  of  reality.  The  idea  is  that  children,  if  left  
to  their  own  devices,  would  devote  themselves  entirely  to  seeking  their  
own   pleasure.   Adults,   instead,   have   come   to   accept   that   they   can  
pursue  and  obtain  pleasure  only  after  respecting  the  hard  facts  of  life,  



Between,  vol.  IV,  n.  7  (Maggio/  May  2014)    
Thomas  Harrison,  Rhetoric  of  Youth,  or  Bridges  to  Nowhere  
  


including   the   need   to   work   and   to   frequently   defer   amusements’  
enticements.  Youth  is  the  passage  from  one  of  these  orders  to  the  other.  
       Different  cultures  conceive  of  this  crossing  differently,  assigning  it  
different  times  and  tasks  in  life.  The  more  open  a  society,  which  means  
the  more  options  it  affords  its  members,  the  more  bridge-­‐‑like  its  youth  
would  seem1.  When  there  are  many  roads  one  can  take  as  an  adult,  and  
many   houses   to   choose   from,   the   bridgework   depends   largely   on   the  
initiative  of  an  individual  subject.  Building  the  bridge  amounts  to  self-­‐‑
testing  and  self-­‐‑discovery,  both  key  features  of  an  age  which,  according  
to   the   master   psychologist   of   youth,   Erik   Erikson,   is   a   kind   of  
interregnum  or  state  of  suspension  between  two  more  coherent  blocks  
of  life:  «The  adolescent  mind  is  essentially  a  mind  of  the  moratorium,  a  
psychosocial  stage  between  childhood  and  adulthood,  and  between  the  
morality   learned   by   the   child   and   the   ethics   to   be   developed   by   the  
adult»   (Erikson   1963:   262-­‐‑263).   Through   a   process   of   exploration,  
experience,   growth   and   pain2,   the   purpose   of   youth   is   identity  
formation.   One   achieves   that   purpose   through   a   series   of  
accomplishments:  by  integrating  one’s  ego  into  a  broader  community,  
or   allowing   the   “I”   to   become   part   of   a   “We”;   by   making   the   ego  
generative   (normally   through   sexual   procreation,   but   also   through  
works);   and   most   importantly   by   learning   how   to   synthesize   the  
conflicting  impulses  of  youth  into  a  whole  which,  for  better  or  worse,  
one  recognizes  as  one’s  self.  The  ultimate  objective  is  the  achievement  
of   individual   authority   and   autonomy,   an   achievement,   as   we   know,  
which  youth  frequently  claims  avant  le  mot,  as  though  it  were  a  genetic  
entitlement.  Antigone,  for  example,  engaged  in  a  passionate  defense  of  
«the  moral  certainty  of  the  young;  Romeo  and  Juliet  claim  the  authority  
of  their  passion  against  the  rigid  antagonism  of  their  parents»  (Spacks  
1981:  6).  In  his  famous  essay  on  «Family  Romances»,  Freud,  himself  a  
                                                                                                 
                   1
                        I   take   the   distinction   between   open   and   closed   societies   from  
Ferdinand  Tönnies’  classic  study  of  1887,  cfr.  Tönnies  1988.    
                   2
                       These  are  the  terms  with  which  Patricia  Meyer  Spacks,  in  her  study  of  
The  Adolescent  Idea  in  English  literature,  elaborates  Erikson’s  idea  of  youth  as  
testing  and  discovery,  cfr.  Spacks  1981:  3-­‐‑18.  


2  
                                                       Between,  vol.  IV,  n.  7  (Maggio/May  2014)  



child   of   an   open   society,   flatly   declared   that   «the   whole   progress   of  
society   rests   upon   the   opposition   between   successive   generations»  
(Spacks  1981:  5).  Of  course  one  of  the  easiest  ways  to  claim  authority  is  
to   attack   those   who   have   it,   so   that   it   is   hard   to   know   when   these  
passionate  youths  are  really  wedded  to  a  cause  or  are  just  using  it  as  a  
weapon  against  their  elders.  Either  way,  when  the  conflict  is  resolved,  
the  reward  is  a  new  space  of  belonging,  the  formation  of  a  new  home  
and  community.  
          In   societies   that   are   relatively   closed,   by   contrast,   one   generation  
lives  much  like  the  one  that  preceded  it.  Here  the  bridge  of  youth  is  not  
the  construct  of  an  individual  so  much  as  a  joint  thoroughfare.  In  fact,  
it   is   hardly   that   different   from   a   road.   The   life   lying   ahead   appears  
more  or  less  scripted  beforehand,  answering  primarily  to  the  needs  of  a  
particular   tradition   and   trade.   Differences   between   the   terrain   on   this  
bank   and   that   are   not   always   that   marked,   with   children   often   acting  
like  mini-­‐‑adults  from  an  early  age  onward.  The  bridge  from  one  side  to  
the   other   need   not   be   dramatic,   signaling   a   rupture   or   instilling   an  
anxiety  of  destination.  
          Whether  the  society  is  open  or  closed,  however,  the  security  of  the  
crossing   depends   essentially   on   the   stability   of   the   culture.   In   either  
event   transitions   remain   unproblematic   so   long   as   adolescents   face  
firm   and   clear   adult   options.   American   schoolchildren   rehearse   very  
early   for   their   steps   on   the   bridge,   planning   their   choices   for   college  
and  pondering  some  years  in  advance  the  lifestyles  and  professions  the  
system  deems  viable.  What  makes  the  bridge  crossing  precarious  is  an  
inordinate  discontinuity  between  this  side  of  the  river  and  that.  Usually  
the  mismatch  depends  on  unrealistic  expectations  formed  in  childhood  
(whether   through   a   failed   education   or   psychological   malformation).  
But   the   more   interesting   cases   of   discontinuity   arise   from   a   seismic  
change  in  terrain  when  one  is  already  on  the  bridge.  To  put  it  another  
way,   there   are   bridge-­‐‑ages   in   history   as   well   as   in   the   span   of   an  
individual  life,  for  example,  when  the  times  are  suddenly  convulsed—
by  war,  by  social  revolution,  by  radical  changes  of  political  regime,  and  




