tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44326457600545567742018-02-20T05:55:26.406-08:00Tom Bailey's BlogLiterary and Ideological MusingsThomas Baileynoreply@blogger.comBlogger185125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-64294170264226346922017-08-21T00:02:00.001-07:002017-08-21T00:02:55.137-07:00The Use of Names in Ben Jonson's Plays<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The astute choice of a character’s name is something we, as readers, cherish in literature.  We only have to recall Dickens’s villains to see how important a name can be in the depiction of a certain personality – the name Ebenezer Scrooge (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Christmas Carol</i>), for example, with its harsh consonants, immediately hints at unkindness and cruelty, whilst the name Verneering (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Our Mutual Friend</i>) at once reveals a sense of superficiality and an obsession with ostentation.  When dwelling on the importance of names in literature, we may also recall Virginia Woolf’s feminist novel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Room of One’s Own</i>, the heroine of which is never fully identified apart from as ‘Mary’.  Given that this name was, at the time, the most common female name, this naming sets her forth as a universal figure of feminine life.  This tradition of the precise selecting of names partly stems back to Medieval morality plays, in which the characters each represent a particular virtue or vice and are named accordingly: in the anonymously-written, archetypal morality play, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Everyman</i>, the protagonist is surrounded by characters like ‘Good-Deeds’, ‘Beauty’, ‘Knowledge’ and ‘Strength’.  Arguably, it was this tradition that Ben Jonson drew on in the skilled naming of his characters: though their names can be easily overlooked, his specific choices often emphasise particular aspects of his satirical writing.  In his three most famous comedies, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Volpone</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Alchemist</i>, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bartholomew Fair</i>, Jonson uses names to exemplify the idiosyncrasies of his characters before we have even met them, and it is often the naming of his characters that drives his satire or elucidates his plots.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The naming of characters in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Volpone </i>is the simplest manifestation of this phenomenon.  In the play, Jonson draws directly on the medieval fabliaux tradition and, as Michael Jamieson points out, ‘The people of the play are, through their names, invested with animal symbolism…’ The play is set in Venice, a city which was, to the Elizabethans, seen as a hub of corruption – many audience members would recall the usury of Shylock in Shakespeare’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Merchant of Venice</i>.  The name Volpone, in Italian, literally means ‘sly fox’, and thus the protagonist comes to represent this corruption – his manipulative scheming (evident in his comic asides), like that of Subtle, Face, and Doll in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Alchemist</i>, comes straight out of the cony-catching pamphlets of the Early Modern period.  The other characters are likewise elucidated by their names: Corbaccio (‘the raven’), Voltore (‘the vulture’) and Corvino (‘the crow’) are all carrion-eating fowl, hungry not for flesh but for the wealth of the play’s protagonist.  This animalism is so extreme that Corvino, for instance, commits to disinheriting his son and prostituting his wife.  But this is Jonson’s name choosing at its most simple.  More interesting are characters like Sir Politic Would-Be, whose name gives away his role as the ridiculous Englishman abroad, vainly attempting to be politic and sensible, an endeavour in which he fails miserably.  Indeed, he is so absurd that he notes in his diary every single action he performs (including urination) during each day, and he characteristically ends the play hiding in a tortoise shell, the victim of one of Peregrine’s clever pranks.  Thus, we can see how his name goes towards a satire of the ignorant English traveller, his mind filled with extravagant and bizarre business ideas with which he bores characters and audience alike.  Likewise, the name ‘Littlewit’ is ironically telling, making the opening scene of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bartholomew Fair </i>all the more humorous.  This garrulous amateur dramatist is infatuated with his own negligible intelligence, constantly endeavouring to present himself as a witty and clever orator.  For example, when Winwife employs some relatively clichéd metaphors (‘strawberry-breath, cherry-lips, apricot-cheeks, and a soft velvet head’), Littlewit ironically cannot restrain his admiration: ‘that I had not that before him, that I should not light on’t as well as he!  Velvet head!’  Justice Overdo’s name is similarly revealing of his character, predicting the exaggeration and self-satisfied nature of his speeches: ‘Now to my enormities: look upon me, O London!  and see me, O Smithfield!  The example of justice, and mirror of magistrates, the true top of formality, and scourge of enormity.  Hearken unto my labours…!’  He, along with the Puritan Rabbi Zeal-of-the-Land Busy, is just one of the many bourgeois characters of this carnivalesque play whose pretensions to honour, authority and religiosity are mocked by Jonson (who, of course, loathed the Puritans for their critique of the theatre), and it is the naming of these characters that contributes to Jonson’s mockery.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Similar naming techniques are used in one of Jonson’s other satirical comedies, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Alchemist</i>.  Sir Epicure Mammon is one of the ‘gulls’ hoping to get rich from Subtle’s feigned magical skill.  The name Epicure refers to the Ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus, famed for an emphasis on sensual pleasure (though this depiction of his philosophy is somewhat inaccurate and exaggerated).  The name Mammon is also suggestive, meaning </span><span style="color: #1c1c1c; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">‘wealth regarded as an evil influence or false object of worship or devotion’.  To an extent, then, the name Epicure Mammon is oxymoronic – though his forename implies an emphasis on material and physical existence, his surname seems to refute that, again showing how Jonson uses names to mock certain characters.  So it’s no wonder that a character with such a name is so obsessed with the wealth and material riches that he hopes to acquire, which he boasts about to Doll: he shall have ‘</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Roboto-Light;">glasses / Cut in more subtle angles, to disperse / And multiply the figures, as I walk / Naked between my succubæ. ’<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Roboto-Light;">Even more witty a choice of name is the name adopted by Jeremy the Butler, who refers to himself as Captain Face whilst he is operating as a member of London’s criminal underworld.  The name alone suggests the adoption of a mask, though we don’t find out until Act V that his real name is Jeremy.  As Jonathan Haynes points out, ‘All traces of origin are effaced’ by Face’s ‘constant and impeccable role-playing.’  Thus, Face is an ‘impostor’, one of many corrupt characters lurking in London’s underworld: as the Prologue explains, </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘No clime breeds better matter, for your whore, / Bawd, squire, impostor, many persons more.’ ( lines 7-8) At the end of the play, though, Face is unmasked.  And yet, he is, to some extent, the victor of the play.  He is so manipulative and skilful that Lovewit’s neighbours think ‘Jeremie / Is a very honest fellow…’ Moreover, as the name Lovewit would imply, Face’s master appreciates his wit and scheming intellect, and thus Face can use his wit to gain his master’s pardon:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Roboto-Light;">‘Give me but leave to make the best of my fortune,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Roboto-Light;">And only pardon me thi' abuse of your house:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Roboto-Light;">It's all I beg.  I'll help you to a widow,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Roboto-Light;">In recompense, that you shall give me thanks for…’<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Roboto-Light;">Hence, at the end of the play, Lovewit pays tribute to his servant’s ingenuity: he is ‘very grateful’ to have ‘received such happiness by a servant.’  It’s no surprise that a character called Lovewit would feel obliged to be ‘A little indulgent to that servant’s wit,’ and thus again we can see how Jonson’s use of naming helps not only to illustrate his characters, but to develop and almost foreshadow the plot.  And though Lovewit is the eventual winner of the play (gaining a wife and augmented wealth), Face certainly ends up better off than his two scheming companions Subtle and Doll, who are forced to flee once the master of the house arrives unexpectedly.  Face is what was known in the Renaissance period as a ‘taker-up’: <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘The taker-up seemeth a skilful man in all things, who hath by long travail learned without book a thousand policies to insinuate himself into a man’s acquaintance.  Talk of matters in law, he hath plenty of cases at his fingers’ ends, and he hath seen, and tried, and ruled in the King’s courts.  Speak of grazing and husbandry, no more knowether more shires than he, nor better way to raise a gainful commodity, and how the abuses and overture of prices might be redressed.’ –  Greene, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Notable Discovery</i><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Face can use his wit to adopt multiple different personalities (hence the name ‘Face’, establishing his use of masks) – as Haynes explains, ‘Everyone is spoken to in his own language.’  He can talk to Drugger about tobacco, he can talk to Dapper about his milieu, all the while ready to transform back into Jeremy the Butler.  Thus, the barrier between the criminal underworld and straight society becomes permeable for him, whilst it is not for Subtle and Doll.  In this sense, Face can be seen as a warning to Elizabethan theatre-goers, his character demonstrating the Trump-like deceptions and manipulations not only of the criminal underworld, but of society in general.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We must remember, though, how aware Jonson was of the dangers of satire – he was, after all, arrested and imprisoned more than once for his satirical work.  One of his most interesting satirical works, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Poetaster</i>, works completely differently in terms of naming.  Jonson’s play sets out, amongst other things, to revenge the criticism he had received from Marston, Dekker and others during the so-called ‘War of the Theatres’ or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Poetomachia</i>.  But, as he explains in his Apologetical Dialogue, he aims to ‘spare the persons and to speak the vices’.  By setting his play in Augustan Rome rather than in London, Jonson champions his own style of Horatian satire (or, at least, the style of poetry to which he aspires), while criticising the Juvenalian satire of Marston and Dekker (though, in bitterly attacking these two playwrights as ‘vile ibids’ in the Apologetical Dialogue, Jonson was hypocritically sinking to the Juvenalian level) – thus, the play can be seen as a general satire of the poetaster figure whilst also criticising Jonson’s rivals.  The loathsome Crispinus is often read as a representation of Marston – towards the end of the play, Crispinus vomits up what Tom Cain refers to as a series of ‘Marstonisms’, a pretentious and bombastic lexical flood including words like ‘retrograde’, ‘incubus’, ‘glibbery’, ‘magnificate’ and more.  Moreover, the two poems that Crispinus and Demetrius read are undeniable parodies of Marston and Dekker’s work.  But still, by choosing not to name Marston in the play, Jonson arguably escapes accusations of Juvenalian, bitter satire.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">By (uncharacteristically) avoiding the use of illuminating names, Jonson is also able to compare himself to the great Augustan poet Horace, ‘a self-projection of Jonson’ according to Tom Cain.  After all, the two poets were indeed very similar – Horace was often taunted because his father was a freed slave, and Jonson was acutely self-conscious of his step-father’s profession as a brick-layer; Horace had fought in Philippi, Jonson fought in the Low Countries.  To an extent, then, Jonson seems to be modelling himself on Horace: in fact, in his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Discoveries </i>Jonson advocated exactly that: the ability ‘to bee able to convert the substance, or Riches of an other <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Poet</i>, to his owne use.’  Thomas Smith even praised Jonson as ‘the elaborate English Horace,’ and like Horace, Jonson often chose to write in a realist style, ‘out of use and experience’ (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Discoveries</i>).  Thus, Jonson could implicitly compare himself to the great Augustan satirist in an attempt to elevate his style.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There are other comparisons in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Poetaster </i>that also ought not to be ignored.  The play opens with Ovid composing a poem which turns out to be one of Marlowe’s own translations of Ovid, lines from a banned edition published with Sir John Davies’s epigrams.  Marlowe was one of the most loved poets of the day, and Jonson clearly respected him, though Marlowe does not completely escape criticism – compared to the virtues of Virgil and Horace, Ovid is seen as sensuous and arguably blasphemous in his organisation of the Divine Banquet (this, again, would link the Ovid character to Marlowe, who was often accused of blasphemy and atheism, and whose play <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dr Faustus </i>presents us with a similarly blasphemous banquet scene in Rome).  So by presenting Ovid in such a way that we can’t help thinking of Marlowe, Jonson was able to express his opinions without fear of danger – Thomas More arguably used a similar technique in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Utopia</i>, hiding his own beliefs from the reader.  Thus, the banishment of Ovid could be compared to the death of Marlowe, and as Tom Cain writes, ‘The Ovid being rejected is as much the Ovid of the 1590s in England [i.e. Marlowe and poets who wrote in a similar vein] as the historical Ovid of Augustan Rome.’  Finally, by setting the play in Rome, Jonson could make a subtle contrast and criticism between the high regard poets were held in under Augustus’s rule, and their relatively harsh treatment in Elizabethan England.  It is poets that guide the Emperor Augustus in Jonson’s play, whilst it was libel and informers (like Tucca) that drove the Essex Rebellion of 1601, the year Jonson’s play was first performed.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> <o:PixelsPerInch>96</o:PixelsPerInch> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings></xml><![endif]--> <! --[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> 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SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Salutation"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Date"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Body Text First Indent"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Note Heading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Body Text 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Body Text 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Body Text Indent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Body Text Indent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Block Text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Hyperlink"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="FollowedHyperlink"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Document Map"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Plain Text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="E-mail Signature"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Top of Form"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Normal (Web)"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Acronym"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Address"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Cite"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Code"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Definition"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Keyboard"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Preformatted"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Sample"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Typewriter"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Variable"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Normal Table"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="annotation subject"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="No List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Outline List 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Outline List 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Outline List 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Simple 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Simple 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Simple 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Classic 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Classic 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Classic 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Classic 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Colorful 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Colorful 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Colorful 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Columns 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Columns 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Columns 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Columns 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Columns 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Grid 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Grid 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UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table List 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table List 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table List 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table List 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table 3D effects 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table 3D effects 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table 3D effects 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Contemporary"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Elegant"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Professional"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table 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Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light 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Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 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Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" 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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Mention"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Smart Hyperlink"/> </w:LatentStyles></xml><![endif]--> <! --[if gte mso 10]><style> /* Style Definitions */ table. MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style><![endif]--> <! --StartFragment--> <! --EndFragment--><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So it’s clear that names played a huge role in Ben Jonson’s dramatic work.  In his later comedies, he used names to elucidate and expound the personalities of certain characters whilst also satirising or ironizing them, whilst in the earlier <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Poetaster </i>he deliberately avoids the direct naming of his subjects (if we can go so far as to say for sure that Jonson was attempting to satirise Marston and Dekker, amongst others).  It is Histrio’s plays that directly mock and bitterly attack individuals: Ben Jonson, posing as the virtuous Horace, suggests he will not wrong ‘men’s fames’ (Trebatius’s words) in his verse.  The implication is that Jonson (as Horace), along with Virgil (whom some critics have claimed resembles Chapman), is aloof from that, though it is doubtful whether he really is.  Whatever the answer, it’s clear that Jonson thought very carefully about the choice of names in his plays, and through those names he makes his comedies and satires all the more powerful.  As Haynes argues, Jonson used his art ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in society </i>as a weapon, or tool, or organ.’  Whether it was mocking the folly of naïve bourgeois figures like Cokes or Littlewit; whether it was revealing and revelling in the dark scheming of the criminal underworld; whether it was critiquing Early Modern nascent capitalism; or whether it was responding to the attacks of other poets, Jonson made the naming of characters an expressive tool in his work, carrying on and expanding earlier traditions, and influencing the work of writers who came after him.  <o:p></o:p></span></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-44892927525591223952017-08-20T10:31:00.000-07:002017-08-20T10:31:17.311-07:00Masks and Poses in Donne's Holy Sonnets<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In his poem ‘Jordan’, George Herbert criticises the convoluted nature of Renaissance poetry and urges poets towards straightforward expressions of emotion, particularly religious emotion.  He questions ‘Is there in truth no beauty?’  and opens the poem’s third stanza with the memorable line: ‘Shepherds are honest people; let them sing…’ With the pastoral reference and the use of the word ‘honest’, Herbert also seems to be condemning the insincerity of 17<sup>th</sup> Century courtly life contrasted with a sense of rustic innocence.  John Donne himself was acutely aware of this artificiality, evident in his sonnet ‘Oh, to vex me…’ (often printed as the last sonnet in the sequence) in which he reveals the variety of masks he adopts in his poetry.  He questions whether he can really demonstrate the real truth of his soul ‘By circumstances, and by signes that be / Apparent in us…’ He looks back at his past and sees only a succession of skilfully-adopted poses: ‘<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">to day / In prayers, and flattering speaches I court God: / To morrow I quake with true feare of his rod.’  He showed a similar awareness in his sermons, as when he discussed the dangers of rhetoric and the power of words ‘to shape that beliefe’ and ‘to powre it into new molds… to stamp and imprint new formes, new images, new opinions in it.’  In his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holy Sonnets</i>, Donne does exactly that: he uses his poetic skill to shape various different identities for himself.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">Indeed, Donne’s whole life seems to have been divided into a dual identity.  A clear split has been forged between the young and lustful Donne of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Songs and Sonnets </i>and the old and devout Donne of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Divine Poems</i>.  This division was partly driven by the mature Donne’s desire to distance himself from the sensuousness of his early poetry, a distance reinforced by Izaak Walton’s biography of Donne, in which he compared the poet to a latter-day Augustine, the saint whose conversion at the hands of St. Ambrose became an influential Christian paradigm.  But this division is unhelpful in a number of ways, not least because it is based on the false assumption that the religious poems were written much later than the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Songs and Sonnets</i>, an assumption with very little evidence to support it.  Moreover, the poems themselves undermine the so-called ‘myth of two Donnes’ in that, throughout the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holy Sonnets</i>, we see the same wit and performance for which the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Songs and Sonnets </i>are renowned.  As P.M. Oliver points out, ‘Donne’s religious writing… demonstrates a striking continuity with the amatory and satirical verse he had already written.’  True, the matter of the religious poems may be different, but their manner and style are very similar.  Like the love poems, the divine poems are often ‘witty, individualistic performances.’  This does, however, leave us with some problems: the idiosyncratic wit and rhetorical skill of the poet often undermines the masks he is attempting to adopt, and to that extent the authenticity of emotion in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holy Sonnets </i>must be called into question.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">Donne adopts two major poses in the<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holy Sonnets</i>: the first is that of the submissive and despairing sinner, terrified that his transgressions will lead to his damnation.  The second mask he adopts is that of a man assured of his own election, unafraid and almost swaggering.  The first mask, that of fear, despair, and melancholy, is typical of devotional verse: Gerard Manley Hopkins adopted a similar personality in his ‘Terrible Sonnets’.  The melancholy pose was also typical of the Renaissance man, hence the abundance of young men painted as forlorn youths tortured by unrequited love.  Donne himself had one of these portraits commissioned in which he is depicted in darkness with his arms folded – a standard symbol of melancholy – and a large-brimmed hat shading his face.  Just as he adopted this pose as a pitiful lover, so in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holy Sonnets </i>he adopts the pose of pitiful sinner.  For example, the fourth sonnet opens with the impassioned exclamation: ‘Oh my black Soule!’  and ends with the embracing of a mournful pose: ‘Oh make thy selfe with holy mourning blacke, / And red with blushing, as thou art with sinne…’ His repentance, then, seems to be a mask in itself, and thus we can infer that the poem’s opening exclamation is no more than an artificiality.  Indeed, a number of the poems seem to come across as theatrical and dramatic representations rather than sincere expressions of despair.  In her introduction to the divine poems, Helen Gardner notes this ‘almost histrionic note’ and attributes it to ‘the meditation’s deliberate stimulation of emotion.’  The emotions of the poems seem almost fabricated at points, as is suggested by the repetition of ‘oh’ and ‘alas’ in the sequence.  These exclamations seem particularly out of context when they follow relatively collected and rational meditations, as in ‘Father, part of his double interest…’ After meditating on the doctrine of the Bible and the various commandments God has given, Donne exclaims: ‘thy last command / Is all but love; Oh let this last Will stand!’  The ‘oh’ makes it seem like the speaker is emotionally involved, but as Oliver points out, ‘the level rationality of the preceding lines’ makes it hard to see the speaker as ‘desperate or hysterical. ’<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">There are similarly histrionic notes in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Songs and Sonnets</i>, again showing why the amatory-religious divide is unhelpful.  For example, in ‘The Flea’, when his mistress has crushed the flea with her nail, Donne melodramatically exclaims: ‘Cruel and sudden, hast thou since / Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?’  Here, Donne is adopting a tone of sadness in order to inspire the pity of his mistress.  Arguably, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holy Sonnets </i>use a similar tactic, attempting to inspire the pity of God through a pose of despair which often comes across as melodramatic. ‘ This is my play’s last scene’ opens very sensationally, with the word ‘last’ repeated four times in the first four lines alone.  It’s no wonder, then, that Gardner pointed out the ‘note of exaggeration’ which, ‘in stimulating feeling… may falsify it, and overdramatize the spiritual life.’  But this melodrama is not the only aspect of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Songs and Sonnets </i>which has crept into the religious verse.  Throughout the divine poems there are idiosyncratic paradoxes, conceits and puns which, though typical of Donne, seem somewhat out of place in devout religious poetry.  For example, in ‘A Hymne to God the Father’, Donne mourns his sinfulness with an authentic voice of fear and despair: ‘Wilt thou forgive that sinne where I begunne, / Which was my sin, though it were done before?’  And yet, the first two stanzas end with a paradoxical pun on his name, jarring with the serious tone of the previous lines: ‘When thou hast done, thou hast not done, / For, I have more.’  This mixture of wit and gloom is something that Wilbur Sanders criticised in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holy Sonnets</i> as a flaw, though perhaps it shows the tension in Donne between a yearning towards seriousness and an inability to completely escape his jocular self.  Hence, in the words of Sanders, ‘the personality becomes the prey of inner division. ’<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">This seems to be the underlying flaw of many of the sonnets: though at times they present us with an apparently sincere sense of grief, fear and despair, this is often counteracted by a strange frivolity, as when he plays verbal games with colours at the end of ‘Oh my black Soule!’  Their other major drawback is that they are often dominated by what Sanders calls ‘blatant theological sophistry.’  This is no more evident than in ‘What if this present were the world’s last night?’  In the octet, the speaker focuses on the picture of Christ crucified and wonders whether Christ will ‘adjudge thee unto hell’ even though he ‘pray’d forgivenesse for his foes’.  The sestet opens with a direct response: ‘No, no…’ This audacity in itself is odd, and somewhat hard to believe: perhaps Donne used his poetry as a method of self-assurance.  He then argues that the beauty of Christ’s image on the cross ‘assumes a pitious mind.’  But Donne, as a Calvinist, knew that this could not be true, since Christ could not be merciful to everybody: the elect would receive God’s pity, whilst the non-elect would feel his wrath and eventually be damned.  Indeed, Universalism (the theory that everybody could be saved) was condemned as a heresy in Constantinople in 553 and again at the Protestant Augsburg Confession of 1530, and so it’s incredibly unlikely that Donne could have believed this sophistic argument.  Thus, Christ’s image cannot assure pity for everybody.  Moreover, Donne’s reference to his idolatrous past is telling since, as Stanley Fish points out, ‘The assertion that he is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not </i>now in his idolatry is undermined by the fact that he here says the same things he used to say when he was.’  So it’s clear, then, that as Sanders says, ‘the consolation does not console’ – Donne’s verbal ability to assure himself of his safety seems to undermine itself, revealing his manifest casuistry.  Fish goes on: ‘as the poem concludes, he is no more assured of what he assumes than anyone else, neither of the ‘piteous minde’ of his saviour, nor of the spiritual stability he looks to infer from the saviour’s picture. ’<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">The same can be said for Donne’s famous sonnet ‘Death be not proud’.  Throughout his life, Donne was obsessed with the idea of death: as a young Catholic in Protestant England, he was taken to see Catholics martyred, an experience that stayed with him into his elderly years.  He also wrote tracts on the morality of suicide, and, most famously, is said by Walton to have ‘preached his own Funeral Sermon’ known as ‘Death’s Duel’, a sermon he gave in the final days of his life.  He was terrified by the idea that death takes away our individual essence as humans: <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">‘[T]hat private and retired man, that thought himself his own for ever, and never came forth, must in his dust of the grave be published, and (such are the revolutions of the grave) be mingled with the dust of every highway and of every dunghill, and swallowed in every puddle and pond.  This is the most inglorious and contemptible vilification, the most deadly and peremptory nullification of man, that we can consider.’ (‘ Death’s Duel’)<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">In the sermon, he defeats this fear by concluding that every man must ‘lie down in peace in his grave, till he vouchsafe you a resurrection…’ The sonnet ‘Death be not proud…’ follows a similar line, though it is much more bravado in its argument.  