Can first principles reveal universal laws in literary criticism?

This is an interesting question, a bit like asking, "Is there a universal formula for cooking?" Let's discuss it.

First, what are "first principles"? Simply put, it's about breaking something down to its most basic, core units, understanding what it's truly made of, and then thinking from these fundamental units. For example, when building a car, instead of just thinking "how can we make current cars better," one might ask, "what are the most basic materials for building a car? Aluminum, steel, batteries... how much do these cost?" Thinking from the source like this can lead to disruptive innovation.

Alright, so what are "first principles" in literary criticism? We can dissect a literary work and ask: what are its most basic units?

• Words/Language: These are the foundational bricks.
• Story/Plot: What happens?
• Characters: Who experiences these events?
• Emotion: What feelings does this story and its characters evoke in you?
• Conflict: What contradictions and struggles exist within the story?

These are roughly the most core "atoms" of literature. So, starting from these "atoms," can we find "universal laws"?

My view is: we can find some very vague, nearly universal human patterns, but it's difficult to form "laws of literature" that are as universally applicable as physical laws.

Why can we find some?

Because no matter your country or era, as long as you are human, there are some common underlying psychological codes. For example:

1. We are all interested in "conflict": A story that is smooth-sailing and uneventful will bore most people. Therefore, "creating conflict and resolving conflict" can be considered a very fundamental law in novels and dramas.
2. We can all empathize with "characters": We feel sad when a character suffers; we feel happy when they succeed. Thus, creating a character that readers can relate to or understand is crucial for a work's success.
3. We all crave "meaning" and "order": By the end of a story, it should provide us with some "explanation," whether it's good triumphing over evil, revealing the complexity of human nature, or expressing a certain philosophy. Completely chaotic and meaningless narratives are difficult for the general public to accept.

From this perspective, first principles can help us cut through the fog of different cultures and schools of thought to see the core psychological mechanisms that make literature moving. For instance, the "Hero's Journey" model can be seen in myths and stories worldwide, which is a pattern derived from fundamental human needs.

But why are these "laws" not so "universal" and "absolute"?

Because literature is not science; it doesn't deal with objective, cold data, but with the most complex things: humans and culture.

1. Aesthetics are highly subjective and culturally dependent: A poem you find exquisitely beautiful might be incomprehensible to someone from a different cultural background. We might feel that Dream of the Red Chamber captures the essence of human relationships, but a foreigner completely unfamiliar with Chinese patriarchal society and subtle culture might only see it as a group of people constantly falling in love and dealing with domestic trivialities. There is no universal formula for "beauty."
2. Literature itself constantly breaks "rules": There will always be genius writers who emerge, break all the rules you've summarized, and create new, equally great works. For example, traditional novels emphasize coherent plots, but stream-of-consciousness novels broke this rule. If you were to judge Ulysses by the "rule" that "there must be a clear storyline," it would fail.
3. Reader participation is part of the creation: The same book will feel completely different when you read it at 18 versus 40. Readers bring their own life experiences to a text, and only then is the work's meaning fully realized. This variable is too vast to be confined by a single law.

So, what's the conclusion?

I believe that in literary criticism, first principles are an excellent thinking tool, not a detector that can uncover ultimate truths.

They can help you:

• Avoid blindly following others: Instead of getting caught up in fancy critical jargon, you can return to fundamental questions like "What makes this story good?" and "Why does it move me?"
• Conduct cross-cultural comparisons: They help you understand why works from different cultures vary so widely in form, yet their core might be exploring common themes like "love and death," "growth," and "loneliness."
• Understand creation more deeply: They allow you to think like a chef, considering how the author uses basic ingredients like "conflict," "emotion," and "rhythm" to cook up this unique dish.

However, if you try to use them to find a "universal formula for great works" and then apply that formula to all literature, it will largely be ineffective. The charm of literature lies precisely in its uncertainty, ambiguity, and infinite possibilities. First principles can lead you to the entrance, but the scenery beyond the door requires you to experience it personally with your own heart.