                                                                                                    3  
Thomas  Harrison,  Rhetoric  of  Youth,  or  Bridges  to  Nowhere  
  


so   on3.   When   the   two   meet—the   bridge-­‐‑age   of   youth   encountering   a  
bridge-­‐‑moment   in   history—the   situation   can   be   just   as   promising   for  
youth  as  it  is  disruptive.    
       Historical  bridge-­‐‑experiences  tend  to  be  registered  collectively,  by  
an  entire  population,  and  most  intensely  by  the  young:  in  the  Romantic  
epoch   following   the   French   Revolution,   for   example;   or   in   the  
generation  of  1968;  or  with  the  collapse  of  East  European  communism;  
or   no   doubt,   too,   in   the   currently   war-­‐‑torn   countries   of   Iraq   and  
Afghanistan.  Those  whose  psyches  are  most  affected  by  these  moments  
of   cultural   insecurity   are   in   transit,   their   decisions   swayed   by  
everything   that   happens   between   the   world   they   are   leaving   behind  
and  the  world  they  planned  to  join.  The  young,  who  already  stand  on  
an   ethical   bridge,   find   their   insecurity   doubled   by   bridge   moments   in  
history,  their  footing  doubly  threatened  by  social  crisis.  
       An   indication   of   this   syndrome   can   be   found   in   the   novel   called  
The   Bridge   over   the   Drina,   written   in   the   1940s   by   the   Nobel   Prize  
winner   (1961)   Ivo   Andric.   The   book   is   an   episodic,   historical   fiction  
relating  the  lives  of  Bosnians  over  the  course  of  four  centuries,  from  the  
building   of   that   bridge   in   Visegrad   by   the   Turks   (in   1571-­‐‑77)   to   the  
outbreak   of   World   War   I.   The   book   ends   with   the   story   of   a  
«generation  of  rebel  angels»  (Andric  1959:  232)  on  these  fringes  of  the  
Austro-­‐‑Hungarian   empire,   who   came   to   ruin   at   the   double   juncture  
they  faced  in  1914:  at  the  bridge  to  their  own  adulthood  and  the  bridge  
to  the  imagined  new  republics  of  central  Europe.    
       These   were   the   first   children   of   Bosnian   peasants   and   petty  
artisans,  notes  Andric,  who  were  able  to  attend  universities  and,  from  
the   universities   and   schools   they   attended,   from   the   great   cities   of  
Vienna   and   Sarajevo,   «these   young   men   came   back   intoxicated   with  
that   feeling   of   proud   audacity   with   which   his   first   and   incomplete  
knowledge   fills   a   man,   and   carried   away   by   ideas   about   the   rights   of  
peoples   to   freedom   and   of   individuals   to   enjoyment   and   dignity»  


                                                                                                 
                   3
                       This  is  a  situation  over  and  beyond  personal  bridge-­‐‑experiences,  such  
as  a  death  in  the  family,  an  emigration  during  adolescence,  and  so  on.  


4  
                                                         Between,  vol.  IV,  n.  7  (Maggio/May  2014)  



(Andric   1959:   231).   Without   making   any   special   effort   of   their   own,  
continues  Andric,  these  young  men    

          had   obtained   from   fate   …   a   free   entry   into   the   world   and   the  
      great   illusion   of   freedom   …   there   was   not   one   of   them   who   did  
      not  have  the  feeling  that  he  could  take  what  he  wished  [from  that  
      world]  and  that  all  that  he  took  was  his.  Life  (that  word  comes  up  
      very   often   in   their   conversation,   as   it   did   in   the   literature   and  
      politics   of   the   time,   when   it   was   always   written   with   a   capital  
      letter),  Life  stood  before  them  as  an  object,  as  a  field  of  action  for  
      their   liberated   senses,   for   their   intellectual   curiosity   and   their  
      sentimental   exploits,   which   knew   no   limits.   All   roads   were   open  
      to  them,  onward  to  infinity.  (Ibid.:  232-­‐‑33)  

       Andric’s   own   judgment   on   this   situation   (and   mind   you,   he   was  
one  of  them),  is  acerbically  recorded  as  follows:  «It  is  hard  to  imagine  a  
more   dangerous   manner   of   entering   into   life   or   a   surer   way   towards  
exceptional   deeds   or   total   disaster»   (ibid.:   233).   Indeed   when   one’s  
expectations  for  the  future  are  as  grand  as  these,  it  is  hard  to  imagine  
how   exceptional   deeds   can   even   be   kept   clear   from   total   disaster.   In  
this   young   generation   the   project   that   normally   guides   the   coming   of  
age   was   doubled,   and   historically   double-­‐‑crossed.   The   danger   lay   in  
conflating   a   program   for   self-­‐‑realization   with   a   program   for   national  
independence,   turning   the   two   into   one.   And   to   make   matters   worse,  
these   Bosnians   imagined   that   their   point   of   arrival   would   be   utterly  
antithetical  to  their  point  of  departure.    
       To  be  sure,  all  human  generations  have  their  own  «illusions  with  
regard   to   civilization»,   writes   Andric;   «some   believe   that   they   are  
taking   part   in   its   upsurge,   others   that   they   are   witnesses   of   its  
extinction».  On  the  eve  of  this  War  the  Bosnian  generation    

          was  richer  only  in  illusions….  It  had  the  feeling  both  of  lighting  
      the   first   fires   of   one   new   civilization   and   extinguishing   the   last  
      flickers  of  another  which  was  burning  out.  What  could  especially  
      be  said  of  them  was  that  there  had  not  been  for  a  long  time  past  a  
      generation  which  with  greater  boldness  had  dreamed  and  spoken  