He addresses personified mortality as ‘poore death’ and bravely says: ‘nor yet canst thou kill mee…’ Death, he says, is ‘slave to Fate’ and asks ‘why swell’st thou then?’  This question in itself, though, supposes that death still assumes a large portion of Donne’s thought, swelling beyond reason into an irrational fear.  The poem ends with a theatrical and yet hollow flourish: ‘death shall be no more, death, thou shalt die’.  Despite the bravado of this statement, Donne’s declaration is vacuous – as John Stachniewski argues, the fact that it ends with the word ‘die’ ironically demonstrates that death still has power in the poem.  Similarly, when Donne says ‘valiantly I hels wide mouth o’rstride’ we see him adopting a peculiarly audacious stance resonating with the precarious assertiveness of ‘Death be not proud’.  Thus, whilst these sophistic arguments may have worked in seducing mistresses with wit and humour, they seem incredibly out of place in an eschatological context of salvation or damnation.  They may show Donne’s poetic and rhetorical skill, but as Fish notes, ‘The effort of self-persuasion… fails in exactly the measure that his rhetorical effort succeeds. ’<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">In his poem ‘Metempsychosis’ Donne reflects upon the stretching of ‘reasons… to so nice a thinness through a quill / That they themselves break, do themselves spill…’ This stretching of reason is frequently dramatized in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Holy Sonnets</i>, the strength of the sophistic arguments often driven to a ludicrous extent, revealing their weakness.  But this is not to say that the poems themselves are weak: this may have been part of Donne’s intention.  Perhaps the meaning of the poems is to be found in their note of feigned assurance.  As Stachniewski suggests, ‘the argument of Donne’s poems is often so strained that it alerts us to its opposite, the emotion or mental state in defiance of which the argumentative process was set to work.  The poem’s meaning lives in the tension between the argument and the emotion.’  Perhaps in ‘This is my playes last scene’ we are not meant to believe with such assurance that Donne’s sins will fall away to Hell whilst he goes up to Heaven.  We are, perhaps, urged to question this argument.  And so, this self-conscious casuistry is a subtle and effective way of establishing the poetry’s dominant emotions, doubt and fear.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria;">It’s clear, then, that Donne’s poetic style largely stayed with him throughout his career.  The same use of wit and paradox can be seen in the <i>Holy Sonnets </i>as was seen in the <i>Songs and Sonnets</i>.  It’s also clear that Donne’s poetry is largely a succession of poses, and this is something he himself seems to have been aware of.  The sonnets often begin with a pose of despair and then move onto a pose of self-assured certainty.  It’s no wonder, really, that the pose of despairing sinner seems, as Gardner says, ‘exaggerated’ to the modern reader given that we no longer live in a country dominated by Calvinism and the fear of God’s wrath – perhaps, then, we can look past this histrionic note as understandable.  Moreover, perhaps this tone of feigned emotion simply demonstrates the impossibility of expressing such strong feeling in words.  It’s somewhat harder to excuse the strange use of wit and paradox, which seems to undermine Donne’s apparent despair, revealing it to be just a pose (though that’s not to say he never felt despair, just to say that the despair expressed in the sonnets comes across as somewhat feigned).  Similarly, the paradoxical sophistry destabilises any sense of self-assurance and comfort, revealing the mask of boldness adopted by the poet.  But, as I argued earlier, perhaps this sense of failed assurance was intentional.  Though Donne forces his fierce emotions into the restricted sonnet form, and though he apparently attempts to mitigate his despair with theological sophistry which he surely cannot fail to doubt, other emotions inevitably seep out.  Just as the highly-wrought passions of ‘Batter my heart…’ seem almost to break free from the strict rhyme scheme and metre (the initial trochee ‘Batter’ being an obvious example), so the despair of the other <i>Holy Sonnets </i>is never really soothed.  Perhaps Donne was partly right when he said: ‘Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce, / For, he tames it, who fetters it in verse.’  But, as we read the sonnets, we get the sense that Donne never truly succeeded in ‘taming’ his grief and his fear completely.  Each line is bursting with tension, uncertainty, and doubt, and it is this that gives the sonnets their excitement.</span>&nbsp;</div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-67966639874415359932017-08-17T01:08:00.001-07:002017-08-17T01:08:54.996-07:00Religion in Marlowe’s 'Jew of Malta'<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Whilst Marlowe was writing, anti-Semitism was rife across the entirety of Europe.  The Renaissance period saw the rise of increasingly xenophobic, anti-Jewish fears somewhat comparable to the prejudice against Islam in the Western world today, fed on and augmented by President Trump.  We only have to look at the work of the so-called Old Masters to see how widespread these anti-Semitic sentiments really were.  Not only were Jesus and his followers stripped of their Jewish identity and transformed into anachronistically Christian figures, but also, on the rare occasion that Jews were actually depicted in Renaissance art, their portrayal was far from complimentary.  Albrecht Durer’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jesus Among the Doctors </i>is a case in point: the Jew that stands to the right of Jesus is almost caricature-like with his grotesque grin and hooked nose.  Given the pervasiveness of this anti-Semitism, it’s no wonder that Marlowe’s Barabas is likewise presented according to the bigoted values of the age.  He is, in fact, a complete caricature of the selfish and cruel Jew.  And yet, what’s interesting about Marlowe’s play <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Jew of Malta </i>is that Jews are not the only group to receive criticism.  Indeed, almost every religious group, Jews, Christians and Muslims alike, seem to be at the receiving end of Marlowe’s reproach.  This can be said for the majority of Marlowe’s work, much of which is dedicated to the analysis and condemnation of religious doctrine and hypocrisy.  So, with reference to Marlowe’s work and in particular <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Jew of Malta</i>, I intend to explore Marlowe’s views on religion as presented through his plays.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I must, of course, begin this essay with an analysis of the loathsome and Machiavellian character of Barabas.  The prologue of the play, delivered by Niccolò Machiavelli himself, describes how Barabas ‘smiles to see how full his bags are crammed, / Which money was not got without my means.’  Immediately, then, he is presented as a typical <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">machiavelle </i>figure of Renaissance drama, characterised by the same scheming villainy encapsulated by Iago (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Othello</i>) and Edmund (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">King Lear</i>) in Shakespeare’s plays.  The words ‘my means’ refers to the philosophy set out by Machiavelli in his famous work <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Il Principe</i> – a proto-self-help book preaching expediency over morality and the appearance over the reality of virtue.  Barabas fills this role perfectly, almost all of his actions recalling Satan’s words in Book 4 of Milton’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Paradise Lost</i>: ‘Evil be thou my Good.’  For example, he distances himself from the man with a conscience who ‘for his conscience lives in beggary.’  It is by acting without a conscience, Barabas implies, that he has acquired his huge fortune.  This lack of conscience links directly to his greed and self-interestedness, obvious in the equal weight he gives to his wealth and to his daughter when he exclaims: ‘O girl!  O gold!’  This levelling comparison clearly influenced Shakespeare in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Merchant of Venice </i>when he had Shylock exclaim “O my ducats, O my daughter…” Barabas’s selfishness is also evident in his asides during the conversation he has with the other Jews in Malta.  He says: ‘Assure yourselves I’ll look – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">unto myself</i>.’  He cares only for himself, even bringing about the murder of his daughter’s lover to get his revenge on Ferneze.  But, in the words of Harry Levin, these asides also serve to show Barabas’s Machiavellian emphasis on appearance, distinguishing between ‘deeds and words.’  He hides his true intentions from the other Maltese citizens, but treats the audience as his confidantes and thus implicates us in his crimes.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Though we may have some pity for Barabas in his cruel treatment by the Maltese governor and his similarities to Job, our sympathy quickly dissipates as he develops from a simple miser to a murderous villain.  As Levin points out, Barabas ‘is a man with a grievance, but his retaliation outruns the provocation.’  Though he may begin as a revenger, he very quickly turns into the villain himself.  This murderousness is clear in the famous speech Barabas gives when purchasing Ithamore as a slave: ‘As for myself, I walk abroad o’ nights, / And kill sick people groaning under walls; / Sometimes I go about and poison wells…’ Whether these claims are true is uncertain.  It’s possible that this speech is only made in order to entice Ithamore, whom Barabas seems to have already discerned as a villain who, like him, hates Christians.  Perhaps, also, Marlowe was simply playing on and parodying the extreme hatred for Jews in Europe.  Whatever the answer, it’s undeniable that Barabas fulfils these murderous claims – by the end of the play, he has poisoned and killed the whole of a nunnery (including his own daughter), caused the death of two friends, slaughtered numerous Turkish soldiers, and much more.  As the play progresses, his hands grow more bloody and his heart blacker, becoming exactly what European society expected a Jew to be.  So it’s clear that Marlowe is playing on these early modern prejudices to present us with the frightful image of a Jew who really only cares for himself and his revenge.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And yet, it’s not just Barabas who is presented as a loathsome figure – almost every character in the play, apart from Abigail, is selfish and unsympathetic.  And though we may strongly dislike Barabas, we are watching ‘the tragedy of a Jew’ - Barabas is our tragic hero, and to an extent we see the play from his perspective, often taking his side against the play’s other characters.  Our sympathy for Barabas is stirred when he has his wealth seized by Ferneze the governor, under threat of Christian conversion.  During this scene, Barabas launches a succession of bitter attacks against Christianity, beginning with the words: ‘Will you then steal my goods? /  Is theft the ground of your religion?’  Here, Barabas points out the hypocrisy of their actions, going against the commandment ‘Thou shalt not steal.’  When Ferneze attempts to justify the cruelty of the Christians, he explains that Jews are infidels and that they ‘stand accursèd in the sight of heaven.’  This idea, that the Jews are to blame for the death of Christ (the ‘first curse’) and are therefore born sinful, was a typical trope of the period.  Though the audience of the time may also have held this belief, it’s clear that Marlowe did not, or else he would not have allowed Barabas to respond in such cogent terms, appealing as he does to our sense of justice: ‘Shall I be tried by their transgressions? /  The man that dealeth righteously shall live…’ Though we know that Barabas is far from righteous, we still sympathise with his argument that men should be judged according to their actions, not according to the actions of their ancestors.  This can also be read as a Marlovian argument against the Calvinistic doctrine of Original Sin which held that all humans are born sinful due to Adam’s fall.  And so, in this episode it is the Christians who are presented as heartless, with ‘policy’ (trickery or duplicity) as their profession, using scripture to confirm their wrongs.  Arguably, it is this unjust and hypocritical treatment that leads Barabas to ‘make bar of no policy’ and adopt the same cruel attitude as the Christians have towards him.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So when Barabas says to his daughter that ‘religion / Hides many mischiefs from suspicion’ we can’t help but agree.  The Christians of Malta have used their religion to justify their cruelty against the Jew, even though that cruelty goes against the New Testament credo ‘Love thy neighbour.’  Marlowe also takes care to demonstrate the vices of churchmen themselves, with Friar Jacomo and Friar Bernardine fighting over Barabas’s wealth.  They care nothing for the cleansing of his soul or for his conversion – they care only for the goods he promises them.  Indeed, Jacomo is so covetous of Barabas’s wealth that he stabs Bernardine, a fellow Christian.  So Marlowe, here, is mocking and criticising the greed of the church and their hypocrisy.  There are numerous other instances of this throughout the play.  For example, when Abigail dies, she asks Friar Bernardine to ‘witness that I die a Christian’ and he simply replies: ‘Ay, and a virgin, too, that grieves me most.’  He breaks Church law when he reveals the contents of Abigail’s dying confession, and hopes to use what she has told him as blackmail.  Once this scene has taken place, we can’t help but recall Ithamore’s earlier question: ‘have not the nuns fine sport with the friars now and then?’<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It’s clear, then, that Christians and the Church also come under attack in this play.  Indeed, the play’s conclusion reinforces Abigail’s beautiful lament that ‘there is no love on earth, / Pity in Jews, nor piety in Turks.’  She’s certainly right that Ithamore (the main representative of the Turks in the play) and Barabas are wicked.  Abigail’s mistake, though, is to think there is love, pity, or piety in the Maltese Christians, who reveal themselves to be just as sinful and scheming as Barabas himself.  Barabas is only killed at the end of the play because he is out-manoeuvred by another schemer, Ferneze, who, despite his religion, shows no mercifulness whatsoever at the play’s conclusion.  As Barabas calls out ‘Help, help me, Christians, help!’  and asks ‘Governor, why stand you all so pitiless?’  Ferneze explains that he has no pity for him at all, wishing to see his ‘treachery repaid.’  Again, this demonstrates his religious hypocrisy – as a Christian, he ought not only to forgive and show mercy, but also to see it as God’s role to ensure justice, not his own.  Thus, Ferneze abandons his religious morality (which he seems never really to have had) and uses Barabas’s own tactics against him.  We might conclude with Levin, then, that ‘Morally, all of them operate on the same level, and that is precisely what Marlowe is pointing out.’  Every religious group is shown to be vicious and hypocritical, and various Christian doctrines come under attack, notably the idea that ‘Faith is not to be held with heretics,’ which Barabas himself uses against the Christians.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">What’s most interesting, though, is that, whilst Marlowe was simply following theatrical clichés and contemporary bigotry when he presented Barabas in such a negative light, such an attack on Christians and Christian doctrine was rarely seen on stage.  Perhaps this goes some way to reveal Marlowe’s own religious views.  Indeed, as Paul H. Kocher suggests, Marlowe was ‘one of the most highly subjective playwrights of his age.’  Thus, the outright criticism of Christianity in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Jew of Malta </i>may be suggestive.  Moreover, Christianity is repeatedly questioned in Marlowe’s other works, notably <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dr Faustus</i>.  Though the play is set within an undoubtedly Christian framework, and though Faustus is inevitably damned for his transgressions, we cannot help sympathising and even admiring his revolt against religion.  We too desire to know the answer to eschatological questions like ‘who made the world’ and we too appreciate human beauty.  Thus, the beautiful speeches Faustus gives cannot help inspiring our approbation.  </span><span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-themecolor: text1;">Indeed, Faustus’s paean to Helen (‘Was this the face that launch’d a thousand ships / And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?’)  is one of Marlowe’s most powerful speeches, urging us to appreciate the strength of Faustus’s emotions when he tells the spirit: ‘thou art fairer than the evening’s air.’  W.W Greg argues that, sharing Faustus’s aesthetic appreciation, we allow ourselves to sympathise with him.  Moreover, the fact that Marlowe’s verse reaches its pinnacle during a description of Helen, a symbol of pagan Greece, is surely indicative of his own feelings.  </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We don’t have to look far to find proof of these doubtful feelings in Marlowe’s biography.  As Kocher pointed out, criticism of religion (and Christianity specifically) seems to have been ‘the most absorbing interest of his life.’  The first hint that Marlowe may have had an aversion to Christianity came when, having studied at Cambridge under an Archbishop Parker scholarship, Marlowe did not take holy orders as expected.  More convincing are the allegations of atheism that Marlowe received a few years after his death: Baines, Aldrich, Cholmley and others all accused Marlowe of similar crimes, largely revolving around the preaching of atheism and the jesting at religious scripture and doctrine.  Marlowe, like Machiavelli of the prologue, seems to have seen religion as no more than a ‘childish toy’.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Hence, when Faustus says that ‘hell’s a fable’ we cannot help recall Baines’s statement that Marlowe ‘perswades men to Atheism willing them not to be afeard of bugbeares and hobgoblins.’  And when Tamburlaine briefly comments ‘The God that sits in heaven, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">if any god,</i>’ (my italics) it’s hard not to attribute this doubt to Marlowe himself.  After all, given that Marlowe never intended to write two parts to Tamburlaine’s story, it’s odd that Tamburlaine is not punished for his crimes and his blasphemous aspirations in Part 1, and it’s doubtful whether his death in Part 2 can be seen as retributive justice rather than the natural result of mortality.  Despite killing thousands of innocents, no god punishes Tamburlaine, suggesting Marlowe’s doubts as to whether there is any god at all.  Moreover, when Barabas jests at Christian doctrine and blasphemes against Christ (for example, by marking his hidden jewels with a cross), it cannot escape our notice that Marlowe probably made similar jests and blasphemous remarks during his own lifetime, and thus that Marlowe is, to some extent, talking through Barabas.  I hope, then, that I have shown how Marlowe’s own doubts and possible atheism are demonstrated in his work.  Given the corruption of the Catholic Church in the Early Modern period (Anthony Kenny described Pope Alexander VI as ‘the most villainous man ever to have occupied the Roman See’), and given the oppressive nature of the Calvinist doctrine of predestination, it’s no wonder that an intellectual like Marlowe had difficulties in accepting Christianity.  Like the characters he created, he struggled to see past the hypocrisy of churchmen, the contradictions in religious doctrine, and the restraints that Christianity (or indeed any religion) placed on its followers.</span>&nbsp;</div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-6073652135760076522017-08-15T23:34:00.000-07:002017-08-15T23:34:13.940-07:00Opposition and Ambiguity in Milton's 'Paradise Lost'<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The story of the Fall is one of opposition and conflict, centred around the battle of good and evil, faith and temptation.  Michelangelo’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fall of Man</i> epitomises this opposition with its two separate depictions of Adam and Eve.  On the left, Adam and Eve are shown in the throes of temptation, about to eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge; and on the right, Adam and Eve are shown in their post-Lapsarian state, banished from Eden by the Archangel Michael.  These two opposing presentations of pre-Lapsarian and post-Lapsarian man are divided by the evil figure of the wily serpent, the manifestation of wickedness in the Genesis story.  John Milton, in adopting this story as the material for his epic poem, likewise adopts this emphasis on opposition and duality, with two main conflicts highlighted throughout: firstly, and most importantly, the conflict between good and evil, and secondly, how that conflict manifests itself in the two different states of humankind, sinless and then, after ‘Man’s first disobedience’, sinful.  And yet, Milton’s presentation of these conflicts is not so straightforward as we might expect – there are ambiguities throughout.  With the dubiously heroic portrayal of Satan and the rather ominous and seemingly cruel portrayal of God, we are forced to question, as readers, whether the line between the abstract concepts ‘good’ and ‘evil’ is really so finite.  Likewise, with the hints at sinfulness and wantonness in Eve and in Eden before the Fall, and conversely, with the sense of man’s retained goodness after the Fall, Milton stresses the elusiveness of sinlessness and sinfulness, whilst also preparing us for the inevitable – first, the Fall of Man, and second, Man’s salvation through the death of Christ.  In this way, Milton plays on these oppositions and conflicts in the poem and uses ambiguity to increase our anticipation and thrill as readers.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The epic poem begins with Milton declaring his intentions, to ‘assert Eternal Providence, / And justify the ways of God to men.’  Less than ten lines later, we are introduced to Satan, first referred to as ‘Th’infernal Serpent… whose guile’ is ‘Stirred up with envy and revenge.’  Thus, the poem begins with the aforementioned opposition of good and evil, the just ways of God as Milton perceives them, contrasted with the envious deceptions of his foe, the fallen angel Lucifer.  This conflict is repeatedly emphasised in the poem – Christ is presented to us as the archetype of goodness in whom ‘the fullness dwells of love divine,’ whilst Satan declares his mission in completely opposing terms: ‘To do aught good never will be our task, / But ever to do ill our sole delight, / As being the contrary to his high will…’ This conflict between good and evil is stressed again and again, as when Milton observes how all Satan’s malice will serve ‘but to bring forth / Infinite goodness,’ a direct reversal of Satan’s wish to ‘out of good still to find means of evil’.  Indeed, throughout the poem, there are echoing phrases like these that serve to recall earlier lines and give emphatic poignancy to their contrasting sentiments.  For instance, in Book I, Satan exclaims: ‘hail, horrors, hail / Infernal world…’ whilst Book III opens with Milton’s similarly alliterative interjection, ‘Hail holy Light.’  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We might also see this contrast in the epic poem’s contrasting elements of creation and destruction in the poem.  Whilst God (the representative of ‘good’ in the poem) is the force of creation in Milton’s cosmos, Satan is the force of destruction – having already ‘sought / Evil to others’, he is now pictured ‘In meditated fraud and malice, bent / On man’s destruction.’  This opposition between creation and destruction is made particularly potent in Milton’s beautiful description of God’s creative acts, with all aspects of this new world revelling in fresh life.  For example, the mountains heave their ‘broad bare backs’ into the clouds and the rivers hasten ‘with glad precipitance’.  When we first see Eden, it is described (through Satan’s eyes) thus: ‘In narrow room Nature’s whole wealth, yea more, / A Heav’n on earth, for blissful Paradise / Of God the garden was, by him in the east / Of Eden planted…’ Here, Milton is drawing on the teleological argument to highlight God’s goodness as it manifests itself in the beauty and harmony of the natural world.  As Helen Gardner notes, these descriptions of Edenic splendour demonstrate God’s kindness and are ‘inspired by Milton’s passionate belief in the goodness of the natural world as it was created and his delight in the principle of life...’ And yet, Satan’s evil prevents him from appreciating that beauty and goodness: he ‘Saw undelighted all delight’.  I also ought to mention briefly the contrast between Satan and Abdiel (perhaps a manifestation of Milton himself), whose heroism we cannot help applaud as Milton describes him: ‘Among the faithless, faithful only he; / Among innumerable false, unmoved, / Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified…’ There is, then, clearly an opposition created in the poem between good and evil, between creation and destruction, and between faithfulness and faithlessness.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And yet, it’s hard to deny that, at some points, that good/evil division becomes blurred.  Indeed, though in the first book Milton’s vocal interruptions colour our view of Satan as evil, Satan is still one of the most charismatic and apparently heroic figures in the poem, if not in the entirety of English literature.  Who has ever read the aphoristic line ‘Awake, arise, or be forever fall’n’ without feeling an overwhelming sense of admiration for Satan’s heroic ambition and ‘fierce passion’?  As Hazlitt remarks, we cannot help applauding Satan and his Promethean valour: </span><span style="font-family: Cambria;">‘After such a conflict as his, and such a defeat, to retreat in order, to rally, to make terms, to exist at all, is something; but he does more than this – he founds a new empire in hell, and from it conquers this new world…’ Satan’s charm and irresistibility may come, in part, from the fact that his speeches were the first of the work to be written, originally part of Milton’s plan for a dramatic tragedy – hence, Gardner comments, </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘The intensely dramatic handling of the figure of Satan is a main cause of the extraordinary hold he has on the imagination.’  Moreover, we often find ourselves agreeing with Satan’s view of God as a cruel monarch who </span><span style="font-family: Cambria;">‘Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heaven.’  After all, when God is first introduced, he is seen ‘High throned above all heighth’ and he later</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> ‘Commands all the angels to adore him’.  Given Milton’s own religiously individualist and politically republican stances, it is no wonder, really, that he ‘wrote in fetters when he wrote of Angels &amp; God’ – in the words of Samuel Johnson, Milton had an ‘envious hatred of greatness,’ ‘a sullen desire of independence’ and a ‘pride disdainful of superiority’.  Thus, the beginning of the poem, whether intentionally or not, tempts us to agree with Satan that it is ‘Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heav’n’.  The lines between good and evil are blurred, and though we know that Satan’s speeches only ‘bore / Semblance of worth, not substance,’ we cannot help being attracted towards him.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">There are similar oppositions in the presentation of Adam and Eve as they are seen before and after the Fall.  Before the Fall, Adam and Eve are <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Two of far nobler shape erect and tall,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Godlike erect…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And worthy seemed, for in their looks divine<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The image of their glorious Maker shone,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Severe, but in true filial freedom placed…’ <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">They are presented to us as the image of perfect innocence – even their sexuality contains in it a certain pure nobility, repeatedly described with the word ‘mysterious’ which, in Milton’s time, had more to do with divinity than secrecy.  Indeed, Milton even defends their open sexuality, saying that ascetics and Puritan hypocrites often defame ‘as</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> impure what God declares / Pure, and commands to some, leaves free to all.’  Moreover, before the Fall, there was no sense of ‘guilty shame’ or dishonour in embracing sexuality.  This pre-Lapsarian innocence is explicitly and immediately reversed after Adam and Eve eat the divinely prohibited fruit, when they engage at once in the ‘carnal pleasure’ against which Raphael warns them in Book VIII.  They are described ‘As with new wine intoxicated both,’ the fruit inflaming in them ‘Carnal desire’.  Adam casts ‘lascivious eyes’ on Eve, and ‘in lust they burn’.  Likewise, Eve’s ‘eye darted contagious fire’.  These repeated references to heat and fire highlight not only the sensuous and wanton nature of these desires, they also recall the burning fires of Pandemonium, and thus implicitly link this sexual depravity to the evil of Satan.  And it’s not just in their sexuality that their post-Fall corruption reveals itself – they also grow blasphemous and proud, ‘and fancy that they feel / Divinity within them breeding wings…’ After eating the fruit, Eve even contemplates how the fruit may ‘render me more equal, and perhaps, / A thing not undesirable, sometime / Superior; for inferior who is free?’  The final question here again recalls Satan’s rhetoric when, in Book V, he questions how unequals can really be free.  Not long after, the two are filled with ‘high passions, anger, hate, / Mistrust, suspicion, discord, and shook sore / Their inward state of mind, calm region once / And full of peace, now tossed and turbulent.’  Thus, Milton is keen to highlight the immediate change in his two human protagonists after they commit their first sin.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But there are ambiguities in this shift, too.  Even before the fall, there are suggestions of sin and wantonness in both Eden and in man, prophetic suggestions of what is to come.  This is largely insinuated through Milton’s descriptions of Eve’s hair, and as Jason Scott-Warren argues, ‘Milton makes Eve’s naturally curly hair indirectly responsible for the Fall of Man.’  Eve’s hair is described as ‘Disheveld, but in wanton ringlets wav’d, / As the Vine curles her tendrils’.  This directly links Eve with the serpent, who is described as both ‘sly’ and ‘insinuating’ even before Satan has adopted the serpent’s form (demonstrating the evil already present in Eden before the Fall).  The word ‘insinuating’, as Scott-Warren points out, comes from the Latin word ‘sinuare’ (notably containing the word ‘sin’) which means ‘to bend’ or ‘to curl’, thus linking Eve’s curling tresses to the serpent’s curling body.  Thus, we are here given a premonition of Eve’s temptation and her eventual sin, highlighted in the word ‘wanton’ as used to describe her ‘ringlets wav’d’.  This word is also used to describe the trees of the garden, which require ‘More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth…’ And finally, the river of Eden is described as curving and curling in ‘mazie error’.  All of this combines to insinuate from our very first sighting of Eden that sin and the possibility of sin is indeed already present, despite the apparently innocent purity of Adam and Eve.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Milton also highlights the retained goodness in Adam and Eve even after their fall – unlike Satan, who knows there is ‘no place / Left for repentance’, Adam and Eve commit themselves to penitence and remorse.  Milton describes how they ‘fell / Before him reverent, and both confessed / Humbly their faults, and pardon begged, with tears / Watering the ground, and with their sighs the air / Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign / Of sorrow unfeigned, and humiliation meek.’  This repentance is wholly ‘unfeigned’, distinct from Satan’s false and superficial protestations of sorrow in Milton’s sequel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Paradise Regained</i>.  As Johnson says, Adam and Eve are ‘amiable’ after the Fall ‘for repentance and submission.’  But it is not just in their repentance that we sympathise with them.  It is also in the pure and wholly virtuous love that they show towards one another – for example, they both wish they could take all the punishment on themselves (Eve wishes ‘that all / The sentence from thy head removed may light / On me’).  But it is Milton’s beautiful expression of their love that leaves us most sympathetic: Adam says to Eve, ‘How can I live without thee, how forgo / Thy sweet converse and love so dearly joined, / To live again in these wild woods forlorn? /  Should God create another Eve, and I / Another rib afford, yet loss of thee / Would never from my heart…’ Eve reflects these sentiments when she tells Adam in such honourable terms, ‘thou to me / Art all things under Heav’n…’ Thus, as Waldock argues, we cannot help sympathising here, not only because they are now imperfect, mortal humans like us, but also because they are ‘following here the highest moral value we know – Love.’  And finally, we can only admire their dignity in accepting the loss of their paradise and embracing the ‘Paradise within’ as they ‘Through Eden took their solitary way.’  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So it’s clear that Milton was keen, in this poem, to employ established oppositions and conflicts, whilst also manipulating them and making us question their validity.  Just as Satan and God are held up against each other and yet both presented relatively ambiguously, so pre- and post-Fall humanity are explicitly contrasted though depicted in a nuanced way, with both sin and honour present before and after the Fall.  Milton did this for a number of reasons, but it is largely due to the fact that the story of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Paradise Lost </i>was universally known, so Milton plays games with this idea of foreknowledge throughout.  Satan is presented as tempting and almost admirable in Book I not only as an indication of Eve’s later temptation and seduction, but also as a warning to us to demonstrate how easy it is to be charmed by rhetoric, thus encouraging us to sympathise with Eve in her Fall.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In the same way, the descriptions of Eden and pre-Lapsarian Adam and Eve are littered with subtle insinuations of their future wantonness, thus preparing us for the Fall that we know is already inevitable.  Because we’ve been prepared for the event by all these subtle references to sin, the simple climax of the poem needs no adornment to give it weight: ‘So saying, her rash hand in evil hour / Forth reaching to the Fruit, she pluck’d, she eat…’ As Gardner points out, ‘When at last we come to it, with the weight of the poem behind it, the undramatic presentation of this simple act of disobedience is profoundly dramatic.’  And finally, Adam and Eve are shown to retain their goodness after the Fall in order to prepare the Christian reader for what was to come – not only the goodness of Noah and Moses, but more importantly, the redemption and salvation of man through Christ’s death, as narrated by Michael.  It is perhaps in this sense that Coleridge referred to Milton as ‘the deity of prescience,’ in that Milton is recounting a story that all his readers knew, and thus he fills it throughout with portentous and fateful hints to add to the story’s unfolding excitement.  So, by blurring these traditional lines of opposition, Milton not only surprises his readers, he also makes his poem more dramatically effective.  He has indeed fulfilled his wish that he might ‘leave something so written to after-times, as they should not willingly let it die. ’</span>&nbsp;</div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-18169524900154998582017-08-15T01:44:00.000-07:002017-08-15T23:30:09.682-07:00The Flaws of More's Fictional 'Utopia'<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">The so-called ‘Living Hall’ is the only room of The Frick Collection that has been left entirely unchanged since Henry Clay Frick moved into the mansion at the turn of the 20<sup>th</sup> Century.  With its engaged columns, broken pediments and Victorian architraves, the room is typical of the Gilded Age mansions built in 19<sup>th</sup> century New York.  It was Mr Frick himself who supervised the arrangement of the room, so it’s no surprise that, having purchased in 1912 Holbein’s portrait of Thomas More, he set his eyes on another of Holbein’s great works: his depiction of Thomas Cromwell.  The portraits hang on either side of the Living Hall’s grand neoclassical fireplace, the two Thomases facing each other in apparent antagonism.  Though painted five years apart, the portraits are seen as a pair, representative of the friction between these two royal advisors.  Indeed, their roles in Henry VIII’s reign couldn’t have been more conflicting: Cromwell was one of the architects of England’s break with Rome and the Act of Supremacy, whilst More was martyred for his commitment to the Roman Catholic Church.  Cromwell, along with Lord Richard Rich, was actually one of the major driving forces behind More’s execution, making the juxtaposition of these two portraits even more evocative.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">It is testament to Holbein’s skill as a portraitist that, not only has he brought these figures so fantastically to life, he has also hugely influenced the way we view both More and Cromwell.  More, who hosted Holbein on his first visit to England, is presented as affluent, wise, and confident.  Cromwell, by contrast, is jowly and clad in black, looking cold and indrawn.  More certainly comes out on top in this comparison, a wise and kindly man compared to a grim political fixer.  This is how, until very recently, the two men have been regarded.  There is, though, a darker side to Thomas More, a side that should not be ignored.  Though Hilary Mantel’s depiction of More as a heretic hunting misogynist may be slightly extreme, it is perhaps more apt than Robert Bolt’s description of him as ‘A Man for All Seasons’.  He was undoubtedly a great politician and an intelligent Humanist scholar, but that should not obscure completely an appraisal of the more questionable aspects of his character – he did, after all, think it acceptable to burn Protestants.  The same can be said for More’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Utopia</i>: though it has long been heralded as a great progressive work, there are features of the fictional world that lead us to ask uncomfortable questions.  Hence, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Utopia </i>is one of the most hotly-debated works ever written, with critics wondering not only what More actually believed, but also whether Utopia comes anywhere near to the perfect commonwealth.  And so, with reference to More’s life and work, I intend to explore the more unsavoury aspects of the Utopian world, present a nuanced view of the commonwealth, and thus unravel the enigma of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Utopia</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">There certainly are parts of the Utopian vision that were significantly ahead of their time.  The abolishment of private property serves as the obvious example – because Utopia is a proto-communist state, (almost) everyone is equal.  Nobody ever goes hungry or without a home, and the Utopians have no reason to be proud, greedy, or jealous.  It was for this ideal that the Soviet Union honoured More when they placed his name on Moscow’s Stele of Freedom.  And yet, even this aspect of Utopia must be questioned – after all, as </span><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-themecolor: text1;">Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn</span><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-themecolor: text1;"> argued, communism needs enslavement and forced labour to survive, something ‘...foreseen as far back as Thomas More, the great-grandfather of socialism, in his <i>Utopia</i>’.  Hence, in order to ensure that the Utopian regime works, the Utopians have almost no freedom – they are, in effect, slaves.  Hythloday explains to More and Giles that in Utopia, </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">‘wherever you are, you always have to work.’  Even more sinister is what he says next: ‘Everyone has his eye on you, so you’re practically forced to get on with your job…’ Reading this, we can’t help thinking of Orwell’s dystopian <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nineteen Eighty-Four </i>and, in particular, the omniscient figure of Big Brother controlling the mass-surveillance of Oceania.  Like the characters of Orwell’s novel, the people of Utopia are deprived of much of their liberty.  Even their sleeping patterns are governed by the state, and it’s hard not to imagine More chuckling to himself when he wrote: ‘They go to bed at 8 p.m., and sleep for eight hours…’ With the naming of Utopia after its founder, Utopos, we are also reminded of the disastrous attempt at a utopia known as ‘Jonestown’, also named after its leader and almost cult-like in its worship.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">Along with this deprivation of freedom comes an undeniable lack of fun and excitement in Utopia.  People are not allowed to travel without getting a passport, and even then they still have to work their normal hours.  There are no ‘wine-taverns, no ale-houses, no brothels, no opportunities for seduction, no secret meeting-places,’ perhaps a good thing, though it still demonstrates how restricted Utopian life is.  Moreover, there is complete uniformity amongst people, destroying almost any sense of individuality: everybody wears the same clothes (distinctions only made between sex and marital status), and every house on the island is identical.  We cannot help doubting whether Utopia really could be the perfect commonwealth, given its lack of freedom, excitement and individuality.  Hythloday himself seems to point out this flaw in Book I: ‘he who cannot reform the lives of citizens in any other way than by depriving them of the good things of life must admit that he does not know how to rule free men’.  It would be hard to deny that the Utopians have been deprived of excitement: the game of virtues and vices, for example, sounds almost like More making a little joke.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">Another aspect of Utopia that causes concern is the use of slavery.  Just as in Plato’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Republic </i>there were those who counted as citizens and those who were slaves, so Utopia can claim equality even whilst it uses slaves to hold its commonwealth together.  If these slaves don’t count as citizens, then the Utopian egalitarian model has no responsibility to them.  This was one of the premises of Greek utopias, the goal of the commonwealth being the happiness of its <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">citizens</i>, rather than the happiness of all.  As Aristotle said, ‘the state is an association of equals… But… this is not for all’.  The slaves in Utopia seem to be almost dehumanized: ‘The slaughtering of livestock and cleaning of carcasses are done by slaves.  They don’t let ordinary people get used to cutting up animals, because they think it tends to destroy one’s natural feelings of humanity.’  There is a sinister quality to the distinction it makes between slaves and ‘ordinary people’.  By dehumanising the slaves of Utopia, it seems acceptable that they should be enslaved and thus not regarded as equal.  True, slavery is better than capital punishment, and the slaves of Utopia are treated relatively well – but is it really ethical to enslave someone for committing adultery, for example?  Along with the use of slavery, there is an ominous sense of Utopian superiority reminiscent of the Aryan ideal in Nazi Germany.  Hence, rather than risking the lives of their own citizens in war, the Utopians use ‘foreign mercenaries – whose lives they risk more willingly than their own.’  These mercenaries are the savage Zapoletans, who the Utopians have absolutely no concern for.  Thus, Utopian policy towards these savages is inconsistent with the concept of universal human brotherhood depicted in the New Testament.  As H.G. Wells argued, a real utopia requires a world state – every human in the world must work together and be equal for the concept of a utopia to be fulfilled.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">Linked to this xenophobic sense of superiority is the questionable practice of Utopian colonisation.  The Utopians govern according to their own values, and very often they force their own values on surrounding states, most notably the ideal that all land should be cultivated as much as possible.  When natives won’t allow the Utopians to invade, colonise and cultivate their soil, the Utopians go to war, ‘for they consider war perfectly justifiable, when one country denies another its natural right to derive nourishment from any soil which the original owners are not using themselves, but are merely holding on to as a worthless piece of property.’  This argument seems logical, since the additional produce gained from newly cultivated land could improve the lives of Utopian citizens.  And yet, this same argument could have been used against the Native Americans who protested the Dakota Access Pipeline.  Donald Trump could very well have claimed his ‘natural right to derive nourishment from any soil’, ignoring the fact that, not only does the land belong to the indigenous Native Americans, but also that the land is sacred and thus non-expendable.  So, just as with Trump’s approach to the Native Americans, there is clearly a sense that the Utopians know better, and thus they can excuse themselves for invading and exploiting the land of others.  As George M. Logan suggests, the same is true of Plato and Aristotle, whose ‘attitude toward foreigners resembles their attitude toward slaves and artisans.’  Though they try to minimise death and destruction during times of war, and though they kindly give one seventh of exports to the poor of other countries, there is still the menacing sense that the Utopians are superior.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">So it’s clear then that, just as with every imagined or attempted utopia, the fictional state created by More is undeniably flawed.  The question we must now ask ourselves, though, is whether More actually believed Utopia was a perfect commonwealth.  Many would like to think so, and thus proclaim him as a great communist thinker.  But as Anthony Kenny points out, ‘Wherever we turn in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Utopia</i>… we find something which is contradicted in More’s life.’  It’s hard to imagine that a staunch Catholic, who strongly opposed the annulment of Henry VIII’s marriage to Catherine of Aragon, would ever advocate divorce in any form.  We question, too, whether a man who spent much of his life as a lawyer and as Chancellor (the most important legal figure in the land), would have created a world without lawyers and attacked the length of legal codes: ‘it’s quite unjust for anyone to be bound by a legal code which is too long for an ordinary person to read right through, or too difficult for him to understand. ’<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">But these are relatively small contradictions: the major inconsistency involves the treatment of religion in Utopia.  Hythloday praises the Utopian tolerance of other religions and the fact that ‘no one is held responsible for what he believes’ (unless, of course, they are atheists, who are despised by Utopians).  There is also a modesty in Utopian belief in that their prayer involves a confession of human ignorance: they ask God to show them ‘the truest religion,’ admitting that theirs may not be the best.  The question is, would Thomas More ever have questioned the truth of the Catholic religion?  Would More, who referred to himself as grievous to heretics and who burned six protestants during his reign as Chancellor, really preach religious tolerance?  Well, perhaps.  What qualifies the Utopian tolerance of religion is that religious trouble-making is not allowed.  One man is arrested for disturbance of the peace because he ‘started giving public lectures on the Christian faith, in which he showed rather more zeal than discretion.’  Conversion attempts are permitted, but Utopians are ‘not allowed to make bitter attacks on other religions. ’</span><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-themecolor: text1;"> Perhaps More viewed the likes of Tyndale and Luther as troublemaking heretics rather than simply people with different beliefs, and as they threatened to disband Christendom, he felt he had a duty to fight them: they must be ‘oppressed and overwhelmed in the beginning. ’<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-themecolor: text1;">These are, of course, debates that will never end.  It’s most likely, though, that More’s final words on the matter can be used to summarize his point of view: </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">‘But I freely admit that there are many features of the Utopian Republic which I should like – though I hardly expect – to see adopted in Europe.’  Given that Hythlodeus means ‘dispenser of nonsense’ and that Utopia means ‘no place’, it’s unlikely that More really believed that the Utopian ideal could ever be fulfilled, let alone perfected.  Rather, he was simply exploring various different ideas for the construction of a new commonwealth or the improvement of his own, and by speaking through Hythloday, he could be ‘like the ‘all-licens’d fool’ in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">King Lear</i>’ and ‘tell home-truths with comparative safety’.  As Logan argued, ‘Utopia is partly More’s ideal, and partly not.’  So just as we must avoid idealising Thomas More as ‘a man for all seasons’, so we must take Utopia for what it is: a work that includes many progressive ideas (euthanasia and communism, for example), but that also includes many ideas grounded in the mores of the past – hence, colonisation, misogyny, and the keeping of slaves, are seen as acceptable.  And we cannot blame More for his strict views on adultery or for his belief in colonisation – these were mainstream views of the time and, after all, More never said he was attempting to create a better world, only ‘the best condition of the commonwealth’.  Just as with most things, we need to take a nuanced view of both More and his work.  Indeed, this use of nuance has never been so vital given the current political landscape, dominated as it is by partisan arguments and bigoted beliefs.  Human beings are flawed, complex, and individual.  The inevitable consequence of the human condition is that our policies and views will always be problematic, and the commonwealths we create will never be perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></div><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> <o:PixelsPerInch>96</o:PixelsPerInch> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings></xml><![endif]--> <! --[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> 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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Document Map"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Plain Text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="E-mail Signature"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Top of Form"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Normal (Web)"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Acronym"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Address"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Cite"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Code"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Definition"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Keyboard"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Preformatted"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Sample"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Typewriter"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="HTML Variable"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Normal Table"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="annotation subject"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="No List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Outline List 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Outline List 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Outline List 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Simple 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Simple 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Simple 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Classic 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Classic 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Classic 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Classic 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Colorful 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SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Grid 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Grid 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Grid 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Grid 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Grid 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table List 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table List 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table List 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table List 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table List 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table List 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table List 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table List 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table 3D effects 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table 3D effects 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table 3D effects 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Contemporary"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Elegant"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Professional"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Subtle 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Subtle 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Web 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Web 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Web 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Balloon Text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Table Theme"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Note Level 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Note Level 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Note Level 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Note Level 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Note Level 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Note Level 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Note Level 7"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Note Level 8"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Note Level 9"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List 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Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 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Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 3"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 3"/> 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6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Mention"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Smart Hyperlink"/> </w:LatentStyles></xml><![endif]--> <! --[if gte mso 10]><style> /* Style Definitions */ table. MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style><![endif]--> <! --StartFragment--> <! --EndFragment--><br /><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-79502132124878946292017-08-13T23:48:00.000-07:002017-08-15T23:29:39.217-07:00The Conflict of Idealism and Realism in The Parnassus Plays<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt;">Though we often think of modernism as the point at which artistic creation and the role of the artist-poet in society really became a major consideration of artistic work (exemplified by Wallace Stevens’s ‘Of Modern Poetry’), it was, in fact, during the Renaissance that this trend was first developed.  Rogier van der Weyden’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Saint Luke Drawing the Virgin </i>(right, c. 1445-50)<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>is a perfect example of this motif, with van der Weyden’s painting bringing to the fore the idea of artistic creativity.  The same can be said of Vermeer’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Art of Painting </i>(below left, 1666), a self-portrait of Vermeer painting an allegorical figure, possibly the Muse of History.  As Walter Liedtke suggested, the painting can be read </span><span style="color: #1c1c1c; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt;">‘as a virtuoso display of the artist's power of invention and execution…’ We can also see this focus on artistic creation as a theme in the poetry of the Elizabethan sonneteers, with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Astrophel and Stella</i>’s<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>opening sonnet considering the difficulties of writing innovative verse.  Still, the main focus of the sequence is not art itself – though it contemplates the ideas of artistic creation and convention, the sequence is mainly concentrated on love and desire.  <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Parnassus Plays</i>, alongside the plays of the Poetomachia, were the first set of plays wholly devoted to the idea of writing as their central subject.  As Paula Glatzer argues, the trilogy is </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt;">‘an Elizabethan embodiment of the eternal conflict between an artist and his society.’  But whilst the aforementioned paintings emphasise the dignity and importance of the artist in society, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Parnassus Plays</i>, written at the turn of the century by Johnian students, focus more on the difficulties faced by scholar-poets.  The trilogy moves from an almost naïve idealization of the accumulation of knowledge, to a highly pessimistic depiction of a cruel society, with the final two plays dominated by harsh realism and stinging satire.  It is this progression from idealism to realism that holds the trilogy together and makes it such a relevant text to both students and artists today.  </span><span style="color: #1c1c1c; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt;">The first play is by far the most idealistic of the three.  It begins with Consiliodorus counselling Philomusus and Studioso before they set out on their voyage to Parnassus, an allegory for embarking on their university studies.  Consiliodorus speaks from ‘experience’ when he urges them on their voyage, lucidly depicting an idealised vision of Parnassus: ‘Where with sweet Nectar you youre vaines may fill, / … And teache them write some sweeter poetrie…’ Consiliodorus explains that, if he were young, he would make the voyage, even though he ‘foreknewe that gold runns to the boore’ – as he says, he would ‘be a scholler though I liue but poore.’  This is the central theme of the entire trilogy – that intellect will not bring worldly goods, and that scholars are largely condemned to poverty (‘Learninge and pouertie will euer kiss’).  This is indeed a realist depiction of the scholar-poet’s struggle, and yet, for Consiliodorus, this is no reason for abandoning the scholarly life – rather, the problem is with society itself, ‘That knoweth not howe to weigh youre worthiness.’  As Glatzer argues, ‘if artistic values are superior, then society and its material rewards are things that the true Parnassian must transcend.’  Consiliodorus urges the scholars to go to ‘that pure and happie springe’ and then ‘Returne triumphant with youre laurel boughes…’<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt;">These are indeed glorified visions of learning and poetry, visions that will later be challenged by the failed scholar-poets and poetasters encountered during the voyage, the very ‘lozell, lazie, loitering gromes, / All foggie sleepers, and all idle lumps’ that Consiliodorus warned them against.  The first tempter they encounter is Madido (‘moist one’), a drunkard who has abandoned his voyage in the land of logic in favour of wine and the poetry he believes that alcohol can inspire.  Though Madido is a comic character and an antagonist, we are charmed by his effective use of simple diction set in rhythmic prose.  We must also remember that this was first performed for students, who must have experienced similar temptations.  And when Madido complains of patrons with ‘asses ears’ and claims that ‘This Parnassus and Hellicon are but the fables of the poetes,’ we cannot help but agree.  Still, Philomusus and Studioso remain steadfast in their resolution, rejecting alcohol for ‘learnings glorious meede’.  The second character they meet is Stupido, a much less persuasive character.  Whilst Studioso says that he ‘neuer sawe a more delicious earth… Then here is in this lande of Rhetorique,’ the puritan Stupido condemns ‘these vaine artes of Rhetorique, Poetrie, and Philosophie.’  Stupido is an archetypal version of the satirized puritan figure, pompous, repetitious, arrogant, and generally ignorant.  For example, the only argument he has for art’s immorality is the outlandish clothing of poets: ‘Artistes [are] fools, and that you may know by there vndecent apparell.’  This exchange, then, partially links to Sidney’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Defence of Poesy</i> in that the author of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Pilgrimage </i>is defending poetry against puritanical accusations of immorality.  The real reason for Stupido’s puritanical rage, Philomusus reveals, is not his morals, but that fact that ‘he cannot reach vnto the artes’ and thus ‘Makes showe as though he would neglect’ them.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt;">The next two failed scholar-poets that the protagonists encounter are Amoretto and Ingenioso, met in the land of poetry and the land of philosophy respectively.  Amoretto enters reading verses from Ovid and seems to personify the argument against poetry that Sidney referred to when he described ‘how much it abuseth men’s wit, training it to wanton sinfulness and lustful love…’ Amoretto has made the error of believing that love and lust are the only subjects for real poetry – it is in poetry, Amoretto says, that they shall ‘all youre hungrie sences feaste…’ The two scholar-poets are tempted by Amoretto, who eloquently tempts them towards ‘wantome merriments’.  These temptations are so strong that Philomusus speeches tend towards the more sensuous rhetoric of Amoretto, particularly when he says: ‘Phoebus hath laid his golden tressed locks / In the moist cabinet of Thetis lapp.’  And yet, with the opening of Act V, the two seem unsatisfied with these ‘yonge maides’, as Studioso says: ‘Howe sourelie sweete is melting venerie: / It yealdeth honie, but it straighte doth stinge.’  This leads Studioso to abandon the realm of poetry altogether, and this is precisely what Sidney warns against in his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Defence </i>– the danger of rejecting all poetry simply because of a few ‘entisinge Panders, subtile baudes’.  But Philomusus refutes Studioso’s argument, picking up on the Sidneian rationale that ‘who reades poets with a chaster minde / Shall nere infected be by poesie.’  Like Sidney, the playwright suggests the greatest threat to poetry comes from those who abuse it from within.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt;">The two protagonists’ final encounter is with Ingenioso, who agrees with Consiliodorus that ‘Learninge and pouertie will euer kiss’.  And yet, whilst Consiliodorus saw this as a matter of Stoic acceptance, valuing learning above material wealth, Ingenioso lures Philomusus and Studioso from their path because ‘Parnassus is out of siluer…’ This final act prepares us for the succeeding two plays, with Ingenioso describing how ‘Apollo is banckroute’ whilst ‘tapsters, ostlers, carters, and cobblers haue a fominge pauch.’  But the protagonists reject Ingenioso’s complaints, declaring that, though they ‘knowe that scholers comonlie be poore / And that the dull worlde there good partes neglecte,’ they still ‘thinke not worse of faire Parnassus hill’.  This stoic acceptance and idealised conception of intellectual value is admirable, but Ingenioso’s final words are nonetheless prophetic: ‘Farewell, and take heede I take youe not napping twentie yeares henc in a vicars seate… or els interpreting <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pueriles Confabulationes </i>to a companie of seauen years olde apes.’  The play ends with a beautiful description of Parnassus, a ‘laurell shadie groue’ where they shall ‘heare the Muses tunefull harmonie.’  Thus, the first play of the trilogy presents those failed scholar-poets who could not stomach the voyage to Parnassus as the real antagonists, whilst Philomusus and Studioso persevere in their idealism despite temptation and the realist knowledge that learning will not lead to material wealth.  They follow Consiliodorus’s advice, and end the play with a sense of pure optimism.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt;">This hopefulness, though, is shattered at the start of the first part of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Return</i>.  As Glatzer says, the plays progress in ‘increasing disillusionment’ and this opening demonstrates the start of that progression.  The playwright of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pilgrimage </i>is said to have been made ‘a staide man’ whose ‘looke was neuer sanguine since that daye,’ a meta-theatrical demonstration of the play’s major theme – the suffering of the scholar-poet.  