                                                                                                      5  
Thomas  Harrison,  Rhetoric  of  Youth,  or  Bridges  to  Nowhere  
  


        about  life,  enjoyment  and  freedom  and  which  had  received  less  of  
        life,   suffered   worse,   laboured   harder   and   died   more   often   than  
        had   this   one.   But   in   those   summer   days   of   1913   all   was   still  
        undetermined,   unsure.   Everything   appeared   as   an   exciting   new  
        game   on   that   ancient   bridge,   which   shone   in   the   moonlight   of  
        those  July  nights,  clean,  young  and  unalterable,  strong  and  lovely  
        in  its  perfection,  stronger  than  all  that  time  might  bring  and  men  
        imagine  and  do.  (Ibid.:  233-­‐‑234)  

       No  doubt  there  are  echoes  here  of  the  great  study  of  the  Austro-­‐‑
Hungarian   Empire   on   the   eve   of   the   War   called   The   Man   Without  
Qualities,   by   Robert   Musil,   and   perhaps   even   a   foretaste   of   studies   to  
come   of   the   particularities   of   the   war   generation4.   But   no   work   is   so  
specific   about   the   collusion   between   a   cultural   bridge-­‐‑moment   and   a  
bridge-­‐‑age  in  life  that  is  singularly  disposed  towards  it.  To  emphasize  
the   critical   nature   of   this   link   Andric   stages   these   young   Bosnians’  
conversations  about  their  future  on  a  bridge,  that  very  bridge  over  the  
Drina  that  once  brought  the  Muslim  empire  face-­‐‑to-­‐‑face  with  Christian  
Europe.   But   like   that   bridge,   whose   political   function   had   for   some  
time   been   rendered   obsolete   by   a   railroad,   so   too   the   youth   of   this  
transitional   moment   was   destined   not   to   reach   its   goal.   Those   who   in  
1913  dreamed  «about  life,  enjoyment  and  freedom»  with  such  boldness  
were   the   very   same   people   who   «suffered   worse,   labored   harder   and  
died   more   often»   than   any   generation   before   it.   Their   bridge   led  
nowhere.  
       Were  it  not  for  this  complication  we  would  have  only  one  side  of  
the  dialectics  of  youth.  We  would  have  that  ethos  described  in  Andric’s  
pages   which   is   so   redolent   of   D’Annunzio   and   Marinetti:   the   full-­‐‑
throttle   forward,   the   sanguine   propulsion   toward   self-­‐‑assertion,  
toward   seizing   each   occasion   for   the   furtherance   of   one’s   notions.  
Many  youths  incanted  such  tones  on  the  eve  of  the  Great  War  and  later  
recanted;  some  perdured  in  their  youthful  vein  their  whole  lives  long.  
The  passionate  commitment  to  change  is  only  one  half  of  the  dialectics  

                                                                                                 
                   4
                       For  example  Wohl  1979;  Fussell  2000;  Eksteins  1990.  


6  
                                                          Between,  vol.  IV,  n.  7  (Maggio/May  2014)  



of   a   bridge-­‐‑age   in   a   bridge-­‐‑moment   of   culture.   If   you   flip   it   over,   the  
overweening   enthusiasm   of   youth,   its   sentimental   intellectualism   and  
absolutism,   reveals   a   susceptibility   to   depression,   the   fragility   of  
youth’s   faith,   its   quickness   to   sense   defeat.   Being   on   the   bridge,   I  
contend,   is   a   bi-­‐‑polar   experience.   Some   youths   keep   their   eyes   on   the  
envisioned  bank,  some  waver  and  totter,  some  even  jump  off.  The  most  
eloquent   rhetoric   of   youth   recognizes   the   suspended   condition,  
registering  the  conflict  as  conflict.    
         The   bridge-­‐‑moment   of   1914   collapsed   under   the   burdens   it   was  
made  to  bear.  The  greater  the  promise  it  extended,  the  more  uncertain  
the  situation  ahead.  A  similar  scenario  occurs  in  the  years  following  the  
French  revolution,  an  event  which  inspires  the  youth  of  Europe  to  exalt  
its  bridge-­‐‑like  nature  in  the  most  fervid  manner,  filling  the  shores  with  
the  cries  of  a  Byron  and  Keats  and  Hölderlin  and  Shelley,  all  intent  on  
an   ideal   shore.   These   writings   bridge   two   bridge-­‐‑experiences:   one   of  
youth  and  one  of  culture.  And  we  find  it  again  in  the  late  1960s,  where  
it  was  mainly  music  that  functioned  this  way,  and  where  it  is  hard  to  
imagine   its   lyrics   being   written   by   anyone   over   twenty-­‐‑five,   and  
neither  ten  years  earlier  nor  ten  years  later.  If  such  works  of  the  young  
did  not  articulate  two  bridge-­‐‑ages,  they  would  not  hold  half  the  interest  
that   they   do.   Nor   would   they   hold   that   interest   if   their   authors   had  
crossed   the   bridge   without   trauma.   They   would   not   have   been   true  
spokesmen  of  youth.  
         In   the   post-­‐‑revolutionary   age,   a   young   man   who   undergoes   a  
syndrome  similar  to  that  of  Andric’s  generation  is  Ugo  Foscolo.  Born  in  
1778,   he   composes   his   epistolary   novel,   Ultime   lettere   di   Iacopo   Ortis   at  
age   nineteen   in   the   wake   of   the   clamorous   opportunities   that   the  
emperor   Napoleon   had   created   for   a   political   revolution   in   Europe.  
Like  many  other  intellectuals,  Foscolo  was  swept  away  by  the  prospect  
of   a   new,   non-­‐‑aristocratic   form   of   political   organization   that   could   be  
instituted  on  the  pattern  of  the  French.  But  instead,  his  letters  of  Iacopo  
Ortis  record  cataclysmic  disappointment.  They  register  a  young  man’s  
progress   from   extreme   existential   and   political   hope   to   embitterment,  
denunciation,   and   self-­‐‑despair.   The   issue   once   again   is   a   failed  
conflation   of   personal   and   national   self-­‐‑realization.   Iacopo   Ortis’s  