And yet, there is still, arguably, a sense of idealism in the opening, even if the play demonstrates the increased insignificance of the scholar-poet in society.  For example, the stagekeeper tells the audience ‘Our muses praise depends not on thy breath.’  This daringly suggests that the play has artistic merit independent of audience approval, and thus it is, perhaps, a writer’s proud rejection of societal appreciation in general.  Still, the majority of the play is pessimistic about the role of the scholar-poet and the difficulties facing him.  The play depicts Studioso and Philomusus once they have left Parnassus and entered the real world.  Whilst the first play was a tension between the scholar-poets and those that tempted them away from their course, the two <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Return </i>plays dramatize the tensions between the scholar-poet and society, only briefly alluded to in the previous play.  Hence, Ingenioso, who previously emphasised this tension in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pilgrimage </i>but was dismissed as a ‘wilie knaue’, becomes one of the major protagonists in this sequel and is greeted as an old friend.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt;">The most obvious change in tone comes in Consiliodorus.  Though he was previously aware that wealth and learning do not go hand in hand, he seems now to believe that the value of learning is not enough in itself.  As he says: ‘Hencforthe let none be sent by carefull syres, / Nor sonns nor kinred, to Parnassus hill, / Since waywarde fortune thus rewardes our coste / With discontent, theire paines with pouertie.’  Consiliodorus, Philomusus, and Studioso have realized, in the words of Glatzer, that ‘Parnassus may, after all, not suffice.’  Thus, each of them addresses this problem in a different way: Ingenioso turns to satire, even if that means abandoning his poetic principles (‘Foole I to angell in a misers mudd, / But hope of gould did make mee guilde this woode’); Philomusus becomes a sexton; and Studioso becomes a tutor, as Ingenioso prophesized.  But even in abandoning their scholarly and poetic principles, all three protagonists struggle.  Philomusus and Studioso lose their dignity, and later lose their employment, whilst Ingenioso (often compared to Nashe) struggles to find patronage, and is only given ‘two groates’ for his pamphlet – it is worth noting that Nashe, too, had difficulty finding patronage.  Ingenioso’s interactions with Gullio dramatize the poet’s dilemma in dealing with patrons who are unable to appreciate artistic merit when they see it – Gullio condemns both Chaucer and Spenser, whilst praising Shakespeare at length who, at that time, was considered a relatively low-brow romantic poet rather than the great bard we think of today.  Still, despite Gullio’s ignorance, Ingenioso needs the money: ‘My pen is youre bounden vassall to comande,’ he tells him obsequiously.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt;">It’s not long, though, before all three are left poverty-stricken and out of work.  Ingenioso has been dismissed by Gullio as a ‘Base, base, base, peasant’ for telling the truth about Gullio’s mistress; Studioso was kicked out of his role as tutor for being proud; and Philomusus was replaced for negligence.  But, whilst, as Glatzer points out, ‘Philomusus and Studioso’s social battle with the worldlings is debilitating,’ Ingenioso’s is, to some extent, ‘exhilerating’.  Philomusus constantly laments and complains, attacking Studioso for his stoicism: ‘Why, can a man be galde by pouertie, free spirits subiected to base fortune, and put it vp like a Stoick.’  Ingenioso, on the other hand, retains his spiritual superiority over others, explaining that he would ‘rather liue in pouertie / Than be tormented with the tedious tales / Of Gullios wench and of his luxuries…’ He is, according to Glatzer, determined ‘to exact literary vengeance on his social opponent, to use his verse for the purpose of abusing the patron.’  Thus, he says, ‘For Gullios sake Ile proue a Satyrist.’  This, again, is arguably another meta-theatrical comment in that the play itself is a satire, and the protagonist is praised as a satirist.  Indeed, Glatzer even says that the literary moral of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Return</i>plays is that ‘satire is the price a society must pay for disdaining its artists.’  Thus, the second part of the trilogy ends with Ingenioso more prepared for the real world than Philomusus and Studioso.  He explains: ‘Well, fawne the worlde, or frowne, my wit maintaine mee: / The press shall keepe mee from base beggarie’.  Conversely, Studioso and Philomusus head off ‘To Rome or Rhems’ and bid farewell to this ‘heard hearted clyme’.  And so, we have seen in these first two plays the progression of Philomusus and Studioso from scholars yearning for an idealised sense of knowledge and intellect, to debased scholar-poets trying to make their way in a society that does not appreciate their wit.  Though they knew all along that intellect does not lead to wealth, they now begin to doubt the value of intellect in itself.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt;">The third play takes this realism to a new extreme, with the scholar-poets now pleading with members of the monied middle classes, the ‘new men’ of Elizabethan England.  Ingenioso appeals first to Danter, the notoriously licentious printer, sacrificing his artistic principles in writing a shameless pamphlet which he knows will sell well, and then appeals to a trio of ignorant private patrons; Academico sues for pastoral preferment from Sir Raderick and Amoretto; and Philomusus and Studioso, the once idealistic pilgrims from Parnassus, pose as physicians and cony catchers.  They have, by this point, completely abandoned Consiliodorus’ principle of self-integrity, most evident when Philomusus says to Studioso: ‘But lets leaue this capping of rimes… let vs run through all the lewd formes of lime-twig purloyning villaynes, let vs proue Cony-catchers, Baudes, or any thing, so we may rub out.’  They even begin to despise the very learning they acquired at Cambridge, with Philomusus saying that ‘if any of the hidebound brethren of Cambridge and Oxforde… that abused vs in times past… become our patients, wee’l alter quite the stile of them…’ Like Ingenioso in his vow to attack the society that has neglected his art, so Philomusus and Studioso are determined to revenge their maltreatment by whatever means.  By this point, as Glatzer argues, ‘Their recent worldly exploits have cursed them with the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">knowledge </i>of social evil, and in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Second Return</i> they descend ever further, and choose, cynically, to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">experience </i>evil.’  When these exploits fail them, they descend even further, attempting to become professional actors (‘mimick apes’ and ‘glorious vagabonds’) – a profession scorned at the universities.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 11.0pt;">It is, arguably, at this point that our sympathy for Philomusus and Studioso begins to dwindle.  Of course, we pity their predicament, but their complete abandonment of their principles certainly puts them at a distance from the audience.  Glatzer eloquently writes: ‘Not only do they abuse the world on its own terms, playing the false physician and tutor; they also pervert their own artistic values by co-opting with Burbage and Kempe, and then by fiddling for Sir Barbarism’s patronage.’  Whilst they frequently demand sympathy from the audience as rejected Parnassians (‘To beare too long argues an asses kinde’), they also take part in society’s own Machiavellian schemes.  Thus, the play ends in complete pessimism, with no real persuasive argument for the worth of the arts.  The final scene shows all the scholar-poets encountering one another again, all having abandoned their previous attempts at accumulating wealth.  Philomusus explains that they ‘haue run through many trades, and thriue by / Poore in content’ and are now intent on a Spenserian shepherd’s life.  Ingenioso and his companions are fleeing to the ‘Ile of Dogges’ to ‘vext breath in snarling wast’, having been apprehended for their slanderous satire (again, recalling Nashe and his lost play).  As Studioso remarks, ‘well thou dost from this fond earth to flit, / Where most mens pens are hired parasites.’  Academico, on the other hand, will return to his cell in Cambridge, even though it is a ‘melancholick life’.  Thus the play ends in utterly pessimistic realism, ‘discontent’ because ‘few schollers fortunes are content’.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 11pt;">And so, the plays begin with a knowledge that wealth and learning are mutually exclusive, but with learning valued above material wealth.  It is only when they get into the real world that they realise how naïve they had been in thinking they could survive on knowledge alone.  In the new capitalist world emerging in the late 16<sup>th</sup>Century, one needed more than just knowledge to get by.  As Glatzer notes: ‘The harsh but unavoidable conclusion of the Parnassus Plays [withdrawal to the countryside] is that there is no legitimate secular place for the artist in society.’  In a sense then, the two <i>Return </i>plays can be seen as a response to both the <i>Pilgrimage </i>play and also <i>Club Law </i>(1599), a play performed at Clare Hall in which Cambridge civilians are forced to accept the university scholars as superior.  The <i>Return </i>plays seem to refute the idealism of the <i>Pilgrimage </i>whilst also rejecting the optimism of <i>Club Law</i>.  The ideal view that the scholar’s knowledge surpasses all material wealth and that the scholar will triumph over citizens, the <i>Return </i>plays suggest, is simply untenable, not only because Cambridge is not representative of the realities of the wide world, but also because the premises of the two plays are based wholly on a false and idealistic romanticising of knowledge.  Thus, though it may be somewhat unsavoury for the modern audience, the <i>Parnassus Plays </i>seem to reveal the naivety of young scholars and demonstrate the severe difficulties they will face once they leave Parnassus.  Perhaps, the plays seem to suggest, the voyage to Parnassus is not really worth it – perhaps Ingenioso was right all along.</span>&nbsp;</div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-72806264954213687892017-08-13T10:44:00.000-07:002017-08-13T10:45:12.886-07:00The Development of Poetic Form in Renaissance England<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It was, of course, Geoffrey Chaucer who laid the foundations for the rise of a vernacular English poetry.  In his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Canterbury Tales</i>, he developed the iambic pentameter and the rhyming couplet, and to that extent, he is rightly seen as the ‘father’ of English verse.  And yet, this essay will argue that Renaissance writers are overlooked in the central role they played in advancing a distinctive English poetic style.  We often think of Pope and Dryden as the first great English critics, ignoring the important formal developments that took place in both poetry and criticism during the Renaissance.  It was, in fact, during the 16<sup>th</sup> and 17<sup>th</sup> centuries that poets and critics really developed an understanding of form as central to verse.  This epoch took up and advanced the idea that form (mainly structure, metre, and rhyme) can be a tool of expression; that manner can be just as important as manner.  Though previous writers (including Chaucer) had indeed experimented with form, it was in the Renaissance period that formal innovations were taken to new heights, laying crucial foundations the for critical and poetic works of Pope, Dryden, and others.  Indeed, the writers of Renaissance England are almost entirely responsible for the way we think of poetry today.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There were a number of different factors that led to this Renaissance emphasis on form.  The first, and perhaps the most important, was the prominence given to the ‘dignity’ of man.  The most obvious example of this is Leonardo da Vinci’s ‘Vitruvian Man’ drawing, the presentation of the ideal man in all his grandeur.  Pico della Mirandola’s work <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">De hominis dignitate </i>reflects a similar pride in humanity.  This work was so influential at the time that it is often referred to as the ‘Manifest of the Renaissance’ in that it championed this newfound sense of man’s worth and intellect.  One of the central ideas behind this text is the emphasis on man’s ability to create.  As he says, ‘</span><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Merriweather-Regular; mso-themecolor: text1;">as the free and proud shaper of your own being’, you have the ability to ‘fashion yourself in the form you may prefer.’  </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This work highlights throughout that man was formed in the God’s image, and thus it stressed that man has and ought to use his God-given creative faculties.  This is something that Sidney picked up on in his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Defence of Poesy</i>.  Though he rejected the idea of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">furor poeticus</i>, he believed that man was created as a ‘maker’ and given ‘the force of divine breath’.  Sidney focuses throughout on man’s God-like creative power: ‘Nature never set forth the earth in so rich tapestry as divers poets have done…’ Puttenham also adopted this position when he wrote – ‘A poet is as much to say as a maker… Such as (by way of resemblance and reverently) we may say of God.’  After all, the word ‘poet’, as Sidney points out, comes from the Greek ‘poiein’ which means ‘to make’.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Thus, Sidney stresses the poet’s role as creator and craftsman, and the need to employ our God-given intellect in order to give glory to God.  This intellect often manifested itself in formal innovation and the attempt to show wit and skill in poetic form, also influenced by a revived interest in Classical rhetoric, which stressed the importance of ‘inventio’ in writing.  But it wasn’t just in divine poetry that this need to show formal skill was important: in the court, in order to advance themselves and attract patronage, poets often found they had to differentiate themselves from their contemporaries, and this differentiation frequently expressed itself in formal ingenuity and skill.  What is more, because of the high rate of Elizabethan criticism, poems of the time, as Catherine Ing argues, ‘were the products of highly conscious artists, often working to rule, always well aware of the effect they wished to produce, and deliberately choosing certain means towards their chosen ends.’  And so, Ing goes on, ‘it probably seemed to the Elizabethan critic that the truth of a poet’s inspiration must show itself in his delight and care in labour.’  The need to distinguish one’s own poetry from that of others, and likewise this new sense of man as ‘maker’ and of poet as ‘craftsman’, all combined to emphasise the importance of form in the poetry of the day.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The most obvious and clear example of this special use of form is seen in the rise of figured poems in Renaissance England, again influenced by the renewed interest in Classical poets, the originators of figured poetry.  They are, perhaps, the most blatant instance of poets using form to reflect content in that the poems are shaped according to what the poet is describing.  This development was also induced by the development of print culture in the 16<sup>th</sup> century and the rise of competing printing houses.  As Elizabeth Cook suggests, printers wanted ‘to demonstrate their skills in the display of uniform type in clearly contoured diagrammatic forms.’  Likewise, the rise in baroque art during this time led to an emphasis on ‘various layers of communication’ working cumulatively to achieve a collaborative intensity’ (Cook) – this is exactly what figured poems seem to do.  Puttenham’s Pyramids or ‘spire’ poems show not only how poets could distinguish themselves from other through formal innovation (one of the spires must be read from bottom to top, manipulating normal reading conventions), but also how form can reflect meaning.  In the first spire, we move from the earthly ‘figure’ of the spire up towards the ‘azurd skie’ to reflect the queen’s vow that she shall ‘mount on hie’ and ‘aspire / After an hier / Crown &amp; empir’.  The second poem, which we read from the top down, aptly begins with:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>‘God <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>On<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; </span>Hie<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span>From <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>Aboue <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Sends loue’.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This clearly demonstrates Puttenham’s awareness of how form can reflect and even go some way to expressing meaning.  Elsewhere, he argued that the figure of the pillar, for example, can suggest ‘stay, support, rest, state, and magnificence,’ showing a manifest link between form and matter.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">George Herbert’s later poem ‘Easter Wings’, partly inspired by a similar ancient Greek poem by Simmias of Rhodes, is a more interesting specimen for analysis in that it uses its form in multiple ways at once.  Rather than simply writing a poem in the form of its title, Herbert directly uses that form to reflect certain semantic meanings.  For example, in the first stanza we see how, as man is ‘Decaying more and more’ so the lines diminish until we get to the words ‘Most poor’ (directly reflected in the placement of the words ‘Most thin’ in the second stanza).  But then, the lines grow longer and longer once man is supported by ‘thee’, God, until they return to the length of the first line, when man was created ‘in wealth and store’.  Moreover, as the two final lines show, the form is mimetically reflective of Herbert’s conceit – he is literally ‘imping’ the wings of the angels which he hopes will, with Affliction, ‘advance the flight in me’.  Thus, Herbert not only fits his matter into a structural mimesis, but he uses this structure to enhance the poem’s meaning, allowing it various layers of expression.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This is just one of many examples of how poets of this period used strophic or formal structure as a method of illustrating meaning.  For instance, Andrew Marvell’s ‘To his Coy Mistress’ is divided into three stanzas to reflect the syllogistic nature of his argument.  The stanzas begin ‘Had we… But… Now therefore…’ reflecting the typical trajectory of logical induction.  By splitting his poem into three large stanzaic units, Marvell is showing off his awareness of rhetorical and argumentative finesse, whilst also purposefully undermining his own argument and demonstrating its artificiality.  Though I would not agree with Eliot that this carpe-diem poem really contains much ‘serious matter’, I would agree that Marvell has used ‘structural decoration’ to elucidate the poem’s content.  John Donne’s poem ‘The Good Morrow’ works in a similar way in its stanzaic divisions, though to different ends.  Donne divides his poem up into three stanzas, the first of which reflects on the past (hence the emphatic placement and trochaic stress of ‘Did’ in the second line), the second on the present (opening ‘And now’) and the third, on the future, which hints at love’s eternalising qualities<span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">: ‘</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-themecolor: text1;">If our two loves be one, or, thou and I / Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.’  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-themecolor: text1;">John Milton also shows an awareness of formal importance in his composition of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Paradise Lost</i>.  The great epic was originally going to be written in the form of a play, a dramatic production of the Fall of Man.  However, he then decided that the epic form suited the story better, perhaps because he aimed at a sense of elevation and grandeur to stress the significance ‘Of man’s first disobedience…’ This grandeur would, presumably, come from the associations of the epic form with writers like Homer (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Iliad </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Odyssey</i>), Virgil (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Aeneid</i>), and later on Edmund Spenser (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Faerie Queene</i>).  And yet, when the poem was first published, it contained only ten books (perhaps to associate it with Lucan’s ten-book work, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pharsalia</i>), and it was only later that Milton settled on a twelve-book form, affirming its affinity with Virgil’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Aeneid</i>, also comprised of twelve books.  All of this, according to Ing, shows Milton’s ability </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘To recognize that certain forms may mould some subjects more happily than others may show as much imaginative perception as to feel that certain subjects flow more happily into some forms than into others.’  Thus, by choosing to write his rendition of the Fall in the form of a twelve book epic, Milton was not only adding grandeur to his work, he was also showing an awareness of form’s importance and demonstrating the connotations that certain forms can bring with them.  And yet, at the start of his work, he is keen to show that he will not be dominated by these traditional connotations.  Hence, as Hurley points out, he picks up on the Classical idea of Mount Helicon as the home of the Muses, but suggests that, because his muse is ‘Heav’nly’ he can ‘soar / Above th’Aonian mount.’  Here, then, we can see how writers may want to work with their chosen form, whilst also working against it, or at least working against the form’s connotations (as Milton also did in his decision to write political sonnets).<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Specialised use of form also manifested itself in the choice of metres and rhyme patterns of poems during this period.  One of the reasons why metre and rhyme were so important was because much of the poetry written in the early 16<sup>th</sup> century was translation of earlier poems.  This meant that poems were often indistinguishable in terms of subject-matter, all of them exploiting similar conventions and traditions.  As Ing explains, Elizabethan lyrics ‘are notorious for their repetitive subject-matter… their well-worn imagery and their light intellectual weight.’  What this means, then, is that poets had to differentiate themselves mainly in their use of form, and thus our ‘enjoyment is dependent on our appreciation of that in the poem which is truly the result of the poet’s art.’  Moreover, because these poems were often translations of Italian work, English poets found they could not just replicate Italian forms, which were often unsuitable to the English language.  This was for a number of reasons, but mainly because of the comparative lack of easy feminine rhymes in the English language.  Thus, poets like Wyatt and Surrey adapted the hendecasyllabic metre of Italian sonneteers into the English iambic metre, and settled on rhyme-schemes which allowed for the increased difficulty of repeated rhyming in English.  Hence, Wyatt introduced a final couplet into the sestet (cddc;ee) and Surrey changed the number of rhyme endings from four or five in the Petrarchan tradition to seven, also often using a final rhyming couplet.  This gave the English poets the same freedom the Italians had, though it may seem otherwise.  It also meant that the poems often finished with an epigrammatic clinch in the couplet, which poets often used wittily to summarise their poems.  Indeed, the final couplet often became the location of the sonnet’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">volta</i>, as in Sidney’s sonnet ‘Thou blind man’s mark’, which ends with the conclusive couplet: ‘Within myself to seek my only hire, / Desiring nought but how to kill desire.’  This demonstrates how English sonneteers not only adapted the Italian sonnet, but used this formal adaption to their advantage.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This period also saw an increased awareness of how different metrical feet and rhyme schemes could have different emotional effects on the reader.  As Puttenham points out, the variation of feet can play a significant emotional role in a poem: ‘for a foote by his sence natural is a member of office and function’.  Thus, metres can be ‘sometimes swift, sometimes slow, sometime vnegally marching or peraduenture steddy.’  In ‘Of Proportion by Situation’, Puttenham talks about how different metres can make verse ‘either lighter or grauer, or more merry, or mournfull, and many wayes passionate to the eare and hart of the hearer…’ Thus, despite common misconception, it wasn’t Pope who first demonstrated the power of metrical variation when he wrote: ‘</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Roboto-Light;">When Ajax strives, some Rock's vast Weight to throw, / The Line too labours, and the Words move slow…’ Indeed, the Renaissance and Elizabethan writers were already well versed in exploiting metrical expression.  Hence in his poem ‘Anacreontick’ Thomas Campion uses a trochaic dimeter to speed up our reading of the poem, reflecting the swift-footedness of ‘Nimble’ Lawra and the poem’s meaning that ‘Time can conquer’.  Campion shows a similar awareness of metrical power in his poem ‘Follow your Saint’, in which the first two lines begin with imperative trochaic feet (‘Follow’ and ‘Haste you’) for emphasis, but then fall into iambics towards the line ends.  Perhaps, when Campion writes ‘Haste you, sad noates, fall at her flying feete’ he is commenting on the difference between the poetic feet he is using: the first two feet are trochaics (falling feet) and they are thus ‘sad noates’ which must ‘fall’, whereas the Saint’s are ‘flying feete’ and thus iambic (rising feet).  Hence, it’s clear that Campion is using his metrical pattern to reflect the matter of his verse.  Rhyme can be used in a similarly mimetic way: in ‘Madrigal V’, Drummond begins with high-pitched rhymes like ‘bring’ and ‘king’ but ends with the rhyming couplet: ‘Late having deckt with beauty’s rose his tomb, / Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.’  The fall to a much lower-pitched rhyme here suggests a settling into a sorrow of acceptance at the poem’s end.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Roboto-Light;">This skilled use of metrical variation was best employed by the Elizabethan playwrights, notably Marlowe and Shakespeare.  For example, Faustus’s final soliloquy shows a collapse of regular iambic pentameter to reflect the character’s mind state of horror and impending doom.  He exclaims: </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘Oh, I’ll leap up to my God: who pulls me down? /  See, see, where Christ’s blood streams in the firmament. /  One drop would save my soul, half a drop.  Ah, my Christ!’  These lines contain extra syllables and the iambic rhythms seem to have completely vanished, with ‘See, see, where Christ’s blood streams’ arguably having five stresses in just six syllables.  Thus, Marlowe uses variation and the collapse of metre to suggest his tragic hero’s panic in this poignant scene.  As Hurley and O’Neill comment, we see Faustus <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in extremis</i>, ‘the author’s manipulation of the line’ making ‘the reader feel’ and making stresses ‘obey the dictates of the voice’s urgencies.’  There is a similar breakdown in Hamlet’s ‘Oh what a rogue’ soliloquy in which he exclaims, ‘For Hecuba!’  This exclamation is set on its own line, breaking up the metre entirely.  Likewise, fuelled by fury, his words break loose from their metrical restraints when he cries: ‘Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! /  O, vengeance! –’  And yet, the speech ends with a perfectly iambic rhyming couplet, to reflect Hamlet’s newfound sense of resolve: ‘The play’s the thing / Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King. ’</span><br /><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Roboto-Light;"><br /></span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Roboto-Light;">Thus, I have shown how poetic form, notably the verse’s visual presentation on the page and the use of metre and rhyme, was used in the Renaissance period not only to provide beautiful harmonies (though this was also a valid argument for these devices) but to present a proportionate whole, where various different aspects of a work come together to create and emphasize its various meanings.  This awareness is evident not only in the poetry of the time, but also in the criticism, with Puttenham, Campion and Daniel all clearly concerned with how form ‘can give pleasure in itself and also, at best, deepen the meaning.’  This conjunction of manner and matter is what really creates beauty, as defined by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">De Re Aedificatoria</i>: ‘the harmony and concord of all the parts achieved in such a manner that nothing could be added or taken away or altered except for the worse.’  Jonson expressed a similar sentiment when he defines </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">a ‘strict and succinct style [as] that, where you can take away nothing without losse, and that losse to be manifest’.  </span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Roboto-Light;">This is what the Renaissance and Elizabethan writers were working towards, and it was most certainly a noble aim.  It was this aim that has shaped the poetics of today, and for that, if not for the great poetry they created in the process, we should be incredibly grateful.</span></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-81948599153180764542017-01-03T09:20:00.000-08:002017-01-03T09:20:27.911-08:00Culture and Consciousness in Joyce's "Ulysses"<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In Episode 9 of James Joyce’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ulysses</i>, ‘Scylla and Charybdis’, a brief discussion takes place about Goethe’s novel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship</i>.  The work is introduced by the librarian, who describes the novel’s protagonist as ‘A hesitating soul taking arms against a sea of troubles, torn by conflicting doubts, as one sees in real life… The beautiful ineffectual dreamer who comes to grief against hard facts.’  As Cheryl Herr points out, the librarian’s comments are full of allusion, blending phrases from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hamlet</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Twelfth Night</i>, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Julius Caesar</i>, and Matthew Arnold’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Essays in Criticism</i>.  This rich allusiveness, argues Herr, demonstrates Joyce’s suggestion that ‘texts make our reality’ and that literature and culture comprise a significant part of our consciousness.  Through his constant references to the great works of the past and the famous thinkers of antiquity, Joyce not only pays homage to (and on occasion mocks) the figures of literary tradition, he also includes in his novel ‘all of the life that the tradition of Western fiction has created.’  What Herr is suggesting here is that many of the characters in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ulysses </i>are influenced or perhaps even determined by their surroundings and by what they have read.  The novel, then, is in dialogue with Francis Galton’s discussion of nature versus nurture, and Joyce seems to be suggesting that ‘thinking, the streaming of consciousness, the content of interior monologue, the very shape of the self are woven from the materials of one’s culture. ’<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A good starting point for this theory is Episode 13 of the novel, ‘Nausicaa’.  The episode depicts <span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">Cissy Caffrey, Edy Boardman, and Gerty MacDowell on Sandymount Strand and is narrated first from Gerty’s perspective and later from Bloom’s.  Through free indirect discourse, Joyce illustrates how Gerty’s thoughts are driven by her reading of kitsch sentimental fiction and by the stereotypical conventions of romantic love.  As Hugh Kenner points out, the episode is dominated by the style of ‘that book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Lamplighter </i>by Miss Cummins’ and other similar works.  Hence, Gerty is said to feel an ‘aching void in her heart’ because her ‘daydream of a marriage’ has been unfulfilled.  With the description of Bloom, the use of romantic clichés becomes proliferous.  When Tommy kicks the ball too close to the water, it is Bloom who runs ‘gallantly’ to save it – this, Gerty thinks, is ‘that of which she had so often dreamed’, her ‘manly man… tall with broad shoulders’.  She even thinks that Bloom might be her ‘dreamhusband’, and here the romantic illusion becomes most obvious.  