                                                                                                       7  
Thomas  Harrison,  Rhetoric  of  Youth,  or  Bridges  to  Nowhere  
  


psychology   evolves   from   the   social   bond   of   me-­‐‑and-­‐‑them,   in   which  
political   aspirations   are   rooted,   to   an   existential   opposition   of   me-­‐‑
against-­‐‑them   to   which   a   group-­‐‑bonding   youth   so   easily   reverts   when  
disappointed.   One   happens   in   these   letters   is   a   non-­‐‑passage   from   the  
“me”  to  the  “us”  by  which  an  adolescent  joins  an  adult  community  and  
also  politicizes  his  personal  hopes.    
        In   more   practical   terms,   Foscolo   had   to   have   invested   an  
enormous   amount   of   hope   in   the   occupation   of   Italy   to   have   been   so  
undone   by   its   outcome.   In   1797   Napoleon   liberates   Venice,   Foscolo’s  
homeland,   from   its   ruling   oligarchy,   to   the   jubilation   of   many,   but  
barely  five  months  later  cedes  it  to  Austria.  A  political  bridge  had  been  
erected  only  to  be  torn  down.  That  is  when,  in  October  1797,  Ortis  goes  
into  exile  and  starts  registering  his  subjectivity  in  these  letters.  Within  a  
year   and   a   half   he   has   committed   suicide.   Clearly   the   young   Foscolo  
had   a   more   ideal   conception   of   politics   than   did   his   hero   Napoleon,  
and   quickly   concluded   that   politics   is   «una   perpetua   ruota   di   servitù,  
di   licenza   e   di   tirannia»   (a   perpetual   cycle   of   servitude,   license,   and  
tyranny,  Foscolo  1981:  93-­‐‑94/92)5.  There  is  only  one  coherent  response  
to   this   situation   as   far   as   Ortis   is   concerned:   «Fuggirò   il   vitupèrio  
morendo   ignoto»   (I   shall   flee   from   shame   by   dying   unknown,   ibid.:  
94/92).   He   experienced   the   political   dead-­‐‑end   as   a   personal   death.   As  
his   political   and   sentimental   hopes   are   dashed,   the   once   sanguine  
activist  of  the  future  finds  himself  stranded  between  all  that  he  has  left  
behind   and   an   ever   more   distant   other   shore.   Having   idealized   his  
future   as   a   full-­‐‑fledged   Venetian,   enjoying   a   new   homeland,   he   now  
laments   his   lost   childhood   —   «quel   fuoco   celeste   che   nel   tempo   della  
fresca   mia   gioventù   spargeva   raggi   su   tutte   le   cose   che   mi   stavano  
intorno,   mentre   oggi   vo   brancolando   in   una   vota   oscurità!»   (celestial  
fire  which  in  the  time  of  my  first  youth  illuminated  everything  around,  
while   today   I   am   groping   in   vacuity   and   darkness,   ibid.:   98/97).  
Another   broken   bridge   severs   him   from   the   group   whose   goals   he  
thought  were  shared:  «O  amico  mio!  ciascun  individuo  è  nemico  nato  
                                                                                                 
                   5
                       Page  references  to  the  English  translations  will  hereafter  follow  those  
of  the  original.  


8  
                                                              Between,  vol.  IV,  n.  7  (Maggio/May  2014)  



della  Società,  perchè  la  Società  è  necessaria  nemica  degli  individui»  (O  
my  friend,  every  individual  is  a  born  enemy  of  society,  because  society  
is  of  necessity  hostile  to  individuals,  ibid.:  107/108).  Like  so  many  of  his  
age,   the   most   fervent   political   believer   becomes   power’s   most   bitter  
critic.    
        It  could  be  that  Foscolo’s  generation  (like  that  of  1968,  the  travails  
of  which  are  the  subject  of  a  line  of  Italian  films  from  La  meglio  gioventù,  
2003,  to  Mio  fratello  è  figlio  unico,  2007)  over-­‐‑invested  in  the  idea  of  self-­‐‑
determination.   Two   years   after   his   letters   were   published,   John   Keats  
had   his   own   rhetoric   for   this,   claiming   that   the   world   was   nothing  
other   than   a   «vale   of   Soul-­‐‑making».   What   does   he   mean   by   Soul-­‐‑
making?   The   millions   of   brains   and   intellects   that   wander   the   earth,  
Keats  explains,  «are  not  Souls  till  they  acquire  identities,  till  each  one  is  
personally   itself»6.   The   key   word   is   “identity,”   the   acquisition   of  
identity,  the  very  proof  of  a  Soul,  and  the  bank  sought  by  youth.  It  is  
also  a  notion  that,  two  hundred  years  later,  we  are  still  questioning.    
        A   man   three   years   younger   than   Keats,   Giacomo   Leopardi,   was  
thoroughly   disabused   of   all   rhetorical   naiveté   concerning   the  
mechanisms  at  work  in  identity  formation.  At  age  twenty-­‐‑six  he  looked  
around  him  and  concluded  that  his  fellow  Italians  did  not  possess  such  
an   identity,   nor   were   likely   to   acquire   it   in   the   course   of   the   century.  
Even   less   did   they   show   signs   of   that   collective   association   called   a  
nation.   Sopra   i   costumi   degli   italiani,   from   1824,   stipulates   that   Italians  
lack   the   civic   values,   communal   beliefs   and   public   virtues   that   unify  
the   citizens   of   France,   Germany,   England,   and   Russia.   Italians   have  
usanze  but  not  costumi  (usages,  but  not  mores),  primarily  because  they  
lack  an  authoritative,  social  elite  to  discipline  their  impulses.  But  they  
are  cynical  and  disillusioned  people  for  two  other  reasons:  (1)  they  lose  
their   childhood   earlier   than   others,   and   (2)   they   do   not   find   ways   to  
«carry  it  over»  into  adult  domains  (Leopardi  1991:  47-­‐‑59).  Now  anyone  
who   knows   Leopardi’s   work   is   aware   that   he   viewed   the   exit   from  
childhood  as  a  most  desolate  of  prospects,  for  it  destroyed  everything  
                                                                                                 