The reader cannot help thinking that Gerty is simply deceiving herself into believing that this cuckolded man, who she has never met before, would be her ideal partner.  The novelistic influence is clear, not least in the fact that all indelicacies are removed from the narrative – there are no explicit references to either Bloom’s masturbation or Gerty’s lame foot.  Gerty even wonders whether Bloom lives with a madwoman or in ‘some tragedy like the nobleman with the foreign name from the land of song…’ It is true that he is a foreign man, and it is likewise true that he is aggrieved, not only because of Paddy Dignam’s death but also because of Molly’s adultery.  But Gerty is forcing these romantic tropes onto her ignorance of Bloom: she knows nothing about him, and yet imagines that he might be the hero of her own romantic tale.  Kenner is right when he says that Gerty’s literature-influenced consciousness ‘creates a new Bloom’, if only for a brief moment.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-themecolor: text1;">Gerty, then, is a clear and direct example of how culture influences our thinking and our perspective on the world.  A more complex and nuanced example is that of Stephen Dedalus, whose thoughts are certainly influenced by his reading, though these influences flux and change as he matures.  When Stephen leaves Dublin at the end of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man</i> he is determined to escape the fetters and restrictions of life in Dublin, dominated as it was by family difficulties, religion and politics.  But though Stephen leaves Ireland for Paris, he never really escapes the cultural influences of his upbringing.  He is right when he tells Davin that </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">‘This race and this country and this life produced me’.  This idea of nurture is clearly something that Joyce believes strongly: in his essay on Oscar Wilde, he argued that the playwright was not a ‘monster of perversion’ but a product of the cultural institutions surrounding him.  And this is clear in Stephen too.  In his essay “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stephen Hero </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man</i>: transforming the nightmare of history”, John Paul Riquelme argues that Stephen’s prose style in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Portrait </i>draws strongly on the contemplative aestheticism of Walter Pater.  He points to the scene in Chapter IV of the novel when Stephen sits with the dean as he tries to light a fire, a process he compares to art, the creation of beauty.  This recalls the ‘Conclusion’ of Pater’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Renaissance</i>, when Pater discusses art’s capacity to create impression with an intensity like fire: ‘To burn always with this hard, gem-like flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life.’  Riquelme argues that Stephen’s rhetoric of beauty and his description of the dean (‘a levite of the Lord… tending the fire upon the altar… bearing tidings secretly… waiting upon worldlings… striking swiftly when bidden…’) evoke Pater’s meditative rhythms and stylistic use of frequent present participles.  As Riquelme says, ‘The Irish student has internalized the techniques of an English writer. ’<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So when Stephen talks in Chapter IV about ‘a lucid supple periodic prose’ and a diction of ‘ecstasy’ and ‘trembling’, he is surely recalling the elegance of Pater’s work which dominated prose style in the late nineteenth century.  But it’s not just Pater that influences him.  He is also perpetually alluding to the ideas of Plato, Aristotle, and Aquinas, most obvious when he describes his aesthetic theory to Lynch, during which he quotes Aristotle, Aquinas, Shelley, and others.  But this is arguably inevitable in an intellectual student of literature: of course he should refer to the great thinkers of the past in the development of his own theories.  It is in the third episode of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ulysses</i>, though, that this issue of independent thought comes to a head.  Almost every one of his thoughts contains some sort of allusion or reference to other thinkers, demonstrating that it is not just speech that is influenced by culture, but the very intricacies of the mind, the conscious self.  This makes his suggestion to the dean that there is ‘no such thing as free thinking’ all the more poignant.  In this proto stream of consciousness, Joyce weaves into Stephen’s thoughts various quotations from other texts.  For example, Stephen would like to read the ‘signatures of all things’, a phrase that recalls Dun Scotus’ theory of ‘haeccitas’, the idea that every entity has a ‘thisness’ to it.  The phrase also recalls Plato’s theory of forms, particularly since Stephen later refers to his soul as the ‘form of forms’ that walks alongside him.  Even Stephen’s evocation of the sea’s sounds recalls the philosophy of the ancients – as Kenner argues, Stephen’s onomatopoeia ‘carries to the limit the ancient fantasy of the direct impress of the real on the psyche’.  By mimicking the sounds of the waves, Kenner argues, Stephen is attempting to express the Platonic ‘principle of vitality that must infuse itself into the mere materiality of the sense impression…’ Again, we can see how his thought has been influenced by great thinkers of the past.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Aristotle’s sway on Stephen’s consciousness is likewise clear.  In both ‘Nestor’ and ‘Proteus’, Stephen is concerned with the idea that he could have been ‘impossibilised’, echoing Aristotle’s doctrine of possibility.  In ‘Nestor’, he questions whether unactualized possibilities were ever really possible, ‘seeing that they never were’, or whether that was ‘only possible which came to pass’.  Luckily for him, he concludes, his mother ‘saved him from being trampled underfoot’ by giving birth to him – the possibility of Stephen was actualized in his birth.  But this fact does not reduce his anxiety that he might never have been born, and this anxiety manifests itself in the opening of ‘Proteus’.  He questions whether he is what Aristotle called a contingent being or a necessary being – closing his eyes in an attempt to eradicate himself from the earth, he realises that the world around him is ‘There all the time without you: and ever shall be…’ This realisation of his own contingency coincides with his sighting of a midwife in whose bag he concludes there must be a ‘misbirth’.  This demonstrates not only Stephen’s anxiety at the apparent insignificance of his own life, but also shows how the contemplations of Aristotle have infiltrated his own thoughts – whether Stephen is aware of this we shall never know.  Likewise, Bishop Berkeley’s philosophical idealism is clear in Stephen’s suggestion that the darkness of his words may be in truth a darkness in the souls of his readers, a central tenet of Berkeley’s theories, which locates the sense-qualities of things in the human mind.  References to Shakespeare (‘Full fathom five thy father lies’), Yeats (‘And no more turn aside and brood’), and Milton (‘Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor’) are also rife.  This shows how Stephen’s stream of consciousness is, to some extent, a conglomeration of all he has read and come across in his cultural and literary education.  And this influence really is ‘ineluctable’, hence the quatrain he writes on the back of Deasy’s letter explicitly reproduces lines from Douglas Hyde’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Love Songs in Connacht</i> with a few words changed.  As Hugh Kenner points out, ‘Whatever he can say seems derived from what someone has said before’, one reason why the first word of the episode is ‘ineluctable’.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> <o:PixelsPerInch>96</o:PixelsPerInch> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings></xml><![endif]--> <! --[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> 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6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Mention"/> <w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Smart Hyperlink"/> </w:LatentStyles></xml><![endif]--> <! --[if gte mso 10]><style> /* Style Definitions */ table. MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style><![endif]--> <! --StartFragment--> <! --EndFragment--><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So it’s clear that, to some extent, Joyce’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ulysses</i> validates Marx’s claim that ‘The tradition of all great generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living.’  Joyce himself plainly feels what Eliot calls the presence of the past so that ‘Oxen of the Sun’ is almost like an encyclopaedic timeline of literary styles.  And though there are characters who are more affected than others by this cultural and environmental influence on consciousness, all are implicated to some extent.  Even Molly Bloom, whose thought processes are often seen as the most natural, personal and authentic, seems to have been influenced to some extent by her surroundings.  Elaine Unkeless in her essay ‘The Conventional Molly Bloom’ argues that Joyce’s portrait mostly restricts Molly to ‘preconceived ideas of the way a woman thinks and behaves’ and thus Herr proposes that ‘Molly’s interior monologue is not unshaped thought but idea and self-image structured by society.’  She is, perhaps, the product of Bloom’s misogynistic stereotyping of all women as sluttish and wanting to steal ‘a man from another woman’.  The thought processes of Molly’s monologue, particularly the raunchier parts, might also have been influenced by what she reads: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Sweets of Sin </i>plot directly reflects Molly’s cuckolding of her husband.  We might then ask what exactly Joyce was attempting to suggest.  Was he implying that there is no real ‘self’, that we are simply the product of our environments, a hodgepodge accumulation of the words of others?  To some extent, yes, but not entirely.  Though consciousness is influenced by culture in the novel, that does not rule out completely the idea of selfhood.  Indeed, there are moments of individuality in the thoughts of every character, particularly in those moments of intense emotional and sexual feeling.  So, although our minds are influenced by our surroundings and by ‘nurture’, the novel still hints at what Herr calls the ‘culturally unconscious’, those lucid moments of individualism throughout <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ulysses</i>.  This is a sort of ‘soft determinism’ of thought, reconciling cultural influence with the idea of individual personality and quasi-independent consciousness.  Though texts of the past may make up some of our conscious reality, they are not the be all and end all of our so-called ‘selves’.  <o:p></o:p></span></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-82074546627164630392017-01-01T11:21:00.003-08:002017-01-01T11:21:30.495-08:00Light and Fire in Eliot's "Four Quartets"<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">T.S. Eliot’s early poetry is full of natural symbolism.  There is the fog in “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”, the wind in “Gerontion”, and of course the water, fire, and thunder in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Waste Land</i>.  The same is true of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Four Quartets</i>, with rivers, oceans, roses, and yew-trees all playing significant roles in the development of the poems.  The most important symbols, though, are those of light and fire.  In the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Quartets</i>, sunlight is used to show the danger of worldly illusion, whilst also leading us on the path to God.  Fire is used similarly: whilst it can be a source of distraction or even of destruction, it also stands for the idea of purgatorial or cleansing fire, a fire that is teleologically good.  It is through these symbols of light and fire that Eliot guides us on our poetical journey from the Dantesque ‘place of disaffection’ of “Burnt Norton” to the ‘condition of complete simplicity’ reached in the poem’s finale, the fifth movement of “Little Gidding”.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uLgS2ZA-_pg/WGlWj_rtDQI/AAAAAAAAAko/mMEANQ8iwzcl3KN9-TNaicWXz7esSPpzgCLcB/s1600/tseliot-1600x720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uLgS2ZA-_pg/WGlWj_rtDQI/AAAAAAAAAko/mMEANQ8iwzcl3KN9-TNaicWXz7esSPpzgCLcB/s400/tseliot-1600x720.jpg" width="400" /></a><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The image of sunlight is first used in Eliot’s description of the dream-like ‘rose-garden’, which we come upon by walking through ‘the door we never opened.’  We are immediately in the world of the unreal, the realm of ‘What might have been’, creating an instant sense of unease reinforced by Eliot’s question: ‘shall we follow / The deception of the thrush?’  As we enter this ‘first world’ (words which suggest ignorance and naivety, whilst also indicating an Eden-like idyll) we are on guard, aware of an immanent sense of uncertainty – who are ‘they’, and what is the ‘unheard music’ hidden from our ears?  The uneasiness of this description is increased when Eliot refers to the roses which have ‘the look of flowers that are looked at,’ implying a sort of superficial masked performance or false pretence.  Then we stumble upon the dry pool which is suddenly ‘filled with water out of sunlight’ so that ‘The surface glittered’.  Out of this water grows a ‘lotos’, recalling the drug-induced escapism of Odysseus’s men in Homer’s epic, implying that this rose-garden reverie could hinder us on our journey to God.  We then learn that this water is no more than an illusory trick of vision, a desert mirage deceiving the mind.  So here, the sunlight misleads the mind into imagining that the pool is full of water.  Just as the symbol of water is a symbol of hope and growth in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Waste Land</i>, so too is it in “Burnt Norton”, the lack of water suggestive of a bleak reality.  Perhaps this is why Denis Donoghue describes the rose-garden as ‘man’s fantasy-refuge’.  And yet, the bird (perhaps, as Morris Weitz argues, not the deceptive bird of before but a bird of truth) then says ‘human kind / Cannot bear very much reality’ which may suggest that what we have just witnessed, the ray of sunlight creating an illusion of water, was a glimpse of actuality which we can only experience for a brief moment.  And so, whilst the sunlight creates an apparent illusion, that illusion may be a glimpse of the reality that we, as temporal beings, struggle to reach.  Perhaps the light in the rose-garden shows, in the words of F.R. Leavis, ‘</span><span style="font-family: Cambria;">a reality that, though apprehended in time, is not of it. ’</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In movement three of “Burnt Norton” sunlight plays a similar role.  The ‘place of disaffection’ is dominated by a ‘dim light’ rather than the ‘daylight’ we saw before, daylight which turns ‘shadow into transient beauty / With slow rotation suggesting permanence’.  Again there is a sense of uncertainty here created by the oxymoronic words ‘transient’ and ‘permanence’, possibly implying the duality of the light’s effect.  Whilst the symbol of light shows a ‘transient beauty’, it also ‘hints’ or ‘guesses’ at some other reality, some extemporal ‘permanence’.  In order to get beyond these ‘hints and guesses’ (which, we learn, hint at ‘Incarnation’) we must either live by ‘prayer, observance, discipline, thought and action,’ or we must ‘Descend lower’ into the ‘Internal darkness, deprivation / And destitution of all property…’ In order to reach what the light is only glimpsing at, perhaps we must completely escape the light, engulfing ourselves in a dark and destitute world of ‘Desiccation’, ‘Evacuation’ and ‘Inoperancy’, the death of one aspect of the self.  As </span><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Constance De Masirevich argues, ‘The key to the thought of T.S. Eliot is the idea of sacrifice as a means of becoming, of birth through death’ – hence, ‘In my end is my beginning’ and the </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">fusion of birth and death in “Journey of the Magi”</span><span style="font-family: Cambria;">.</span><span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> <span lang="EN-GB">Only through suffering a rigorous ‘Dark Night of the Soul’ will we ever experience the reality beyond this tired existence, the reality loosely revealed by the light.  So, the path we walk down has ‘no secure foothold’ and is menaced by both ‘monsters’ and ‘fancy lights’ which risk enchanting us.  The symbol of light, then, can both deceive us and guide us.  It can create illusions, but if we escape certain aspects of selfhood and the various hindrances of temporal reality, it can also act as the ‘grace of sense, a white light still and moving’ – another oxymoron to show the inexpressibility of this timelessness.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The symbol of fire plays a similar role in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Four Quartets</i>.  Just as the sunlight in the rose-garden seems to create an illusion, so too can fire play an entrancing and almost deceptive role in the poems.  In “East Coker”, we are captivated by the description of the ghostly dancing ‘Round and round the fire’ and we vividly imagine figures ‘Leaping through the flames’.  The reference to ‘rustic laughter’ also recalls the image of the children in the rose-garden, suggesting again those ‘hints and guesses’ of the sunlight.  And yet, the language of this description seems almost mocking – it is, apparently, ‘A dignified and commodious sacrament’ which ‘betokeneth concorde’.  This, as </span><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Masirevich argues, is ‘human-kind held in the circle of time, striving to bring dignity to its animal joys and ecstasies.’  Just as the ‘hollow men’ dance ‘round the prickly pear’, so in “East Coker” these figures are ‘joined in circles’ and dance ‘round and round’ in endless futility.  They are ‘Keeping time’, trapped in the temporal bounds of the average human existence.  Their dance around the fire descends into no more than ‘Dung and death’.  And so, here there are no hints and guesses, there is no permanence or timeless reality – there is only a dark dance of animalistic urges, temptingly mirthful and yet inevitably transient.  Even the language is deceptive, drawing us back into the past of Eliot’s ancestors and imitating Thomas Elyot’s work <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Boke named The Governour</i>.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">As well as being a symbol of enticement, fire also acts as a force of destruction.  At the start of “East Coker” the speaker describes the role of fire in the destruction and regeneration of life in the human world.  Eliot writes: “Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires, / Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth…’ Just as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Waste Land</i>, fire is a symbol of the human world’s dangerous depravities, so in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Quartets </i>it is a source of apocalypse, a ‘destructive fire’ which shall burn the world.  However, fire is also a positive motif.  In the fourth movement of “East Coker”, Eliot describes how ‘The whole earth is our hospital’, possibly a reference to the hospitals and infirmaries of WWII, waged whilst Eliot was writing this poem.  But the hospital of “East Coker” is also religiously symbolic, with Christ as our ‘wounded surgeon’, wounded by the stigmata of the cross.  It is only through Christ and through the ‘dying nurse’ (which Curtis Bradford says represents the Church) that we can escape this hospital.  Eliot explains that ‘to be restored, our sickness must grow worse’, which suggests that pain and destruction can indeed have a positive aspect to them – the hospital is the ‘vale of soul-making’ (Keats) described in Irenaean theodicies.  The destructive fires of the first movement, then, become ‘frigid purgatorial fires / Of which the flame is roses, and the smoke is briars.’  The rose has now become a symbol of God’s love, manifested in Christ’s death on the cross and the Eucharistic ceremony – ‘The dripping blood our only drink, / The bloody flesh our only food…’ This idea of a painful purging is recalled later on in the description of </span><span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">‘The dove descending breaks the air / With flame of incandescent terror’ (arguably a reference to the Blitz) which can discharge us from ‘sin and error’ through fire.  The torment and terror of the ‘intolerable shirt of flame’ which we must wear has been devised by ‘Love’, Eliot explains – we must either be consumed by the fire of the human world, or cleansed by God’s loving flames, again showing the duality of this symbol.  </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Fire, then, has become a positive image, one of cleansing and hope.  This is clear in the description of ‘midwinter spring’ at the opening of “Little Gidding”, which combines the symbols of both light and fire.  The difference between this description and the rose-garden description, though, is that, as David Perkins suggests, whilst in the rose-garden description we were only looking at the ‘heart of light’, in the latter description we are in the centre of it – the fire, the sunlight, the glow and the glare are all around us.  We are confronted by a ‘glow more intense than blaze’ which ‘Stirs the dumb spirit,’ recalling those pious lines from Hopkins’s “The Windhover” – ‘My heart in hiding stirred for a bird.’  This is not just a ‘transient beauty’, it is ‘pentecostal fire’ which flames out both within time (‘the dark time of the year’) and without time (‘not in time’s covenant’).  And so, this is clearly a more powerful image than that of the rose-garden, and yet it is arguably still only a ‘glimpse’ of the true reality – the hedgerow only has a ‘transitory blossom’ and the bloom is ‘sudden’.  Though it is a development from the rose-garden mirage created by sunlight, it is still not ‘the unimaginable / Zero summer…’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Cambria;">It is often said that each one of the <i>Four Quartets </i>is associated with one of the elements, and there is surely no doubt that the final quartet, “Little Gidding”, is associated with the fire of God.  It is in Little Gidding, the small Cambridgeshire town which represents ‘the world’s end’, that Eliot has found ‘the intersection of the timeless moment’ both in and out of time – ‘Never and always.’  The eternal and the temporal have finally met.  Perhaps Eliot’s hope is that we can escape the view of time as a linear construct and instead live in the ‘Now’ so that we can see history not as ‘time past’ but as ‘a pattern / Of timeless moments’.  Only then can we reach the ‘condition of complete simplicity’ which costs ‘not less than everything’ (in that we have given up our selves).  Thus, it is in Little Gidding that ‘All manner of thing shall be well.’  In Little Gidding, where Nicholas Ferrar established his religious community, ‘the tongues of flames are in-folded / Into the crowned knot of fire / And the fire and the rose are one.’  Though it might only be possible in Heaven, this is what Eliot has been searching for.  After overcoming the ‘Tumid apathy with no concentration’, after accepting the death of the old self in the ‘Dark Night of the Soul’ and after suffering the pains of purgatorial fires, the symbols of God’s authority (fire) and God’s love (rose) have finally been combined.</span>&nbsp;</div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-84214568639937950622016-12-31T07:13:00.002-08:002016-12-31T07:15:55.413-08:00The Poetic Style of Edward Thomas<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Ted Hughes once described the poet Edward Thomas as ‘the father of us all’.  Due to the overwhelming emphasis placed on the role of ‘modernism’ in twentieth century poetry, this claim may seem surprising.  When we think of the most influential ‘modern’ texts we are perhaps more likely to think of T.S. Eliot’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Waste Land</i> and Ezra Pound’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cantos</i>than of Thomas’s pastoral English lyrics.  And yet, there really are few poets who have influenced contemporary poetry more than Thomas has – Auden, Larkin, Hughes and many others have admitted to his influence.  In fact, he is so influential that various collections of poetry have been put together by poets wishing to celebrate Thomas’s impact on their verse.  The aspect of Thomas’s poetry that these writers refer to most frequently is his conversational style and loose rhythm, both of which were relatively innovative in the early twentieth century but are commonplace now.  The meditative colloquialism of Thomas’s verse lends itself to the exploration of uncertainties and ambiguities, a recurring theme in his poems and indeed in modern literature in general.  But this colloquial style does not hamper the musical cadences of Thomas’s verse, often overlooked by critics stressing his speech-like intonations.  It is perhaps in this sense that Thomas is most influential: in combining a conversational and meditative style with a richly rhythmical musicality.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oHlQnE6znkk/WGfLd18fOvI/AAAAAAAAAkM/onFhhXb4OGMlsSsPk6MS-pjY32J-B3nfwCLcB/s1600/Edward%2BThomas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oHlQnE6znkk/WGfLd18fOvI/AAAAAAAAAkM/onFhhXb4OGMlsSsPk6MS-pjY32J-B3nfwCLcB/s400/Edward%2BThomas.jpg" width="400" /></a><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Edward Thomas and Robert Frost spent about a year together over 1913-14.  During that time, Frost encouraged Thomas to start writing his own verse and arguably influenced Thomas’s views on poetic style.  Frost’s mantra that ‘</span><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-themecolor: text1;">a poet needs to capture the spoken word’ is clear not just in Thomas’s verse but also in his prose: he once said he wanted to ‘wring all the necks of my rhetoric’ and purge his prose writing of all mannerisms.  In his famous poem ‘Adlestrop’, this colloquialism and ambition towards the ‘spoken word’ is clear.  The poem opens with the words ‘Yes.  I remember Adlestrop –’ as if Thomas is in the middle of a conversation or answering a question.  In the poem, there are very few ‘poetic’ terms (apart from the word ‘whit’) and obscurities, reflecting Thomas’s Wordsworthian commitment to poetry for the common man.  Similarly, the poem ‘But these things also’, opening as it does with a conjunction, suggests it is some sort of response to an unidentified interlocutor, again adding to the sense of a relaxed, conversational style which draws us into the poem.  This poetic intimacy felt by the reader is enhanced by Thomas’s use of relatively loose metres – </span><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">‘Adlestop’ is written in iambic tetrameter, but the first line begins with a trochaic foot (‘Yes.  I…’) and the third line has nine syllables.  These are just two example of the numerous metrical variations in Thomas’s verse.  His rhymes vary, too – in ‘Gone, Gone Again’ his rhyme scheme flits from ABCB to AABC to ABCA.  Moreover, his rhymes are often, in the words of Walter De La Mare, the ‘faintest of echoes’ – in the aforementioned poem, he rhymes ‘dead’ with ‘interested’ and ‘sun’ with ‘one’.  This loose formality not only shows how innovative Thomas was in his time, but it also augments the colloquial style of his verse, drawing the reader in with its speech-like appearance.  As Edgell Rickword wrote in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Daily Herald, </i>‘To read him is like listening to a friend in the completest intimacy…’<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">Directly connected to this aspect of Thomas’s style is the reflective nature of his verse. ‘ The Sun Used to Shine’ is a good example of this.  Through the repeated use of enjambment (‘we two walked / Slowly’, ‘started / Again’, and ‘parted / Each night’), we get the sense of a fluidity of thought.  It is as if Thomas is letting his thoughts run over the lines in speech-like cadences as he walks with his companion, his words reflecting what Newlyn calls ‘the momentary lulls that are part of companionable walking and talking.’  This may also be clear in Thomas’s use of repetition.  In ‘Old Man’, for example, certain words are repeated, perhaps to suggest an intensifying rumination.  Thomas writes: <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 2.0in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">the names <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">Half decorate, half perplex, the thing it is:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">At least, what that is clings not to the names <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">In spite of time.  And yet I like the names.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">The repetition of the word ‘names’ seems unnecessary here, possibly suggesting that Thomas is coming to terms with his own mind and organizing his thoughts.  Perhaps, too, as J.P. Ward argues, these repeats imply the limitations of thought and of the human mind.  Thomas also asks various questions in his verse, demonstrating the uncertainty of his contemplations.  For example, in ‘The Unknown Bird’ Thomas asks ‘Was it but four years / Ago?  or five?’  He goes on to say: ‘But I cannot tell / If truly never anything but fair / The days were when he sang, as now they seem.’  This questioning and sense of ambiguity clearly influenced Philip Larkin who, in his poem ‘Dockery and Son’, asks questions like ‘… did he get his son / At nineteen, twenty?’  In Larkin’s ‘Mr Bleaney’ a similar uncertainty manifests itself in the poem’s final words ‘I don’t know.’  Wells is right, then, when he suggests that Thomas has a ‘scrupulous inability… to conceal uncertainty.’ ( 65) It runs throughout his poetry, demonstrating how his verse stems </span><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-themecolor: text1;">‘</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">from contemplation rather than from sheer energy of insight.’ ( De La Mare) So what effect does this colloquial and contemplative style have on our reading of Thomas’s verse?  Well, to some extent it brings the poet down to our level – he is not preaching to us in aloof terms or handing us fully-formed theories on life or the mind.  He draws us in with his lack of posturing.  As Motion argues, through his </span><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">‘sympathetic quiet-speaking’ and his emphasis on uncertainty, he creates ‘poems which appear to think aloud rather than be a means of delivering finished thoughts’.  We feel directly the personality of the poet – his questionings, his anxieties, the very movement of his thoughts.  </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But this relaxed and ‘quiet-speaking’ style does not necessarily mean that Thomas’s verse is somehow ‘unpoetic’.  True, his poetry is very different from that of Tennyson, for example, but it is still beautifully lyrical and musical.  As Newlyn argues, </span><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">‘Thomas had a natural, un-taught musicality, which came from his love of ballads, folk songs, and English poetry.’  In fact, he was so infatuated by folk tradition and ballads that, in 1907, he compiled <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Pocket Book of Poems and Songs for the Open Air</i>, a collection of ballads, folk-songs, and contemporary poetry.  This infatuation clearly fed into his verse:</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> ‘Will You Come?’,  for example, is ballad-like in its repetitions and quick rhythms, and his poems are full of harmonious lines, like the ending of ‘November’ (‘Renounce all brightness to the skies’) with its perfect metre and echoing assonance and sibilance.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;"> Given the influence of song on Thomas’s poetry, it’s no wonder that 19 of his poems were </span><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-themecolor: text1;">set to music by Gloucestershire composer Ivor Gurney (his rendition of ‘Snow’ is particularly poignant).  </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A quick look at Thomas’s prose supports this view of his melodic writing style.  In <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Woodland Life </i>(1897), Thomas describes how the ‘robins rustle gently and fly a yard or two, or a blackbird blusters out’.  The alliteration, along with the trochaic rhythm of ‘robins rustle gently’, is prophetic of Thomas’s conversion into a poet.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The ending of ‘Adlestrop’ is similarly rhythmic.  As John Bayley explains, </span><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">the third and fourth stanzas abandon ‘the short choppy sentence structure of the first two’ developing into more flowing, effortless lines of iambic tetrameter.  This fluidity is most obvious in the line ‘No whit less still and lonely fair’, which with its repeated ‘l’ and ‘o’ sounds seems to roll off the tongue with ease.  