                   6
                       John  Keats,  Letter  to  the  George  Keatses,  21  April  1819;  qtd.  in  Cousineau  
1994:  157.  


                                                                                                            9  
Thomas  Harrison,  Rhetoric  of  Youth,  or  Bridges  to  Nowhere  
  


that  made  life  worth  living:  vivacity,  enthusiasm,  imagination,  the  pull  
of  illusion  and  the  spirit  of  play.  His  writing  addresses  neither  one  side  
of   the   bridge   nor   the   other;   it   ponders   the   bridge,   unfolding   the   tragic  
nature  of  the  crossing.  And  yet  there  are  notable  exceptions  to  the  rule.  
The   cultures   of   ancient   Greece   and   Rome   succeeded   in   pulling   youth  
across   the   bridge,   by   sublimating   its   illusions   and   dreams   into   firm  
creeds,   ideals   and   mores,   into   grand   visions   and   art.   By   this   logic   the  
only   viable   passage   into   adulthood   is   one   that   transports   the   traits   of  
childhood  with  it,  instituting  various  new  “reasoned”  versions  of  play,  
or   reasoned   plays   of   the   imagination.   Aside   from   Greece   and   Rome,  
Leopardi   commends   only   the   Italian   Renaissance   and   the   French  
Revolution   for   re-­‐‑injecting   some   basic   illusory   convictions   and  
youthful   enthusiasm   into   the   ways   of   Europe,   producing   rare  
harmonies   of   individuality   and   sociality,   of   personal   and   collective  
good7.  
       The   identity   formation   aspired   to   by   Foscolo   was,   in   Leopardi’s  
estimation,   too   distant   a   goal   for   the   peoples   of   Italy.   In   fact,   it   was   a  
losing   proposition   for   all   nations   of   Europe   in   the   19th   century.   While  
Leopardi   clearly   believed   that   he   was   living   in   the   age   of   the  
individual,   he   believed   that   the   ideology   of   individualism   only  
fostered   atomized   sameness,   nations   that   in   truth   were   only  
aggregated   masses,   whose   cultural   specificities   were   destined   to  
disappear.   Prime   responsibility   for   this   paradox   lay   with   increasingly  
commercial  and  centralized  new  forms  of  cultural  mediation  (what  we  
now   call   the   mass   media),   but   the   development   was   also   inextricably  
tied  to  the  principles  of  individualism  that  this  mediation  served.  The  
overvaluation  of  the  so-­‐‑called  individual  identity,  to  which  the  bridge  
of   youth   is   often   expected   to   lead,   was   part   of   the   reason   for   cultural  
disaggregation,   for   it   built   egoism   without   true   forms   of   bonding.   As  
the   century   wears   on,   this   ideology   of   individualism   comes   under  
increasing  philosophical  pressure.  One  simple  reason,  perhaps,  is  that  
                                                                                                 
                   7
                        On   this   theme   see   the   selections   from   Leopardi’s   Zibaldone   contained  
in   Leopardi   1992,   as   well   as   Rigoni’s   excellent   discussion   introducing   the  
anthology.  


10  
                                                         Between,  vol.  IV,  n.  7  (Maggio/May  2014)  



the  pursuit  of  “authenticity”  had  first  to  contend  with  something  that  
the   century   made   much   more   concrete   and   historically   ubiquitous:  
inauthenticity   (the   idea   that   things   are   standing   in   the   way   of   one’s  
being   what   one   is).   This   may   have   been   what   Foscolo   and   Andric’s  
youth  were  sensing,  namely,  that  the  very  history  that  was  expected  to  
ground   one’s   adult   identity   was   impersonal,   mechanical,   and   alien   to  
the  individual.  
       In   the   heyday   of   psychological   and   sociological   research   at   the  
beginning   of   the   20th   century,   the   problem   was   apparent   everywhere.  
In  the  1920s,  the  author  of  The  Man  Without  Qualities  writes  a  satirical  
story   about   that   component   of   psychic   adulthood   called   character.   Its  
protagonist,   a   man   accused   of   lacking   such   character   his   whole   life  
long,  finally  says  this  in  defense  of  himself  (connecting  his  problem  to  
the  system  he  belongs  to):  «I  am  convinced»,  he  reflects,    

          that   the   development   of   character   is   connected   with   the   way  
       war   is   waged   …   and   that   nowadays,   for   this   very   reason,   it   can  
       only   be   found   among   savages.   For   those   who   fight   with   knives  
       and   spears   need   character   to   come   out   on   top.   But   what   kind   of  
       character,   however   resolute,   can   stand   up   against   tanks,   flame  
       throwers  and  clouds  of  poison  gas?!8  (Musil  1987:  113)  

      In   addition   to   whatever   character   one   might   accrue   by   the   time  
one   is   an   adult,   one   must   also   take   account   of   at   least   a   half-­‐‑dozen  
others:    

          a   sexual,   a   national,   a   state,   a   class,   and   a   geographical  
       character  to  boot,  you  have  a  handwriting  character,  a  character  of  
       the  lines  in  your  hand,  of  the  shape  of  your  skull,  and  if  possible,  a  
       character   that   derives   from   the   constellation   of   the   stars   at   the  
                                                                                                 
                   8
                        Translation   slightly   revised.   Failing   to   show   character   as   an  
adolescent,  Musil’s  protagonist  eventually  takes  to  modeling  himself  on  roles  
dramatized  in  the  plays  and  novels  that  he  reads,  none  of  which  proves  any  
more   viable   to   the   ethical   demands   of   life   in   the   20th   century   than   the  
throwers  of  spears.  