In the final stanza, Thomas describes how ‘for that minute a blackbird sang / Close by,’ and then the poem cinematically zooms out to take in ‘all the birds / Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.’  This echoing final line, referring to specific places Thomas knew well, carries with it a subtle sense of nostalgia.  The whole stanza does, in fact, particularly with the phrase ‘for that minute’, immediately suggesting the transiency of human experience.  Perhaps, too, the words ‘mistier’ and ‘farther’ suggest not only a physical distance but also a temporal distance.  This uneventful train journey took place about a month before the First World War began, but Thomas only started writing poetry about five months later, once the war had begun, so possibly this sense of nostalgia is one of anxiety that ‘This England’ may be destroyed by the war.  After all, when he was asked why he had become a soldier, he is said to have picked up a handful of English soil and said ‘Literally, for this’.  Just as Rupert Brooke’s ‘The Old Vicarage, Grantchester’ expresses a fear that there may not be ‘Beauty yet to find’ and there may not be ‘honey still for tea’ in the village of his childhood, so ‘Adlestrop’ captures a single moment of quietness and of calm before the ‘Guns of August’ wrought havoc across Europe.  Like Larkin, Thomas worried that there would be ‘Never such innocence again’.  As Andrew Motion argues, ‘Behind every line [of Thomas’s poetry], whether mentioned or not, lies imminent danger and disruption. ’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;;">Though Thomas did employ the occasional Georgian inversion in his poetry (‘Women he liked, did shovel-bearded Bob…’ or ‘Fast beat / My heart’), it would be hard to argue that he was not innovative for his time.  As David Gervais put it, he should be read as a modern<i> </i>poet rather than as a revisionist Georgian.  His style is perhaps the most distinctly modern aspect of his work – his reconciling of the speaking voice with traditional forms, whilst also allowing for bursts of lyrical vitality.  But it’s also important to note his modern sensibility – throughout his poetry, Thomas emphasizes his sense of solitude and loneliness, so much so that J.P. Ward has referred to him as an early existentialist.  In fact, various comparisons could be drawn between Thomas the poet and J. Alfred Prufrock, the bundle of inhibitions in Eliot’s eponymous poem.  Likewise, the words ‘I should be glad of another death’ (Eliot’s ‘Journey of the Magi’) could really have come from either poet’s pen, which goes to show how modern Thomas really was, in content as well as style.  But it’s not as if Thomas was trying to break down barriers, to ‘Make it new’.  His close friend and fellow poet Walter De La Mare summarized Thomas’s poetry best when he said: </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;;">‘His chief desire was to express himself and his own truth – and therefore life and humanity…’ Thomas, with his thorough knowledge of contemporary poetry and poetic criticism, with his history of depression and anxieties about his turbulent marriage, and most importantly, with his love of nature and his fear of its war-time destruction, was bound to write great poetry.  Perhaps if he had not died in Arras, and if he had kept writing years after, we would now see Thomas as the greatest of all the twentieth century poets.</span></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-11377224594110205532016-12-30T10:33:00.001-08:002016-12-31T07:17:22.860-08:00The Portrayal of Marriage in George Eliot’s 'Middlemarch'<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3gVWCbmv2go/WGfL6_DwIAI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/W_lzMEWonbAa2NdxipdSW9zSpoQogPGYgCLcB/s1600/George%2BEliot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3gVWCbmv2go/WGfL6_DwIAI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/W_lzMEWonbAa2NdxipdSW9zSpoQogPGYgCLcB/s400/George%2BEliot.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Throughout history, marriage has been central to the lives of both men and women – from the Wife of Bath’s Prologue in Chaucer’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tales</i> to Henry James’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Portrait of a Lady</i>, the question of matrimony has always been a pervasive theme in the trajectory of literature.  It is no surprise, then, that marriage is the most ubiquitous subject of George Eliot’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Middlemarch</i>, with five marriages taking place during the novel and other relationships being analysed.  But whilst many female novelists at the time would use marriage to bring their novels to joyful conclusions – </span><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-themecolor: text1;">Austen’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Emma </i>and Bronte’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jane Eyre</i> are clear examples – Eliot was more interested in exploring the realities of matrimonial life.  In so doing, Eliot distanced herself from the tropes of conventional romance derided in her essay, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Silly Novels by Lady Novelists</i>.  Eliot opposed the falsely-romantic and idealized view of life and of love, and so her novels adopt a realist approach to nuptial union.  Her protagonists do not always end their trials and tribulations ‘with a complexion more blooming and locks more redundant than ever’.  This essay shall discuss the marriages of Rosamond and Dorothea to show how Eliot not only rejects idealistic views of marriage and of femininity, but also how she criticises marital conventions in a patriarchal and class-obsessed society.  </span><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The marriage between Rosamond and Lydgate exemplifies the problems caused by ideals of romance and femininity.  Lydgate wants a wife </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">with ‘that feminine radiance, that distinctive womanhood which must be classed with flowers and music.’  This description embodies the conventional model of womanly beauty, and so we see how Lydgate has been manipulated by ideals, leading him to choose a wife for the wrong reasons.  It is no wonder, though, that having adopted this interpretation of femininity, Lydgate falls for Rosamond.  Owing to her education at Mrs Lemon’s school, Rosamond represents the supposedly perfect lady: she has ‘excellent taste in costume’ and a ‘nymph-like figure’ accompanied by ‘pure blondness’.  Lydgate has been deceived into believing that Rosamond would be the best wife for him, simply because she fulfils a societal stereotype, rather than because her personality suits his.  But Rosamond is also deceived by ideals and conventions – she is obsessed with appearances, and she arguably chooses her husband because of his aristocratic connections.  In fact, she is so concerned with impressing Lydgate’s upper-class relatives that she wants him to get a ‘first-rate position elsewhere than in Middlemarch’ so that they are not shocked by her family.  Again, this idea of marrying into the aristocracy is typical of ‘silly novels’, which have clearly influenced Rosamond.  Hence, she estimates her interaction with Lydgate as ‘the opening incidents of a preconceived romance’.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Despite the fact that, according to the narrator, ‘Each lived in a world of which the other knew nothing,’ and even though she has only known him ‘through the brief entrances and exits of a few imaginative weeks called courtship’, Rosamond convinces herself that meeting Lydgate is ‘the great epoch of her life’.  Because of the brevity of their acquaintance, and because they are misled by ideals of femininity and of love, their marriage fails.  They do not actually know each other (Rosamond is ‘by nature an actress of parts’), so Lydgate is forced to admit that ‘the tender devotedness and docile adoration of the ideal wife must be renounced, and life must be taken up on a lower stage of expectation.’  Society, along with the ‘Many-volumed romances of chivalry’, has created false ideals, and both Rosamond and Lydgate suffer for it.  Their marriage is rife with conflict, with neither husband nor wife accepting the judgements of the other, leading to a stale-mate.  Rosamond is not the ‘docile’ or ‘devoted’ wife that Lydgate desired, and she even begins to think that ‘if she had known how Lydgate would behave, she would never have married him.’  It’s clear, then, that Lydgate and Rosamond, conditioned as they have been by society, married for the wrong reasons, and so they writhe under the failure of ideals and conventions.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Dorothea’s marriage to Casaubon is similarly driven by dishonest ideals and flawed conventions.  Of course, neither Dorothea nor Casaubon resemble the heroine or hero of a Victorian romance novel.  And yet, both still cling to certain ideals of femininity, concerned not so much with beauty or taste, but with the patriarchal stereotype of submissive women (which Lydgate also seems to uphold).  Casaubon thinks that Dorothea ‘might really be such a helpmate to him as would enable him to dispense with a hired secretary’, showing the lack of equality in his marital expectations.  Dorothea, though ambitious in what Rosemary Ashton calls her ‘</span><span style="color: #1c1c1c; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">idealistic attempt to find a role’, </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">feels similarly.  She finds her role in the vocation of wife and, in the words of Cara Weber, ‘internalises the ideal of wifely duty’.  Hence, she often compares her ideal relationship to that between a father and daughter.  She wishes for the ‘freedom of voluntary submission to a guide who would take her along the grandest path.’  This ideal of wifely duty, combined with her Theresa-like ‘passionate, ideal nature’ which ‘demanded an epic life’, leads her to marrying Casaubon, with whom she is utterly incompatible.  We only have to compare the speech of the two to see how very different they are.  Derek Oldfield argues that, whilst Casaubon’s speech is characterised by intricate constructions and subordinate clauses (as in his proposal letter), Dorothea’s speech is constituted of simple sentences and childish exclamations (“Oh, how happy!”  she says to her uncle).  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Perhaps Dorothea thinks that, in helping Casaubon with his ‘Key to all Mythologies’, she will achieve the ‘epic life’ she so desires, cultivating her intelligence towards some higher end.  But there is a tension here: Dorothea’s energetic personality is surely incompatible with her religious commitment to subservience, arguably influenced by the inequality of Victorian society.  She has attempted to conform to a stereotypical role she simply cannot play.  This is why ‘the large vistas and wide fresh air which she had dreamed of finding in her husband’s mind’ become ‘anterooms and winding passages’ leading ‘nowhither.’  The metaphorical ‘anterooms and winding passages’ seem an apt description of her married life, trapped as she is in Casaubon’s ‘small windowed and melancholy-looking’ abode.</span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"> </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In this sense, her confession to Celia that she is “rather short-sighted” is symbolic of her illusions about the virtues of marrying a secluded old man.  It is when she is in Rome, confronted by the ‘ruins and basilicas’ that she realises her mistake.  Rather than being charmed by the city’s antique beauty, she is shocked by a ‘vast wreck of ambitious ideals’ and ‘a glut of confused ideas’.  Here she comprehends the foolishness of her marriage with Casaubon and her desire to be a submissive wife – her marriage is a ‘wreck of ambitious ideals’.  Things worsen when she returns to Middlemarch from her lonely honeymoon only to be even more separated from her husband: they inhabit different spheres within the house, Casaubon’s domain being his library, Dorothea’s being her blue-green boudoir.  This separation arguably reflects the 19<sup>th</sup> Century distinction between masculine and feminine spheres, which Dorothea fights against in other ways (planning housing and trying to set up the hospital).  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The other problem in the Dorothea-Casaubon marriage is that, as with Lydgate and Rosamond, their courtship is extremely short.  Dorothea meets Casaubon in chapter two, and after ‘three more conversations with him,’ she is ‘convinced that her first impressions had been just.’  Dorothea receives Casaubon’s engagement letter in chapter five, and they are married five chapters later.  As Bernard Paris argues, ‘Dorothea is a victim of the conditions of civilised courtship, which do not allow the parties to gain much knowledge of each other.’  And so we see again how dangerous these conventions can be.  It is because they hardly know each other that they fail to trust one another properly – hence Casaubon’s ‘disgust and suspicion’ about Ladislaw.  Moreover, their lack of closeness as a couple is evident throughout (‘She was as blind to his inward troubles as he to hers’), especially when compared to the Garth relationship, who are touchingly communicative – Caleb’s habit is to ‘take no important step without consulting Susan’.  And so, Eliot is not just pointing out the failings of ideals and feminine stereotypes – she also condemns the brevity of modern courtship, since it deceives expectations.  After embarking on the voyage of marriage, we discover ‘that the sea is not within sight – that, in fact, you are exploring an enclosed basin.’  This is why the marriage between Mary and Fred is a ‘solid, mutual happiness’ – they have known each other from childhood, and as Fred says, “I have never been without loving Mary. ”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So what, in Eliot’s view, constitutes a successful marriage?  Romantic idealism and societal conventions certainly do not – we see from the Cadwalladers that marriages across social classes can still succeed, even if they are unorthodox.  It’s clear from the above examples that the happiest marriages follow on from lengthy courtships and also some sort of mutuality.  Mary and Fred become published authors later in life, both giving credit to the other for their help – this alone demonstrates the value of mutuality.  The Garth’s are also mutually happy, both working to provide for the family (Susan is a teacher).  Susan Garth feels she married the cleverest man she has ever known whilst Caleb thinks he has a woman he is not worthy of.  This illustrates the importance of mutual admiration and love in a marriage, something that can only be certain after a long courtship.  This love is clear in Dorothea’s marriage to Will – as she tells her sister, “you would have to feel with me, else you would never know,” showing how ineffably strong her love is.  The problem with her first marriage was its lack of love, and as we discover later, ‘No life would have been possible to Dorothea which was not filled with emotion’.  Moreover, she has something worthwhile to do in her second marriage: she lives ‘a life filled… with beneficent activity’ helping Will in his political work.  This explains the historical placing of the novel, since we might argue that the passing of the Great Reform Bill was directly influenced by Will Ladislaw and Dorothea’s help.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;;">And yet, as aforementioned, Eliot’s novels do not end in idealistic perfection.  There is still much unhappiness and ambiguity in the Finale.  Harriet Bulstrode is martyred in her extreme loyalty to her husband, and we see her at the end of the novel with greying hair and black clothing.  Rosamond and Lydgate’s marriage continues turbulently until Lydgate dies at 50, having achieved none of his great ambitions.  Even the happiness of Dorothea and Will seems uncertain.  The narrator makes a particularly sarcastic comment about Dorothea’s loss of agency in life: ‘she had now a life filled… with a beneficent activity which she had not the doubtful pains of discovering and making out for herself.’  She may be doing great things, but she is only doing them in terms of ‘wifely help’ rather than making independent changes, as the novelist herself has done.  She has sadly been ‘absorbed into the life of another’ and is ‘only known in a certain circle as a wife and mother’.  But perhaps this is unfair: after all, Dorothea’s influence is clear in that, in the Finale, her epithet is used to describe Will as an ‘ardent public man’.  Moreover, as Kathleen Blake argues, ‘the novel’s focus on the disabilities of a woman’s lot’, and thus Eliot is showing that, despite all of her ambitions, the best Dorothea could hope for was a productive and happy marriage to the man she loved.  To suggest her marriage is a submission to patriarchy is to miss the point – she has done the best she could within societal restraints, refusing to consider Will’s ‘low-birth’ and instead marrying for love.</span></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-45184267777913130092016-12-29T02:53:00.000-08:002016-12-31T07:17:44.601-08:00Wealth and Corruption in Charles Dickens’s 'Our Mutual Friend'<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Our Mutual Friend </span></i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">is one of Dickens’ most complicated novels, made up of a complex of interrelated plots and sub-plots.  This multi-layered storyline enables Dickens to give a comprehensive vision of the breadth of London life, from the aristocrats and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nouveaux riches</i> to the teachers and paupers.  In <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Our Mutual Friend</i>, Dickensian London becomes most whole, bringing alive what Deborah Wynne described as ‘a disturbing vision of Victorian society’ fissured by ‘class divisions’ and ‘greed’.  Because every echelon of society has its representatives in the novel, wealth and class are central to the narrative.  As the plot develops, Dickens demonstrates the corrupting power of money and wealth in the context of an ‘unjust, commercialized, and de-naturing society’ (Barbara Hardy).  And yet, the novel is far too complex to be branded as a straightforward didactic tale about how ‘money corrupts’.  <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Our Mutual Friend</i> seems to be more of a study of values and principles and how they work in Victorian society, rather than a complete satire on the upper classes.  What Dickens seems to be suggesting is that, whilst modern society is both corrupt and corrupting, depravity and corruption can be navigated in certain ways, namely the avoidance of greed and the pursuit of love.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Still, it is important to consider Dickens’s presentation of the rich before we move onto his exploration of counteracting values.  The Veneerings are the novel’s most obvious example of the shallow rich, suggested by their name alone.  They are first introduced in Chapter 2, which slips into the present tense and mimics the clipped and lazy speech of the privileged: ‘Reflects Veneering; forty, wavy-haired, dark, tending to corpulence, sly, mysterious, filmy…’ It is interesting that the Veneerings are described through their presentation in a mirror, again implying that they are incomplete and without depth – they are characterised by superficiality and surface appearances.  Hence, they only exist in relation to their ‘bran-new’ home full of ‘bran-new’ objects.  Even their ‘friends’ (who are not really friends at all) become objects, with Twemlow becoming ‘an innocent piece of dinner furniture’.  And so, our first view of the rich (in this case, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nouveau riche</i>) is one of shallow façades, reminiscent of Gilbert Osmond in Henry James’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Portrait of a Lady</i>, for whom life is only ‘a thing of forms, a conscious, calculated attitude.’  The Podsnaps are similarly satirised, with Mr Podsnap’s arrogance being emphasised throughout: he is ‘happily acquainted with his own merit and importance’ and stands ‘very high in Mr Podsnap’s opinion’.  This sardonic humour was possibly influenced by the biting satire of Thackeray’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Vanity Fair, </i>a novel which likewise mocks the superficiality and arrogance of the rich.  We might also recall Browning’s mockery of the bishop in “The Bishop Orders His Tomb”, a poem that shows a Veneering-like obsession with appearances.  To some extent then, Dickens depicts an unattractive group of wealthy individuals, perhaps suggesting that money is apt to corrupt, leading to egotism or ostentation.  This is also implied in his novel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Great Expectations</i>, which tracks Pip’s descent into snobbishness and ungratefulness due to his ‘great expectations’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp; </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And yet, in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Our Mutual Friend</i>, money does not always have this same corrupting effect.  This is perhaps best demonstrated by the Boffins, who acquire the wealth of the old, misanthropic John Harmon, but avoid corruption and stick to their values.  They are described as ‘unpolished people’, immediately contrasting them with the highly-polished Veneerings.  Their surface might not be ‘bran-new’ but they are motivated by kindness and good will, as is seen in their adoption of Bella.  Mrs Boffin explains: “Next I think… of the disappointed girl; her that was so cruelly disappointed, you know, both of her husband and his riches.  Don’t you think we might do something for her?”  Mr Boffin even offers to help Silas Wegg to set up a new stall, despite all the Machiavellian scheming Wegg has done to blackmail him – Boffin would not like to see Wegg “worse off in life” than when they first met.  This shows a genuine generosity so clearly lacking in the Podsnaps and Veneerings of Dickens’s world.  But it’s not just the newly-wealthy Boffins that avoid the corrupting effect of wealth.  Although Mr Twemlow comes across as relatively spineless throughout most of the novel, he can be read as another example of a comparatively rich man who has not been corrupted by money.  At the end of the novel, it is Twemlow who resists the ‘Voice of Society’ and the cruelty of Lady Tippins, who mocks Lizzie Hexam and is outraged by Eugene Wrayburn’s decision to marry her – she describes them as “savages” and questions whether Lizzie was dressed “In rowing costume” at her wedding.  But Lightwood and Twemlow both defend them, with Lightwood describing Lizzie as “a brave woman” and Twemlow arguing that wealth and class do not matter in the case of marriage.  Wrayburn married her out of “feelings of gratitude, of respect, of admiration, and affection” – the feelings of a gentleman, a rank which “may be attained by any man”.  And so, Twemlow and Lightwood show that it is not necessarily money that has led to the corruption of society – wealth does not necessitate Podsnappery, Dickens seems to suggest here – but a lack of ‘gentlemanly values’ and an over-obsession with both wealth and class.  Their handshake at the end of the novel can be seen as a silent act of resistance against the more prevalent tones of societal injustice.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It is clear, then, that money in and of itself is not the corrupting force of the novel, though Dickens has shown that it is dangerous.  Arnold Kettle is to some extent right when he argues that “The corrupting force in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Our Mutual Friend </i>is not money but bourgeois attitudes to it.”  And yet, though bourgeois attitudes do play a role in the corruption of society (Lady Tippins and the Podsnaps are examples), the primary force of corruption seems to be greed – the desire for wealth, leading to jealousy and cruelty.  Kenneth Muir argues that, in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Our Mutual Friend</i>, ‘Radix malorum est cupiditas’.  For example, the Lammles marry for money only to discover that they had both been deceiving each other.  Coming to terms with their relative poverty, they instigate insidious schemes to boost their wealth, such as their attempts to marry Georgiana Podsnap with Fascination Fledgeby.  As Mrs Lammle later admits to Twemlow, Georgiana was to “be sacrificed” in “a partnership affair, a money speculation”.  The greed of the Lammles is again reminiscent of James’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Portrait of a Lady</i>, with Gilbert Osmond and Madame Merle planning marriages (Isabel to Osmond, and Pansy to Warburton) simply for monetary gain.  This leaves us with what Marx called a ‘cash nexus’ – the reduction of all relationships to financial exchange, also realised in Dickens’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dombey and Son</i>.  The other villains of the novel, Roger Riderhood and Silas Wegg in particular, are similarly driven by greed.  Riderhood unjustly blames Hexam for the murder of John Harmon in the hope of a reward, and Silas Wegg tries to blackmail Boffin with a second will, despite all the good that Boffin has already done for him.  Dickens’s comment on Wegg’s actions is cogent: ‘Such was the greed of the fellow, that his mind had shot beyond halves, two-thirds, three-fourths, and gone straight to spoliation of the whole.’  Evidently, it is greed that drives these characters to their cruel and criminal acts.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Another study of yearning for wealth is that of Bella Wilfer, who begins the novel (in her own words) “the most mercenary little wretch that ever lived in the world.”  It is her desire for money that leads to her cruel and haughty refusal of Rokesmith/Harmon, whom she rejects only on monetary and class terms.  She tells him: “It is not generous in you, it is not honourable in you, to conduct yourself towards me as you do,” and asks him “not to pursue me”.  Her obsession with money makes her a relatively unattractive character, though we cannot help being drawn in by her coquettish charm.  It is only when Mr Boffin adopts the pose of unpleasant miser that she realises the dangers of her mercenary viewpoint.  As she tells her father, “Mr Boffin is being spoilt by prosperity, and is changing every day.”  When Boffin accuses Rokesmith of “impudent addresses” and states that Bella is motivated only by money, she has her heroic moment in the novel, telling Boffin, “you don’t right me… You wrong me, wrong me!”  She calls him a “hard-hearted Miser” and, having seen how an obsession with money can corrupt, abandons her monetary ambitions, choosing Rokesmith’s love over the pursuit of wealth.  This is, perhaps, the crux of the novel, since it shows the values that Dickens truly champions: love over pecuniary gain.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;;">All of this demonstrates that Dickens’s novel is not simply an attack on the rich.  Dickens shows that money does not always corrupt, though it often can.  The novel is, in fact, an attack on a society which is governed largely by an </span><i style="font-family: Cambria;">obsession</i><span style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;;"> with money and class.  Such a society has no time for real human values and promotes the Machiavellian scheming we see from Riderhood and Wegg, amongst others.  So the divide in Dickens’s view is not so much based on class or wealth, but rather on principles: there are members of the upper classes whom Dickens’s satirises ruthlessly, whilst there are members of the lower classes to whom the reader is immediately averse, and vice versa.  The novel does not present us with a black-and-white view of the problems in Victorian society.  Rather, it stresses the importance of certain values and the possibility that there can indeed be hope: money and class will not always get the upper-hand.  Hence, Eugene rejects societal conventions and marries Lizzie, and Bella and the Boffins reject monetary gain for kindness and love.  As Kettle argues, Dickens has “an almost childlike faith in Low Church goodness” valuing “kindness, patience, the innocence and elation of youth, the power of love…”.  This is clear throughout the novel, and the final handshake arguably demonstrates Dickens’s hope that class distinctions will diminish over time and that, one day, people will be judged on their actions and principles rather than on their wealth or status.</span></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-62412302835140461762016-12-27T10:17:00.000-08:002016-12-31T07:19:37.276-08:00Conflict in the Poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #131313; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Merriweather-Regular;">Poetry, said Yeats, is made out of a “quarrel with ourselves”.  This statement seems to exemplify Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poems, rife as they are with internal religious conflict.  The two major conflicts or tensions in Hopkins’ verse are between aestheticism and asceticism, and between doubt and belief.  The first of these tensions is due to the fact that Hopkins, as a Jesuit priest, always felt guilty for his love of beauty, creating in Hopkins what many critics call the poet-priest divide.  The second is caused by the existence of suffering, which Hopkins struggles to reconcile with the idea of an omnipotent, omnibenevolent God.  He is faced, like many other Christians, with the Problem of Evil.  </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Perhaps these tensions explain why his style is so enigmatic: only through sprung-rhythm, neologisms, omissions, and idiosyncrasies could he reveal the struggles that wracked his soul.  </span><span style="color: #131313; font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Merriweather-Regular;">But Hopkins’ poetry does not simply present these two conflicts to the reader.  As </span><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">George M. Johnson argues, through poetry, Hopkins attempted to unify the divisive elements of his mind and to manage his “world within”.  This arguably explains his use of the sonnet form: often, he presents a problem in the octave, and a solution in the sestet.  So for Hopkins, poetry became a sort of literary therapy, a medium in which he attempted (not always successfully) to explain away or rationalize his various fears or doubts.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The tension between sensuousness and asceticism was a constant throughout the Victorian age.  Browning’s “The Bishop Orders His Tomb” shows the irony of materialism in a religious man, and Rossetti’s “The Goblin Market” demonstrates the danger of pursuing sensuous joy.  But this conflict was exacerbated in Hopkins far more than in any other Victorian poet, arguably because of his upbringing: his father was allegedly autocratic, and his headmaster at Highgate was said to be a cruel tyrant.  Hopkins escaped both of these authority figures, but he could never truly escape the self-accusatory spirit they had instilled in him, exemplified in his approach to beauty – he once wrote to Robert Bridges that certain kinds of beauty are “dangerous” and abandoned his wish to become a painter precisely because of this sentiment.  This feeling that worldly beauty is somehow anti-religious is what led him to burn his poetry in 1868, just days after he decided to become a Jesuit.  I.A. Richards is right in his assertion: “the poet in him was often oppressed and stifled by the priest”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But seven years after the poetry-burning, Hopkins began writing once more.  During the years of silence, Hopkins seems to have concluded that aestheticism and religion are not entirely incompatible.  In this sense, he was particularly influenced by the thinking of Duns Scotus, whose concept of ‘haecceitas’ or ‘thisness’ is very similar to Hopkins’ theory of ‘inscape’ – “the outward reflection of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">inner </i>nature of a thing” (W.A.M. Peters).  Scotus’ theories helped Hopkins to make his own sensuality more acceptable to himself and to link the world’s beauty with God, as in poems like “God’s Grandeur” – “The world is charged with the grandeur of God…” His poems seem to draw on various religious ideas, including the teleological (or design) argument and the concept of panentheism, most clear in Sonnet 57 where Hopkins writes: “Christ plays in ten thousand places…” Through these ideas, that beauty is representative of God’s skill and that God is in all of the world, Hopkins reconciled his love of the sumptuous world with his strict adherence to religious customs.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But these arguments by no means solve the tensions.  Perhaps, to an extent, Hopkins’ poetry was simply a literary enactment of self-deception in which he wrote what he wanted to believe.  Frederick Page argues along these lines, suggesting that Hopkins felt uneasy about his love of beauty and felt the “imperious necessity of connecting it with God…” Although Hopkins wrote poems like “Pied Beauty” in which he praises God for ‘fathering forth’ a variety of beauty, he also wrote “Spelt from Sibyl’s Leaves”.  The poem begins with a description of the “stupendous / Evening” with its “fond yellow hornlight”, but later Hopkins says: “… let life wind / Off hér once skéined stained véined varíety | upon, áll on twó spools”.  