                                                                                                     11  
Thomas  Harrison,  Rhetoric  of  Youth,  or  Bridges  to  Nowhere  
  


       moment  of  your  birth.  All  that  is  too  much  for  me.  I  never  know  
       which  of  my  characters  to  follow.  (Ibid.:  112)  

         This  man  without  character  recommends  that  we  give  up  all  this  
talk   about   character   and   think   of   humanity   a   little   more   scientifically,  
in   terms   of   discipline   and   statistics.   Could   it   be,   wonders   Musil’s  
narrator,   that   this   much-­‐‑maligned   man   is   a   forerunner   of   an   entirely  
new  way  of  being  human?    
         Perhaps;   but   in   the   meantime   the   epoch   had   to   deal   with   the  
maladjustments  and  frustrations  that  are  so  well  described  by  another  
observer   of   the   impersonality   of   accrued   identity,   Luigi   Pirandello.  
What  is  his  Sei  personaggi  in  cerca  d’autore  (1921)  if  not  an  attack  on  the  
notion   of   viable   adult   identity?   Although   each   character   in   that   play  
has   a   very   clear   face,   and   destinies   as   immutable   as   those   of   Greek  
heroes,   they   all   suffer   from   the   fact   that   their   story   has   not   been  
authored,  nor  authorized.  For  our  purposes  the  most  interesting  case  is  
that   of   the   Son,   a   man   in   his   early   twenties   who   normally   would   be  
expected   to   have   developed   an   identity   by   this   time.   But   that   never  
happened.   While   the   Father   and   the   Mother   and   the   Daughter   in   the  
play   are   oppressed   by   the   possession   of   a   character   they   did   not  
choose,  the  Son  suffers  from  the  inability  to  develop  into  any  character  
at  all.  His  dramatic  fate  is  thus  to  cry  out  from  time  to  time  throughout  
the  play,  «Non  ho  proprio  nulla,  io,  da  fare  qui!  Me  ne  lasci  andare  …  
Io   non   rappresento   nulla!»   (Pirandello   1969:   68,   73).   The   speechless,  
unachieved   Son   is   stuck   on   the   bridge,   utterly   suspended.   In   this  
moratorium   condition,   there   is   no   plot   that   he   can   belong   to.   And,   in  
the  meantime,  while  an  adult  plot  is  sought,  Pirandello  plots  the  non-­‐‑
plot.    
         For  all  its  living  complexities,  the  problem  of  the  son  comes  down  
to   a   problem   of   writing,   of   bridging   an   inner   intention   with   an   outer  
expression.  Passing  into  adulthood  means  giving  a  relatively  coherent  
shape  to  all  that  is  seething  within  or,  if  nothing  else,  of  creating  a  bond  
between   the   fluid,   dynamic   inner   self   and   the   outer,   enfranchised  
persona  of  a  public  community.  The  resulting  identity  would  have  the  
shape  of  a  smoother  or  rougher  connection,  the  structure  of  two  banks  


12  
                                                            Between,  vol.  IV,  n.  7  (Maggio/May  2014)  



of   a   river   cemented   together.   The   characters   I   have   discussed   so   far  
have   rather   more   the   look   of   a   broken   bridge.   Now   if   the   bridge   is  
language—an  adequate  rhetoric  to  bridge  A  to  B—then  it  follows  that  
writings  of  the  young  can  only  be  efforts  at  self-­‐‑construction.  The  last  
case  I  will  discuss  is  one  example  of  one  such  text  of  youth,  the  written  
log  of  a  young  man  who  was  on  the  bridge  as  he  wrote.    
         Carlo   Michelstaedter,   the   author   of   a   great   study   in   nihilistic  
idealism  called  La  persuasione  e  la  rettorica  (1910),  was  perfectly  poised  
to   make   a   move   into   adulthood   in   1908,   when,   at   age   twenty-­‐‑one,   he  
left   home   to   attend   university   in   Florence.   Florence   was   an   ideal   city  
for  this  Italian  from  the  Austrian  empire  to  acquire  a  sense  of  personal  
and   national   belonging,   exposing   him   to   the   productive   examples   of  
other   progressive   young   Italians   like   Papini,   Prezzolini,   and   the  
industrious   vociani,   and   indirectly   even   the   Futurists.   His   itinerary,  
from   a   type   of   cultural   exile   in   the   irredentist   region   of   Trieste   to   the  
homeland,   would   seem   to   have   held   promise.   But   Michelstaedter’s  
passage   was   not   successful.   Instead   of   concluding   his   adult  
apprenticeship  he  took  his  own  life  the  day  he  finished  his  university  
thesis,   the   same   work   published   by   Adelphi   as   La   persuasione   e   la  
rettorica,  at  age  twenty-­‐‑three9.  Metaphorically  speaking,  he  jumped  off  
the  bridge.  
         Michelstaedter   belonged   to   the   same   generation   as   Andric’s  
young  Bosnians,  but  he  never  made  their  investment  in  a  distant  shore  
of   personal   and   national   self-­‐‑realization.   His   crisis,   instead   of   being  
historical   (where   one   condition   of   life   stands   on   the   point   of   giving  
way   to   another),   was   cultural.   The   bank   from   which   he   started   his  
youthful  crossing  was  already  fragmented,  broken  into  different  ethnic  
and   linguistic   groups   not   endowed   with   a   solid   model   of   paternal   or  
political   authority.   Michelstaedter’s   childhood   was   spent   in   an   Italian  
                                                                                                 
                   9
                        Michelstaedter   1982.   This   work   has   been   published   in   a   cluttered  
English  edition  by  Russell  Scott  Valentino,  Cinzia  Sartini  Blum  and  David  J.  
Depew  (2004).  Translations  will  be  revised  and  referenced  immediately  after  
the  original  citations.  An  excellent  alternative  to  this  translation  is  harder  to  
find:  Michelstaedter  2007.    


                                                                                                        13  
Thomas  Harrison,  Rhetoric  of  Youth,  or  Bridges  to  Nowhere  
  


town  (Gorizia)  that  had  been  culturally  and  politically  administered  by  
the   Austrians   for   more   than   a   century;   where   this   Italian   frequented  
German   schools   while   belonging   to   a   community   of   liberal   Jews.  
Unlike   the   crisis   of   Foscolo   and   the   young   Serbs   in   Bosnia,  
characterizing   a   moratorium   between   adolescence   and   adulthood,   the  
multicultural  society  of  Michelstaedter  put  adolescence  itself  already  in  
crisis.  The  bridge  in  front  of  this  Triestine  youth  was  up  in  the  air  from  
the   start:   there   was   no   clear   idea   of   where   it   should   lead,   or   where   it  
should  set  out  from.    
       In   cases   like   this,   where   the   discontinuities   are   synchronic   even  
before   they   are   diachronic,   we   recognize   the   extent   to   which   the  
passage  of  youth  can  be  wracked  by  a  series  of  conflicts  independent  of  
age:   the   opposition   between   urban   and   rural   lifestyles,   class  
antagonisms,   social   mobility,   the   issues   of   gender   identification,  
conflicting  ideologies,  and  geocultural  contrasts  within  a  nation  that  is  
one  only  in  name.  At  certain  times  and  places  such  differences  can  exist  
on   one   and   the   same   street;   and   still   they   must   be   bridged   by   any  
person  who  takes  them  as  the  raw  material  of  personal  identity.  
       Michelstaedter,  instead  of  passing  from  one  bank  of  confused  and  
uncertain  youth  to  another  of  ostensibly  firm  adult  identity,  records  the  
very  condition  of  between-­‐‑ness  which  irremediably  marks  the  passage.  
His   is   an   exasperated   scriptorial   moratorium   between   sites   that   are  
only   hypothetical   unities.   Unlike   the   bridge   of   more   homogenous  
youths  on  the  eve  of  the  War,  Michelstaedter’s  is  one  that  he  wanders  
alone,   without   company,   and   with   no   clear   end   in   view.   And   he  
legitimates  this  crisis  by  projecting  it  onto  human  subjectivity  at  large.    
       His   dissertation   opens   with   the   very   personal,   peremptory  
declaration,   «So   che   voglio   e   non   ho   cosa   io   voglia»   (I   know   that   I   want  
and  do  not  have  what  I  want,  Michelstaedter  1982:  39/8).  The  dilemma  
is  not  that  «I  want  something,  but  do  not  have  it».  It  is  that  «I  desire,  I  
know  that  I  desire,  that  I  exist  in  a  condition  of  wanting,  and  that  this  
wanting   cannot   be   appeased».   Michelstaedter   illustrates   his   point   by  
way  of  a  metaphor:    




14  
                                                        Between,  vol.  IV,  n.  7  (Maggio/May  2014)  



          Un  peso  pende  ad  un  gancio,  e  per  pender  soffre  che  non  può  
      scendere:  non  può  uscire  dal  gancio,  poiché  quant’è  peso  pende  e  
      quanto  pende  dipende….  La  sua  vita  è  questa  mancanza  della  sua  
      vita.   Quando   esso   non   mancasse   più   di   niente—ma   fosse   finito,  
      perfetto:   possedesse   sé   stesso,   esso   avrebbe   finito   d’esistere….   Il  
      peso  non  può  mai  esser  persuaso.  (Ibid.:  39-­‐‑40)  
            
      A   weight   hangs   on   a   hook,   and   in   hanging   suffers   that   it   cannot  
      fall:  it  cannot  get  off  the  hook,  for  being  a  weight  it  is  suspended,  
      and  in  being  suspended  it  is  dependent…..  Its  life  is  this  lack  of  its  
      life.  If  it  lacked  nothing  whatsoever—but  were  finished,  perfect:  if  
      it  possessed  itself,  it  would  cease  to  exist….  The  weight  can  never  be  
      persuaded.  (8-­‐‑9)  