These “twó spools” are “black, white” or “right, wrong”, and he warns us to “mind / But thése two…” Rather than beauty in nature, we could infer that he wants morality.  So here the “counter, original, spare, strange” is replaced by the asceticism of simple monochrome, “black, white”.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UkNNpB2uj34/WGfMcsIaawI/AAAAAAAAAkY/YP7husbCHswYQgG507_xrAdVcmXLwQ9_wCLcB/s1600/90cdf578-e53e-4592-b0b3-39e908c4d036png.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UkNNpB2uj34/WGfMcsIaawI/AAAAAAAAAkY/YP7husbCHswYQgG507_xrAdVcmXLwQ9_wCLcB/s400/90cdf578-e53e-4592-b0b3-39e908c4d036png.png" width="400" /></a><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We may also find a similar conclusion in his most famous poem, “The Windhover”, in which he describes the “mastery” of a kestrel’s flight.  At the start of the sestet, the speaker says: “Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here / Buckle!”  This word “Buckle” is the ambiguous crux of the poem.  We do not know exactly what the word should be taken to mean, but if, as Robert Rehder argues, we take the word to be an imperative meaning ‘submit’, then Hopkins could be seen as rejecting the world’s outward beauty.  When the bird does submit, the fire of God will be “a billion / Times told lovelier, more dangerous…” If the bird (possibly a metaphor for Hopkins) buckles under God’s authority, its “brute beauty” becomes divine beauty.  Of course, there are other interpretations, but this reading is succinct with the aesthetic-ascetic tension we see in Hopkins’ letters, and it also answers the question of the two comparatives, “lovelier, more dangerous” – the change will come in rejecting superficialities and embracing spiritualties.  And so, we can see that, despite adopting Scotist thought, and despite attempting to rationalise his inner conflicts through poetry, his anxieties about sensuousness never truly disappeared.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The other major tension in Hopkins’ work is that of doubt and belief and the attempt to understand suffering.  This conflict is most evident in “The Wreck of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Deutschland</i>”, in which Hopkins tries not only to understand the suffering of those on the ship, but also to come to terms with his own suffering during his conversion.  He compares himself to “soft sift / In an hourglass,” with God (the hourglass) sifting and testing him.  The suffering we experience, he argues, can either bring “the best or worst” out of us.  Like with a sloe that bursts “sour or sweet” in our mouths, we can either submit to God in the face of suffering, or we can reject him.  God must “Wring thy rebel… / Man’s malice, with wrecking and storm,” and so encourage sinners to beg for salvation.  Hence, he is “lightning and love,” both authority and mercy, and it is through his authority that we come to find his mercy – we are like metal on an anvil to be shaped to “thy will”.  This blacksmith imagery recalls Donne’s “Holy Sonnet XIV” which begins with the emphatic words “Batter my heart…” as Donne begs God to save him, through his mastery, from the devil.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">In this way, “The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Deutschland</i>” is a theodicy in which Hopkins explains suffering as teleologically good – we suffer in order to find God.  Hopkins clarifies the nun’s cry in the same way: though God did not rescue her, by her cry and by her belief in Christ’s agency, she “reincarnated Christ afresh, brought his real presence, alive, into the scene of the shipwreck.” ( Helen Vendler) And so, because of Christ’s presence, the others who drowned on the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Deutschland </i>are “not uncomforted” – the nun’s cry brought “the poor sheep back” and the shipwreck became “a harvest” of souls for God.  The shipwreck brought faith to the faithless, a theodicy which justifies the deaths of those on the ship.  At the end, Hopkins hopes that the same faith will be instilled in the people of England and “be a dayspring to the dimness of us”.  The same can be said for some of Hopkins’ other poems.  In “Felix Randal”, Hopkins grieves at the death of his parishioner – “O is he dead then?”  But again he explains this suffering with another theodicy, arguing that “seeing the sick endears them to us, us too it endears” and that through his sickness, Randal went from his “boisterous years” to a man with “a heavenlier heart”.  Again, Hopkins argues that suffering led Randal to God, and so we see that many of his poems are an exercise in rationalising pain.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">However, Hopkins shows more doubt in “The Loss of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Eurydice</i>”, which begins: “The Eurydice – it concerned thee, O Lord…” (the rhyme of Eurydi-<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ce </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">thee </i>emphasising God’s culpability).  Hopkins cannot understand why God would let three hundred brave men die – “I need to deplore it.”  He struggles to find an explanation, and he grieves that these men were not Catholics, though good men.  The only hope he proposes is that suffering leads men to drive “full for righteousness”, and he implores the people of England to pray that those on the ship may be granted “pity eternal”.  This doubtfulness recurs in the ‘Terrible’ sonnets, poems written in a time of deep distress, when his state was “much like madness.”  Vincent Turner says this distress was due to “the sight of physical and moral evil” in the world, and most importantly, the suffering Hopkins himself experienced.  In “Carrion Comfort” Hopkins questions why God would “rude on” him his “wring-world right foot rock” and “lay a lionlimb” against him.  But he justifies this with another theodicy, employing the metaphor of harvest.  He is buffeted like corn in the wind so that his “chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.”  Suffering is necessary for the harvest, and this again recalls the imagery of “The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Deutschland</i>”.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But Hopkins is not always so successful in explaining away his pain.  In “To seem the stranger” he laments that “dark heaven’s baffling ban / Bars” his words and so, without his poetry and his ability to rationalise his suffering, he is left “a lonely began”.  In “I wake and feel the fell of dark” he reaches a similar stalemate, the only comfort being that “The lost are like this… but worse.”  He, at least, believes in God, even though his cries are “like dead letters sent / To dearest him that lives alas!  away.”  Here, as before, we see that Hopkins could never completely overcome these conflicts.  Johnson argues that “By hammering out his emotions… into the sonnet form, Hopkins can manage to a degree the cries which well up from within.”  But the doubts were always present in him, and poetry often failed to aid him.  Though he tried to understand what Jennings calls “the ennobling power of suffering”, he could never really reconcile himself to “the blight man was born for” (“Spring and Fall”).  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">To an extent, then, Hopkins was rather like T.S. Eliot, though the comparison seems unusual.  In <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Waste Land</i>, Eliot searches for hope in this “stony rubbish”, and he finds that hope in “Datta.  Dayadhvam.  Damyata.”  And yet, because of all that has come before, Eliot’s romantic conviction that a better world is possible if we ‘give, sympathise, control’ seems somewhat forced.  Certainly this is what Eliot hopes: but does he believe it could happen?  Perhaps we can say the same about Hopkins’ rationalisations and theodicies: he wants to believe that aestheticism can be reconciled with religion, and he wants to believe that suffering is part of God’s plan.  Whether he really believes his arguments, though, is uncertain, and this uncertainty is augmented by the fact that, in poems like “Spelt From Sibyl’s Leaves” and “To seem the stranger”, he can find no justification for sensuous delight and he can find no explanation of his suffering.  And so it’s clear that, throughout his life, Hopkins was haunted by these tensions, and he tried to resolve them through poetry.  J Hillis Miller argues that poetry must “make something happen.”  Hopkins’ poetry often tried to make something happen, namely the conclusion of his inner conflicts.  Sometimes he succeeded.  Sometimes he failed.  But he is no less a poet for that.</span>&nbsp;</div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-28925719497917612982016-12-22T10:33:00.000-08:002016-12-22T10:33:03.448-08:00Trump History X<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;PT Serif&quot;; mso-themecolor: text1;"><i>Originally published before the election on Cambridge's 'Varsity' website:&nbsp;</i></span><i>http://www.varsity.co.uk/culture/11105</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;PT Serif&quot;; mso-themecolor: text1;">“We need to open our eyes.  There are over two million illegal immigrants bedding down in this state tonight!  This state spent three billion dollars last year, on services for those people who have no right to be here in the first place.  Three billion dollars!  400 million dollars just to lock up a bunch of illegal immigrant criminals… Our border policy’s a joke!  So, is anybody surprised that south of the border, they’re laughing at us?  Laughing at our laws?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;PT Serif&quot;; mso-themecolor: text1;">Donald Trump made this speech a few weeks ago at one of his infamous rallies, where black people are spat on and Mexicans are considered the scum of the earth.  To rapturous applause from his supporters, Trump went on to talk about “decent, hard-working Americans falling through the cracks” because of “a bunch of people who aren’t even citizens of this country!”  Typical Trump, right?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;PT Serif&quot;; mso-themecolor: text1;">Well,&nbsp;I’m afraid I have a confession to make: this speech wasn’t actually made by Trump.  These are the words of Derek Vinyard, the neo-Nazi protagonist of Tony Kaye’s cinematic masterpiece, <i>American History X</i>.  The film tells the story of Derek Vinyard’s gradual realisation that the bigoted beliefs he has held for most of his adult life are mistaken.  He then tries to prevent his little brother Danny from following in his footsteps and becoming embroiled in the race-related gang-violence that was rife in parts of the US in the 1990s.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;PT Serif&quot;; mso-themecolor: text1;">The film’s 18th Anniversary falls on the 30th October, and yet it couldn’t be more relevant to our&nbsp;current political climate.  We only have to look at Trump’s rabble-rousing rhetoric to see how closely related his sentiments are to the type of white supremacist vitriol that Vinyard preaches during the film.&nbsp;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;PT Serif&quot;; mso-themecolor: text1;">Trump has&nbsp;branded all Mexican immigrants as criminals and rapists; he called for a ban on Muslim immigration to the USA; he refused to rule out special forms of identification for Muslims living in the States; he wavered in his condemnation of a retired KKK leader; he claimed the Chinese made up global warming; he argued that Obama wasn’t a US citizen; the list goes on.  And on.  And on.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;PT Serif&quot;; mso-themecolor: text1;">I know what you’re thinking: we’ve heard it all already.  Just another article about what a terrible man Trump is and how we should all be very scared.  But that&nbsp;Donald Trump and Derek Vinyard espouse almost exactly the same attitudes calls for some more reflection.  Before his transformative time in prison, Vinyard believes that white people are intrinsically superior to every other race.  He thinks black people are inherently drawn to crime because of the colour of their skin.  He has a swastika tattoo and he hates Jewish people.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;PT Serif&quot;; mso-themecolor: text1;">I’m not trying to say that Trump is sworn to Hitler and that he believes in a supreme Aryan race.  He also doesn’t go around trashing Mexican supermarkets and curb-stomping African Americans, as Vinyard does in the film.  But the ethnocentric and isolationist parallels,&nbsp;and similar&nbsp;style of rhetoric, between Trump and an&nbsp;imagined character in the realm of American political fiction is cause for concern.&nbsp;It highlights how Trump plays on the same fears and prejudices as neo-Nazi<i> Mein Kampf</i> readers.  Many of his supporters are just Vinyards reincarnate, sucking up the predictable patriotic platitudes that spew forth from Trump’s gob as if they’re the words of God.&nbsp;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;PT Serif&quot;; mso-themecolor: text1;">It’s unlikely that Trump will win the election, and even if he did he’d struggle to get much through Congress.  But that’s not the point.  Indeed, the parallels between the pair’s&nbsp;rhetoric at the beginning of this article show how&nbsp;most of the damage has already been done.  Trump’s campaign has already polluted the political landscape of the States and other countries.  Over the last few months, he has succeeded in proliferating his xenophobic and bigoted discourse, espoused with all of the same demagogic rhetorical questions and casual slurs as his fictional counterpart.&nbsp;<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;PT Serif&quot;; mso-themecolor: text1;">Vinyard-esque remarks are now a part of the mainstream.  There no longer seems to be a clear divide between white supremacists and the Republican party – their beliefs may not be the same but, as <i>American History X</i> shows, they share a dialogue of hatred and intolerance.  Racial slurs and sexist insults now seem acceptable in the political arena, and if Trump does somehow win on the 8th, they may even become the norm.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;PT Serif&quot;; mso-themecolor: text1;">Worryingly, it’s not just trump.  The Kippers spread the same sort of racial hatred.  Andre Lampitt, the star of UKIP’s European Election TV campaign, once said that “most Nigerians are generally bad people”.  Joseph Quirk, a former UKIP candidate, said he reckons dogs are “more intelligent, better company and certainly better behaved than Muslims”.  This is the party that 3.9 million people voted for in 2015.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">And so it seems the important message of </span><i style="font-family: Cambria;">American History X</i><span style="font-family: Cambria;">, that “hate is baggage” and that “life’s too short to be pissed off all the time”, has been forgotten by many.  The politics of division are thriving across the world, and we will all suffer for it.</span></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-44675831327570792072016-12-22T09:50:00.000-08:002016-12-31T07:19:57.944-08:00The Reader-Speaker Relationship in Robert Browning's Dramatic Monologues<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;times&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">It was the criticism that Robert Browning’s early poems received, particularly Mill’s harsh remarks on <i>Pauline</i>, that encouraged Browning towards the form for which he is most famous, the so-called dramatic monologue.  His early poems were largely denounced for being too confessional and revealing, and so he strove towards a form that would distance his personality from his verse – hence the disclaimer that his dramatic monologues were “so many utterances of so many imaginary persons, not mine.”  This style that Browning adopted, which stood in opposition to the Romantic lyric so prevalent in the early 19<sup>th</sup> Century, shifted the focus of the reader’s interaction with the poem.  Because Browning dissociates himself from so many of his speakers, the reader’s relationship with the poet becomes less important than the reader’s relationship with the speaker – the same can be said of Chaucer’s <i>Tales</i>.  Though Browning is present in the dramatic monologues as creator, it is not so much his own mind that we interact with or judge – it is that of the ‘imaginary person’ his mind has conjured up.  Indeed, our judgement of the speaker is central to the reading of a dramatic monologue, partly because of the repugnance of many of Browning’s speakers, and partly because of Browning’s use of dramatic irony (a central part of the post-Romantic movement).  This irony stems not only from the differences between the speaker’s understanding and the reader’s understanding, but also from the recurrence of revelation, ignorance of the self, and casuistry, all of which make the reader-speaker relationship particularly worthy of note.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;times&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">In Browning’s dramatic monologues, it is often the reader who seems to have the upper-hand in the reader-speaker relationship.  To some extent, the reader understands the speaker more than the speaker understands themselves.  This is most obvious in “Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister”, the title of which is in itself ironic – just as we might mistakenly expect a love song from Prufrock, so here we might expect a religious soliloquy of some sort, when really we get neither.  Indeed, the supposedly religious speaker of Browning’s poem is so consumed by hatred that he seems to forget himself, cursing Brother Lawrence (“Hell dry you up with its flames!”)  and calculating methods of securing his enemy’s damnation: he imagines he could “trip him just a-dying” to “send him flying / Off to hell…” The speaker even considers making a Faustian pact with Satan in order to damn Brother Lawrence.  These curses and manipulative plans exemplify the poem’s central irony: that the speaker’s criticism of Brother Lawrence’s supposed flaws does nothing other than reveal the flaws of the speaker himself.  He appeals to the minutiae of religious observance, attacking his enemy for drinking his “watered orange pulp… at one gulp” and for not crossing his knife and fork after dinner.  But as the poem develops, we realise that though Brother Lawrence might not be as ostensibly formal in his piety, he is probably infinitely more pious than the speaker, who makes use of pagan curses (“Hy, Zy, Hine”) and who mixes up his prayer to Mary (“Plena gratia / Ave, Virgo!”),  perhaps suggestive of his twisted mind state.  Moreover, the speaker’s anger is in itself ironic, since one of the central tenets of his religion (which he does not seem to care about except on a superficial level) is that of Matthew, “Love your enemies”.  Thus, the reader’s understanding of the speaker exceeds the speaker’s own – we see that it is he, not Brother Lawrence, who is worthy of criticism.  In attempting to discredit his adversary, the speaker unknowingly damns himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;times&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">“The Bishop Orders His Tomb” is another poem in which the reader sees what the speaker fails to see in himself.  The Bishop is blind to his flaws, all of which are obvious to the reader.  The Bishop’s most palpable weakness is his materialism (typical of the Renaissance, as Ruskin pointed out), particularly ironic for a religious man, whose focus should be on the spiritual.  This materialism is evident in his wish for an elaborate tomb (he wants “nine columns” round him and a lump of lapis lazuli “Big as a jew’s head”), and also in his obsession with the sensual trappings of religion.  His description of mass exemplifies this:<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;times&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>“And hear the blessed murmur of the mass,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;times&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">And see God made and eaten all day long,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;times&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">And feel the steady candle-flame, and taste<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;times&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">Good strong thick stupefying incense-smoke. ”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;times&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">Almost all of the senses are mentioned in this quotation, demonstrating the sensuality of the Bishop, amplified by the vividness of the final line, the first two spondaic feet reflecting the incense’s thickness.  But the overt materialism of the speaker is not the central irony of the poem.  Rather, it is the Bishop’s failure to realise his own powerlessness that most illuminates the reader-speaker relationship.  As King argues, the irony comes from the juxtaposition of “his pride in the exercise of authority” and “the ineffectualness of his ‘order’.”  Just as we know that the monk in the Spanish cloister is inevitably powerless to harm Brother Lawrence, so we know that the Bishop’s orders will never be fulfilled (something he realises in a moment of revelation towards the poem’s end – “Gritstone, a-crumble!”).  We know, too, that his sons do not really love him, despite the Bishop’s self-deceptive claims (“Nay, boys, ye love me…”) In fact, it is clear to us that he is incapable of love – he is so egotistical that the words he uses most are “I” and “mine”, and the only reason he prizes his wife is that she made Gandolf envious.  He can only exhibit love on a superficial level, by bequeathing wealth to his sons.  What he does not realise, though, is that this is not real love, and that their refusal to build his elaborate tomb is not “ingratitude” at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;times&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">In this sense, the reader has an advantage over the Bishop, not only because we recognise his flaws, but also because we can understand his sons’ reactions to their father’s vain request.  The final irony, though, is even more poignant.  Even though the poem ends with a supposed victory for the Bishop over Gandolf (“As still he envied me, so fair she was!”),  the reader knows that Gandolf is now nothing more than dust, as the Bishop will soon become.  Elaborate tombs cannot prevent the inevitability of death and, for the religious speaker, the imminence of God’s judgement.  So, again, we seem to have the advantage over the speaker in this poem – we understand the meaning of the poem’s first line (“Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity!”),  the meaning of which the Bishop ironically fails to grasp.  It’s interesting to note the frequency of religious hypocrisy in Browning’s speakers – Johannes Agricola is similarly vain.  Browning was a Protestant, and he would have witnessed the 1830s Oxford Movement’s gravitation towards the more ritualized and sensuous worship of the Roman Catholic Church.  Perhaps this is what these poems are criticising by mocking the speakers’ materialism.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;times&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">But there are also instances in Browning’s work where the speaker seems to have the upper hand on the reader.  Though it might not be immediately apparent, “My Last Duchess” is a possible example of this.  The common critical opinion of this poem is that the Duke accidentally reveals his flaws to the reader, and to some extent this is true – the reader gradually discovers the Duke’s delusional jealousy and his mercilessness to his last duchess.  But, as Rader argues, these revelations actually seem calculated.  After all, he has drawn back the curtain of the portrait specifically to show it to the envoy.  Perhaps the Duke’s description of how his last Duchess was “too soon made glad” is a warning to the new Duchess that she must respect his “gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name”.  But in warning the envoy rather than the new Duchess, the proud Duke has not had to “stoop” – it is a subtle warning.  The subtlety is accentuated at the end of the poem when the Duke stops to show the envoy “Neptune… / Taming a sea horse”, suggesting that he has simply been exhibiting art rather than making threats.  But the image of the strong God taming a sea horse also reinforces this idea of power – another warning, perhaps.  Thus, though the elusive and yet threatening words, “I gave commands; / Then all smiles stopped together,” may seem like an accidental revelation of his evil deeds and of his jealousy, it is more likely that the Duke is in control – he knows exactly what he is doing.  Thus, the reader-speaker relationship seems to have been reversed here so that, unlike in the two aforementioned poems, the reader must come to understand the speaker.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: justify; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: &quot;times&quot;; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">The same could be argued for “Porphyria’s Lover”.  The words “And strangled her” come as a complete shock to the reader, made even more surprising by the contrastingly jolly rhymes of “wound” and “around”.  Once we learn that the speaker has killed Porphyria, we are eager to understand his motive for doing so.  Like the Duke, he killed her to overcome his jealousy and to preserve her love not just for “That moment”, but forever.  He is clearly delusional: it is unlikely that Porphyria really was “Too weak” to overcome her pride (she went “through wind and rain” to him), and it is doubtful that she really “felt no pain”.  And yet, despite this, the speaker’s words carry so much conviction (her “smiling rosy little head” is “So glad it has its utmost will,” he tells us) that we almost believe him.  But then again his delusion prevents us from completely adopting his perspective, and so we are caught between understanding and judgement.  Still, he knows exactly what his motives were in killing Porphyria, and as Langbaum argues, just as we are intrigued by the Duke’s conviction of superiority, so we are interested in the lover’s logic, even if it is pure casuistry.  Thus, “Porphyria’s Lover” introduces the reader to another interesting dynamic of understanding.  We know his jealousy is probably unfounded, and we know that he is ‘mad’ to some extent (though he is not mad in the sense of ‘other’, since we have all felt his emotions at some point).  And yet, in the moment of the poem, the balance of power seems to be in the lover’s hands – he understands himself, while we do not, at least until he has revealed his motives.  Both the lover and the Duke have got what they want, killing their lovers whilst preserving their beauty, and neither of them show any remorse.  The difference between the Duke and Porphyria’s lover is that the Duke is probably aware of his sinfulness, whereas the lover is not – he thinks God condones his actions.</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot;;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot;;">Thus, the role of revelation in the poems is always changing.  In “Soliloquy of the Spanish Cloister”, the monk only comes to realise his powerlessness at the end of the poem, a realisation perhaps suggested by his final futile outburst, “Gr-r-r – you swine!”.  This is something the reader could guess before, but that the speaker gradually acknowledges.  Conversely, it is the reader that must gradually acknowledge and understand the motives of the Duke and Porphyria’s lover – the speakers are aware of them all along.  Arguably, this is what makes the Duke and Porphyria’s lover more interesting characters, not only because they are more threatening and less comic, but because, as Langbaum argues, we yearn to understand them, despite their flaws.  Though we do not quite empathise with them, we enter the poem from their point of view, and so the form necessitates a will to apprehend in the reader.  And so, it is clear that these ideas of knowledge and understanding, and indeed the fluctuation of understanding in those moments of revelation, are central to the development of Browning’s dramatic monologues.&nbsp;</span></div></div><div style="mso-element: footnote-list;"><div id="ftn13" style="mso-element: footnote;"></div></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-12555049290621814982016-09-18T10:50:00.000-07:002016-09-18T10:50:59.167-07:007 Great Poems Every Radical Should Know<div class="MsoNormal"><i>This article was originally published on The Radical Tea Towel Company's blog:&nbsp;https://www.radicalteatowel.com/blog/7-poems-every-radical-know/</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">This selection of poems is by no means exhaustive.  There are hundreds and hundreds of radical poems I could’ve included, but these are just a few of my favourites – I hope you’re inspired by them too!<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">1) Dulce et Decorum Est – Wilfred Owen</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/dulce-et-decorum-est">https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/dulce-et-decorum-est</a><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Though this poem has become an absolute classic over the years, its radical pacifist message shouldn’t be ignored.  Indeed, few poems could be more relevant in today’s world.  At this very moment, people’s lives are being ravaged and devastated by violence and war.  Soldiers are killed and innocent civilians are slaughtered every day.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Wilfred Owen’s “Dulce et Decorum Est” is one of the few poems that truly encapsulates the real horrors of war.  He begins with a description of soldiers marching through sludge until, nine lines in, the men are gassed and fumble about looking for their gas masks.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">His carefully chosen words and ingenious use of rhythm bring to life the terror experienced by the men of the First World War.  For example, his image of “someone still yelling out and stumbling, / And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime…” is frighteningly vivid, testament to Owen’s skill as a writer and to the realism of his verse.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">But Owen, having spent time in the trenches, realised that the realities of war are all too often ignored.  Rather than focusing on the fearful nature of conflict and violence (evident in Owen’s description of blood “gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs” and of “incurable sores on innocent tongues”), we tend to aestheticize and glorify the act of going to war.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We instil patriotic ardour into our people, and we present the death of young men as a sacrificial and heroic act.  For Owen, though, war is not heroic, nor is it glorious.  Indeed, it is precisely the opposite – a horrifying and terrible waste of young life.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">So it is Owen’s own experiences of war that led him to see that Horace’s ode was wrong: it is not “Sweet and right to die for your country.”  Rather, Horace’s aphorism is just an “old lie” perpetuated to accentuate the false necessity of war.  That’s why this poem is so important for pacifists and radicals today.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">2) Jerusalem (And did those feet in ancient time) – William Blake</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jerusalem/">http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jerusalem/</a><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">This is yet another classic poem, and you may think it an odd choice.  Before I actually began to concentrate on Blake’s words, I imagined this was simply some patriotic and nationalistic call to arms.  But the poem is actually far more than that.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">True, the poem is certainly a rallying call to the people of England.  But <span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">when Blake exclaims that ‘his sword will not sleep in his hand’ and that he will not ‘cease from Mental Fight’</span>, rather than advocating war or imperialism, Blake is actually <span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">imploring us to devote ourselves to the improvement of our country.  He hopes that we might turn England from the land of ‘Dark Satanic Mills’ into the New Jerusalem, a socialist utopia.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">This may seem somewhat far-fetched, but if you look at some of Blake’s other poems, his progressive and liberal values become clear.  For example, his poem ‘London’ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span>(another great poem for radicals) depicts the bleak and wretched lives of the poor – hence he describes the “chimney-sweeper’s cry” and the “hapless soldier’s sigh”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">It’s clear, then, that Blake had quite radical sympathies for those living in poverty.  Thus, it can be inferred that, when he dreamt of the ‘New Jerusalem’, he probably envisioned a land of equality and affluence, not plagued by capitalism or neo-liberalism.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">So, to me the poem seems to express the hope that an anti-establishment, socialist movement might be created to bring about real change in England’s “green and pleasant land.”  