       The   weight   cannot   be   itself,   “what   it   is,”   without   being   held   up,  
without   being   stopped   from   reaching   a   place   that   would   satisfy   it.   It  
represents  the  eternal  bridge  of  desire,  the  link  between  self  and  other,  
or   self   and   world,   whose   union   is   the   very   objective   of   youth.   This  
bridge-­‐‑condition  is  an  experience  of  distance  and  tension,  of  not-­‐‑being  
and  not  reaching,  a  situation  particularly  dramatic  for  youth  in  periods  
of   cultural   multiplicity,   transition   or   crisis.   To   borrow   the   words   of  
Simone   Weil,   it   amounts   to   a   realization   that   ultimately   humans  
possess   nothing   in   the   world   «except   the   power   to   say   ‘I’»   (Ibid.:71),  
and   that   this   “I”   on   which   we   build   our   claims   is   a   shifter   without  
substance.    
       Like  Weil,  Michelstaedter  generalizes  the  dilemma  to  humanity  at  
large.   La   persuasione   e   la   rettorica   provides   an   elaborate   proof   for   this  
lack  of  identity  as  the  only  real  basis  for  self-­‐‑possession,  as  a  paradoxical  
authenticity  variously  propounded  by  the  teachings  of  the  Buddha,  by  
Jesus  of  Nazareth,  Socrates,  Leopardi,  and  the  Greek  tragedians.  To  be  
human  is  to  be  on  an  eternal  and  interminable  bridge  crossing.  This  is  
that  metaphysics  of  desire  which  culture  can  only  mitigate,  providing  
practical   resolutions   in   the   form   of   a   binding   profession,   a   joint   life  
with  a  loved  person,  a  secure  and  comforting  lifestyle.  But  all  these,  for  
Michelstaedter,   are   the   trappings   of   “rhetoric”—an   inadequate  
linguistic  practice.  His  persuasion,  instead,  the  inner  conviction  of  self,  


                                                                                                    15  
Thomas  Harrison,  Rhetoric  of  Youth,  or  Bridges  to  Nowhere  
  


remains   voiceless,   for   it   recognizes   that   the   possession   of   oneself   in  
things  outside  oneself  is  impossible,  that  one  is  suspended  instead  on  a  
bridge,  a  non-­‐‑place  perhaps,  but  more  firmly  one’s  own  than  the  places  
on  either  side.    
       Only   youth   can   speak   this   way,   even   if   what   it   says   is   perfectly  
true.  With  its  inbred  yearning,  its  predilection  for  poetry,  longing,  and  
unfulfillment,   its   stylistic   experiments   and   self-­‐‑projections,   youth   can  
readily   declare   the   permanence   of   such   a   condition,   which   other   ages  
cannot  live  in.  This  is  what  both  György  Lukács  and  Walter  Benjamin  
called   the   «metaphysics   of   youth»,   which   could   also   be   called   a  
metaphysics   of   the   soul,   and   it   never   establishes   a   reign   on   earth.   At  
most   it   can   create   spaces   for   itself   in   the   interstices   between   one  
experience  and  another,  in  the  separation  between  the  near  and  the  far  
banks   of   a   river.   It   is   a   type   of   homeless   interregnum,   to   which   even  
Iacopo   Ortis,   after   all   his   romantic   dreams,   is   ultimately   committed.  
«Così  nel  mio  furore»,  as  he  concludes,  «mi  prostendo  su  la  polvere  a  
scongiurare   orrendamente   un   Dio   che   non   conosco»   (and   so   in   my  
frenzy  …  I  throw  myself  down  in  the  dust  horribly  beseeching  a  God  
whom  I  do  not  know,  Foscolo  1981:  109/110)10.  «Se  tu  mi  concedevi  una  
patria»,   he   cries   to   the   same   unknowable   divinity,   «io   avrei   speso   il  
mio   ingegno   e   il   mio   sangue   tutto   per   lei»   (If   you   had   granted   me   a  
homeland,   I   would   have   spent   all   my   intellect   and   my   blood   on   its  
behalf,  ibid.:  131/135);  but  that  homeland  was  not  to  be  reached.  Of  the  
real   life   he   tried   so   hard   to   achieve   he   can   only   say   this,   «io   non   la  
conosco  se  non  nel  sentimento  del  dolore»  (I  know  it  only  in  the  feeling  
of  grief,  ibid.:  113/114)  
       This  kind  of  writing,  protracting  the  expanse  of  a  bridge  that  most  
adjusted   adults   step   off,   is   a   crystallization   of   the   age   of   youth.   If  
mature   writers   possess   the   proper   distance   to   characterize   this   state   of  
mind,  contextualizing  its  crossing  in  a  broader  landscape  of  life,  those  
who  speak  to  youth  in  their  own  voice  tend  to  make  a  hyperbole  of  this  

                                                                                                 
                   10
                          The  invocation  of  an  “unknown  God”  is  a  familiar  theme  of  youth.  Cf.  
Nietzsche’s  youthful  poem  To  an  Unknown  God.



16  
                                                       Between,  vol.  IV,  n.  7  (Maggio/May  2014)  



same   condition.   In   a   sense   they   even   reject   the   crossing,   eternalizing  
the   voice   of   a   youth   they   never   surpassed.   Those   speaking   from   a  
bridge   see   their   youth   as   an   absolute   state,   not   a   transitional   one,  
adamantly   presenting   its   suspension   as   a   selfless   condition   of  
authenticity.   Where   adult   writers   can   describe   the   configuration   of  
solid  bridges,  this  kind  of  youth  reveals  the  bridge  as  both  an  act  and  
an   art   of   construction,   secretly   abhorring   completion.   It   is   an   art   of   a  
somewhere  whose  authority  is  nowhere,  a  somewhere  that  is  nowhere  
sanctioned.   Paradoxical   though   it   may   seem,   where   youth   is   a   bridge  
to  nowhere,  there  its  voice  rings  out  most  dramatically.    



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Thomas  Harrison,  Rhetoric  of  Youth,  or  Bridges  to  Nowhere  
  


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                                              L’autore  
Thomas  Harrison    
        
      Thomas   Harrison   è   professore   ordinario   alla   University   of  
California  di  Los  Angeles,  dove  dirige  il  dipartimento  di  italianistica.  
                                   
      Email:  harrison@humnet.ucla.edu  



                            Come  citare  questo  articolo  
Harrison,   Thomas,   “Rhetoric   of   Youth,   or   Bridges   to   Nowhere”,  
Between,  IV.7  (2014),  http://www.Between-­‐‑journal.it/  
  




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