What could possibly be more radical?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">3) The Masque of Anarchy – Percy Bysshe Shelley</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://poetsgraves.co.uk/Classic%20Poems/Shelley/the_mask_of_anarchy.htm">http://poetsgraves.co.uk/Classic%20Poems/Shelley/the_mask_of_anarchy.htm</a><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Shelley wrote this poem in 1819, the year of the Peterloo massacre, when a group of peaceful protesters were charged down by cavalry in St Peter’s Field, Manchester.  They were demanding the reform of parliamentary representation – back then, the ‘democratic’ system was fundamentally undemocratic, with only a handful of men being able to vote.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">In the poem, Shelley describes the rule of Murder, Fraud, Hypocrisy, Destruction, and finally, Anarchy – all of these represent the false authorities of “God, and King, and Law”.  Shelley, seeing this injustice, beseeches the people of England to recognise the wrongs in their society and to act upon them:<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1c1c1c; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">“Rise, like lions after slumber</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1c1c1c; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1c1c1c; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">In unvanquishable number!</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1c1c1c; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1c1c1c; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Shake your chains to earth like dew</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1c1c1c; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1c1c1c; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Which in sleep had fallen on you:</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1c1c1c; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1c1c1c; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">Ye are many—they are few!"</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">He lists the inequalities of life, the struggles of hunger, low pay, and slavery, and calls all the people of England together from their “daily strife” and their “woes untold”.  Spurred on by a vision of Hope, they must refuse to succumb to the injustice of these authorities.  But Shelley urges against vengefulness and violence.  Rather, the people of England must form a “great assembly… of the fearless, of the free” and engage in non-violent protest, despite the bloodthirsty actions of their oppressors.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Once they have united, they must “Declare with measured words” that they are free.  And even if some are killed by tyrannous authorities (as in the Peterloo Massacre), they will act as a source of inspiration to all who came after.  They must demand their freedom, and they must demand change, says Shelley, but without becoming violent tyrants themselves.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">This poem was one of the first ever arguments in favour of non-violent action, and it was often quoted by Gandhi during his campaign for a free India.  This alone shows what a great radical poem it is, one that inspires us to change the world we live in for the better.  <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">&nbsp;</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">4) The New Colossus – Emma Lazarus</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/46550">https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/46550</a><u><span style="color: blue; mso-themecolor: hyperlink;"><o:p></o:p></span></u></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">This poem, part of which is etched onto the base of the Statue of Liberty, has a beautiful message of love, compassion, and warmth.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">Emma Lazarus describes how the statue shall stand as a “Mother of Exiles” with a beacon glowing “world-wide welcome,” and shall cry with silent lips the poignant and moving words: <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">“Give me your tired, your poor,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">This message of sympathy and hospitality is one that all progressives can share.  Indeed, the poem is particularly pertinent today in light of the current refugee crisis and the huge swathes of people currently travelling across land and sea to escape war.  If anyone, it is those people that should be welcomed with open arms.  </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">5) Still I Rise – Maya Angelou</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://poemhunter.com/poem/still-i-rise/">http://poemhunter.com/poem/still-i-rise/</a><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">This poem, like no other, seems to encapsulate the opposing forces of struggle and perseverance, suffering and hope.  This dichotomy is clear from the very start of the poem with the lines: “<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">You may trod me in the very dirt / But still, like dust, I’ll rise”.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Angelou, as a black woman living in the USA, has suffered from persecution and mockery (“You may shoot me with your words, / You may cut me with your eyes, / You may kill me with your hatefulness”), but she refuses to let that hold her back: still, she will rise.  She refuses to give up her supposed “haughtiness” and “sexiness” – in fact, she revels in it, acting as if she had a gold mine in her back yard and diamonds between her thighs.  She rejects stereotyping, and she refuses to be restrained.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">She refuses, too, to be held back by the suffering of her ancestors and their pasts.  Thus, “Out of the huts of history’s shame” and “Up from the past that’s rooted in pain” she rises.  She turns that struggle into ambition and optimism, a resolution expressed in one of the poem’s most inspiring lines: “I am the dream of the hope of the slave.”  In these words, she conveys the determination and hopefulness of all those who have been tormented and anguished, and this is what makes her message into such a great radical, hopeful poem.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="text-indent: -18pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">6) Mushrooms – Sylvia Plath</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/sylviaplath/1415">http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/sylviaplath/1415</a><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">This poem is slightly less well known, but likewise inspiring and encouraging in its hopefulness.  What Plath is actually talking about is hard to define, but its clear that the poem is about a movement of some sort, perhaps feminism, that is fighting against persecution and tyranny.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Like the mushrooms, those who partake in this movement fight for freedom, quietly acquiring the air, heaving the needles and the pavement above them, a metaphor for their oppressors.  The freedom-fighters have struggled (they “Diet on water, / On crumbs of shadow, / Bland-mannered, asking / Little or nothing”) but still there are so many of them, and their struggling will not have been in vain.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Indeed, one day they will succeed: they are “nudgers and shovers” who will multiply and, one day, “Inherit the earth”.  If this poem is about the plight of women and their struggle for emancipation, then Plath is attempting to incite a silent revolution amongst the women of the world.  She hopes that one day, women will no longer be seen as “meek” and even “edible” but will in fact be equal to their male counterparts.  In this sense, the poem is yet another radical and inspiring call to arms.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">7) The Man With the Hoe – Edwin Markham</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.poetry-archive.com/m/the_man_with_the_hoe.html">http://www.poetry-archive.com/m/the_man_with_the_hoe.html</a><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">This poem was originally inspired by Millet’s famous painting, “L’Homme a la houe”, but the poem is now just as famous as Millet’s work.  Socialist and compassionate in its themes, the poem depicts a haggard man working in the fields with the “burden of the world” on his shoulders.  He suffers despair and he never has any source of hope, working as he does all day in the fields.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Markham questions and laments the injustice of this way of life, and argues that this image demonstrates “the world’s blind greed” that has led to such inequalities and inhumanity.  Humanity itself, he says, has been betrayed.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">In the final two stanzas, Markham questions the “masters, lords and rulers in all lands” and asks them how they will “Make right the immemorial infamies, / Perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes” that have led to this man’s suffering and poverty.  He asks, too, how the human race will be judged in light of these inequities.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Though this poem seems bleak, it can also be read as another source of inspiration.  We, the people of the world, can change things.  We can end the inequality that blights so many lives.  We can bring about the “whirlwinds of rebellion” of which Markham speaks!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-83877804089355043732016-09-13T08:42:00.000-07:002016-09-13T08:43:22.616-07:00On Our Shared Humanity - Calais, Lesbos, and the Refugee Crisis<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK2;"><i>This article was originally published on The Radical Tea Towel Company's blog page:&nbsp;</i></span><i><a href="https://www.radicalteatowel.com/blog/calais-lesbos-refugee-crisis/">https://www.radicalteatowel.com/blog/calais-lesbos-refugee-crisis/</a></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=4432645760054556774" name="OLE_LINK2"></a><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK2;">A couple of weeks ago, I was giving a speech at my old school about the refugee crisis and my time working in refugee camps.  My speech was part of “Culture Week”, a school initiative designed to broaden the horizons of younger students, and the chosen theme for this year was migration.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK1;"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK2;">I talked about how I’d decided to go to Calais when I saw that photo of Aylan Kurdi lying lifeless on the Turkish beach; how I’d worked alongside the charities Help Refugees and L’auberge des Migrants to deliver aid to the Calais Jungle; and how I’d later flown out to Lesbos and worked in Moria camp and on the shores of the Greek island as refugees crossed the threshold of Europe.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK1;"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK2;">One of the things that I said when I started my speech was that I didn’t want to focus on the politics of the situation.  It’s easy to get carried away with questions of border policy and the social or economic viability of solutions.  These are all important points that need to be considered when addressing a crisis like the one we currently face, but I felt that the talk would be most effective if I were to focus wholly on the human aspect of the situation.  After all, I went to Calais and Lesbos for humanitarian reasons, not political ones.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK1;"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK2;">In retrospect, I think that was the right decision – to focus on the personal, rather than the political, the human rather than the logistical.  I could speak for days about how there are currently 60 million refugees worldwide; how this is the largest refugee crisis since World War II; and how there are approximately 294 unaccompanied minors living in the Calais Jungle, desperately in need of safety.  I could also tell you about the hundreds of refugees who have drowned in the Mediterranean, and the terrible brutality of French police in Calais.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK1;"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK2;">These are all harrowing facts and statistics and they should be widely shared.  They conjure up images of young children alone in an alien country, of weeping mothers grieving the death of their loved ones, and of refugees fleeing tear gas and rubber bullets.  These are all things that I have witnessed first hand, and when I talked at my school about these experiences the room fell silent.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK1;"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK2;">And yet, there still seems to be a sense of distance when we reflect on refugees in this way – when we present them as numbers on a graph or as helpless masses in need of charity.  True, there is emotional power in talking about mothers and their children, but there is a certain rhetorical detachment.  It was when I spoke about particular individuals I’d met that I felt people really took interest.  It was when I got beyond the shocking facts and the images of pity that I felt I really made a connection with my audience.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK1;"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK2;">So when I spoke about the Afghani man who I’d met in Lesbos, who had a successful life as an aviation engineer in Kabul before being forced to flee, I felt people really began to listen.  When I told them about his fascination with Arsenal football club and about his Afghani girlfriend, shock and pity was replaced by understanding and sympathy.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK1;"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK2;">The same happened when I told my audience about the 14 year-old Syrian boy who I’d met in the Calais Jungle and who, just like them, wanted to continue his education and go to university.  My audience was fascinated by my young Syrian friend’s eagerness to learn French and to perfect his English, as if refugees are somehow different from children in the UK.  It’s this, really, that we should all be focusing on – that we all have a shared humanity.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK1;"><span style="mso-bookmark: OLE_LINK2;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: &quot;Helvetica Neue Light&quot;;">In fact, this was probably the most important thing that I learnt whilst volunteering – that behind every number, there is an individual, and that those individuals are exactly like you and me.  Whatever we label people – refugees or economic migrants – we are all human beings.  We all have dreams and ambitions, we all have passions and fears.  And most importantly, we all deserve the right to a fulfilling and happy life.  This, I hope, is what my audience took away with them.</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">If there ever is a solution to the refugee crisis, then this sense of a shared humanity must be at its core.  Because we all live in the same world, and we all face difficulty and hardship, albeit in different measure.  We only live the lives we do because of the chance and perhaps fortuitous circumstances of our birth.  Any of us could one day be fleeing war, and that’s why we have a duty to our brothers and sisters in Syria, in Iraq, in Afghanistan, across Europe and across the world who are doing exactly what we would do if we were in their position.</div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-68634128240993272022016-09-12T12:06:00.000-07:002016-09-12T12:07:27.235-07:00On The Importance of Voting<div class="MsoNormal"><i>This article was originally published in The Huffington Post (http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/tom-bailey2/eu-referendum-voting_b_10569342.html?)&nbsp;just before the EU Referendum.  And yet, I thought it relevant enough to repost now, since it is not only about voting in referenda, but about voting in general.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">This Thursday, on the 23<sup>rd</sup> of June, millions of people will be going to polling stations throughout the UK in order to cast their vote.  The people of the UK will be deciding whether we should remain or leave the European Union, a decision that will have a drastic influence over the future of our country.  It will affect every one of our lives, and it will determine the role the United Kingdom plays in the world for decades to come.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The chance to vote is not something we should take lightly, not only because of the power each of us holds in our own hands, but also because the right to vote is something we should all treasure.  When we cast our votes on Thursday, we should remember that in 1780, only 3% of the population of England and Wales<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-themecolor: text1;"> could vote.  That 3% was, of course, made up of wealthy white males who thought they and they alone should decide the future of their country.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-themecolor: text1;">We should also remember that there are still many people throughout the world who are denied the right to vote or whose votes simply don’t count.  Even though universal suffrage is a key element of our democracy, we are still lucky to have it.  In countries like North Korea, Zimbabwe, Syria, and China, citizens have little or no say in how their countries are run.  To many people throughout the world, the idea that a government would hold a referendum seems an idealistic dream for the distant future.  We, in the UK, are living that dream of democracy.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">But we shouldn’t just feel fortunate that we have this right to democratically choose our governments.  We should also feel grateful.  Now, I’m not saying we should be thanking politicians or the establishment or the monarchy for granting us this right to vote.  After all, the right of universal suffrage was not given to the citizens of the UK out of good will or kindness from benevolent bureaucrats.  It was fought for.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We should feel grateful to all those who struggled and persevered so that we could go to the polling stations on Thursday.  We should feel grateful to Thomas Paine, whose book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Rights of Man </i>called for an expansion of suffrage beyond wealthy elites.  We should feel grateful to the radical speaker Henry Hunt and the 11 people killed at the Peterloo Massacre of 1819, attacked by local yeomanry for calling for their right to vote.  They were martyred for their fellow men and women.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Then there are the Chartists, the 19<sup>th</sup> Century radical campaigners for parliamentary reform.  Their six-point programme included demands for universal suffrage and voting by secret ballot – both of which we take for granted.  All of these revolutionaries gave us what we have today, and we should commemorate their struggle by casting our votes on Thursday.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">But these groups were only the beginning of this battle.  When we vote, we must also feel indebted to the suffragettes and to Emily Davison, that great feminist figure who fought for her rights as a woman.  Indeed, she gave her life for the cause of female suffrage.  At the Epsom Derby of 1913, Emily Davison stepped out in front of King George V’s horse in a symbol of protest.  Four days later, she died from her injuries.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Alongside Emily in this battle for woman’s right to vote were Mary Wollstonecraft, Emmeline Pankhurst, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, and many, many others.  They suffered persecution, alienation and abuse so that women could have equal voting rights to men.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And last but not least, we must remember Martin Luther King Junior and all those men and women who took part in the civil rights movement.  If they hadn’t marched on Washington in 1963, and if they hadn’t clung so ferociously to their heartfelt dreams, black men and black women might still not be able to vote in the United States.  Martin Luther King Junior was assassinated for fighting for his beliefs – he gave his life so that he and his fellow black Americans could have the right we enjoy today.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">That, I suppose, demonstrates the importance of voting.  Not just because we are voting in an incredibly important referendum, but because we are so lucky that we can vote at all.  It hasn’t always been like this.  We haven’t always had this great democratic right.  So, when we put our slips in the ballot box on Thursday, whether we are men or women, black or white, Christian or Muslim, working-class or bourgeoisie, we should remember those who gave their lives so that every one of us could have this right.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">When Thursday arrives, I urge you to go to the ballot box and vote.  If you feel alienated and disenfranchised by the current political climate, I don’t blame you.  But you still ought to go to the polling station and vote or, at the very least, spoil your ballot – it may seem pointless, but it shows that you care and ensures you won’t be dismissed as entirely apathetic.<br /><br />Turning out to vote on Thursday is the least we can do for all those campaigners and martyrs who championed the rights we enjoy today.  Whatever your stance on the referendum, let your voice be heard.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-9329871550079522402016-09-11T10:26:00.000-07:002016-09-11T10:27:28.229-07:00A Patriotic Vision For The Left<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><i>This blog was originally published on The Radical Tea Towel Company's blog page:&nbsp;http://www.radicalteatowel.com/blog/a-patriotic-vision-for-the-left/&nbsp;</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><i><br /></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">For a long time now, the words “nationalistic” and “patriotic” have seemed to me to be largely associated with xenophobia, bigotry and prejudice.  Political parties like UKIP and the British Nationalist Party have long been claiming that only they are proud of their country and their people.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">UKIP’s 2015 General Election manifesto was emblazoned with the slogan “Believe in Britain” as if no other political party did.  The English Defence League adopted St George’s flag (ignorant to the fact that St George was Syrian) as if to suggest that they were the true guardians and lovers of our country, and that no other political party could really care for England.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">A quick Google search reinforces this unusual association between bigotry and patriotism.  The so-called “patriot movement” consists of various conservative movements in the United States that include organised militia members, tax protesters, conspiracy theorists, and radical Christians who believe in an impending apocalypse. ‘ Patriotism’ apparently equates with ‘loony’, too.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">And just as these illiberal, conservative groups often pose as patriotic, so the left has forever been accused of the opposite: of having a deep loathing for the United Kingdom and wanting to systematically dismantle all of its traditions and institutions.  In his novel <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Time of Gifts, </i>Patrick Leigh Fermor describes his early perception of left-wing politicians as men and women determined to see the destruction of everything ‘British’, from country-life and religion to cricket and farming.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">This view of the left as anti-patriotic was evident in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Daily Mail</i>’s childish and brutal attack on Ralph Miliband, the socialist writer and late father of Ed Miliband.  The tabloid absurdly branded Ralph as “The man who hated Britain” for no other reason than his left-wing political stance, despite the fact that he fought for Britain in the Royal Navy.  Of course, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Daily Mail </i>consistently publishes utter nonsense, but its influence and power cannot be ignored – these are views held by a large amount of the electorate.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">The persistence of this perception is terrifying: if you type “Corbyn hates” into Google, the first two suggested searches are not (as you might expect) “Corbyn hates inequality” or “Corbyn hates injustice”, but instead, Google suggests the two searches “Corbyn hates England” and “Corbyn hates Britain”.  Although Google may not be trustworthy when it comes to politics (I wonder why…), it seems that many in England agree with Cameron when he says Corbyn has a “security-threatening, terrorist-sympathising, Britain-hating ideology”.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">This branding of the left, and the <span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">Labour Party in particular, as anti-British or anti-patriotic, is very damaging indeed.  </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-themecolor: text1;">Previous polling has shown that nearly 8 out of 10 British people are proud of their nationality, and so any party hoping to win in 2020 must reflect that pride.  And I believe that it can be done.</span><span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">The rise of the SNP in Scotland and the popularity of Plaid Cymru in Wales show that patriotism and socialism can and should be synonymous.  Nationalistic politics does not have to mean regressive politics.  Loving your country does not necessitate xenophobic values and inward-looking views.  Caring about our country does not mean we must abandon our concern for the rest of the world, nor does it mean we should redirect foreign aid to benefit ourselves alone (one of UKIP’s manifesto pledges).<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">I also believe that patriotism, while it involves pride, does not mean we must agree with everything our country has and will do.  Being patriotic does not mean we must celebrate our terrible imperialist past, nor does it mean applauding war and supporting unnecessary violence.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">For too long, we’ve allowed the word ‘patriotism’ to be wrongly defined, and we as radicals must reverse that.  We should not be afraid to call of waving the English flag and calling ourselves patriots, because patriotism can mean pride in our National Health Service, in our welfare state, and in our democracy.  Patriotism can mean the love of our diversity, our tolerance, and our acceptance of other cultures.  Patriotism can mean the love of our artistic history and our support of progressive values (notable in our fight against Nazism).  It <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">doesn’t </i>have to mean a passion for the monarchy, a love of tradition, or a constant support of war, as many now see it.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">Patriotism certainly can be dangerous – there’s no denying it.  That’s possibly why Marx opposed it so much (“The working men have no country”), seeing it as divisive, anti-internationalist, and a direct cause of conflict.  But, as I have attempted to demonstrate, it doesn’t have to be.  If we love our own country, we do not have to hate the countries of others.  Love of one thing does not necessitate the hatred of another.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;">So patriotism isn’t necessarily a bigoted ideology.  Indeed, if argued correctly, a left-wing patriotic ideology could unite the British people like no other, ending the politics of fear (exemplified by the scapegoating of the poor and foreigners) and ensuring pride in and passion for our liberal institutions.  That is why the Labour party and the left as a whole must embrace the word patriotism, rather than shying away from it – not just to increase their electability, but to bring people together.<br /><br />Whilst right-wing politicians brand the people of the UK as scroungers and wasters (just this week, Alan Duncan claimed that achievement equals wealth, suggesting that millions of British people are lazy and unsuccessful), and whilst the Tories take benefits from working people and dismantle the NHS, the Left must stand for compassion and love, protecting our people and its institutions – what could possibly be more patriotic?  The left are the true patriots, and we must prove it.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><o:p></o:p></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-62170833805024745562016-05-26T05:49:00.003-07:002016-05-26T05:52:34.743-07:00"The Garden of Love" - A Brief Analysis of Blake's Poem<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">I went to the Garden of Love,</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">And saw what I never had seen:</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">A Chapel was built in the midst,</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">Where I used to play on the green.</span><br /><div style="min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">And the gates of this Chapel were shut,</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">And Thou shalt not, writ over the door;</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">That so many sweet flowers bore.&nbsp;</span><br /><div style="min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">And I saw it was filled with graves,</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">And tomb-stones where flowers should be:</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,</span><br /><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">And binding with briars, my joys &amp; desires.</span><br /><div style="min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">I can’t quite put my finger on what makes this poem so wonderful.  My grandmother, a rebelling ex-Catholic, used to read it to my mother when she was a child, and my mother subsequently read it to me as I was growing up.  I suppose that’s why this poem has stuck with me for such a long time – I have a personal connection to it.  Hopefully, though, I can try to explain my affection for it in more objective terms.</span><br /><div style="min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><br /></span></div><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LPP3mtQTJdc/V0bwlY14tCI/AAAAAAAAAh4/fEG4Z9O_Y1UWH83pw1yUvWaIa9LvNx3rgCKgB/s1600/Garden%2Bof%2BLove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LPP3mtQTJdc/V0bwlY14tCI/AAAAAAAAAh4/fEG4Z9O_Y1UWH83pw1yUvWaIa9LvNx3rgCKgB/s320/Garden%2Bof%2BLove.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">Clearly, the poem is about Blake’s struggles with religion, particularly the stringent rules of the orthodox Anglican Church.  But it’s also about the change he himself has gone through in his movement from “innocence” to “experience” as expressed in the titles of his books (<i>Songs of Innocence </i>and <i>Songs of Experience</i>).</span><br /><div style="min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">Hence, with experience, he sees what he “never had seen” – the harsh rigidity of church authority.  Where previously he could “play on the green” (recalling the themes of innocent freedom in his earlier poem “The Echoing Green”), there is now a threatening Chapel with shut gates and with “Thou shalt not, writ over the door…”</span><br /><div style="min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">Likewise, graves and tombstones now stand “where flowers should be.”  In Blake’s mind, the church has destroyed everything good in the world – the freedom of childhood, the freshness of the natural world, and, inevitably, the beauty of love.  These are things he could enjoy in his childhood innocence, but now that he has matured, his freedom has been torn from him.</span><br /><div style="min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">There’s a strong sense of nostalgia that lingers throughout the poem, mostly because of the contrasts between the present and the past – the chapel contrasted with green grass, and graves contrasted with flowers.  But this nostalgia is also created, perhaps, by the buoyant anapestic trimiter (“A Chapel was built in the midst,” – “Du-dum du-du-dum du-du-dum”).  This metre shares the rapid and somewhat cheerful sound of the dactyl, perhaps signifying Blake’s attempts to recall his past innocence and exuberance.</span><br /><div style="min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">And yet, the rhyme scheme may imply that Blake’s yearning for his past will never be fulfilled, just as the rhyme scheme is never fully fulfilled: only two lines per stanza rhyme, and the rhyme scheme collapses completely in the final stanza.  Likewise, the metre changes in the last two lines, moving to an anapestic tetrameter.  This symbolizes two things: the failure to recall past innocence (reflected in the return to a slower, less lighthearted metre), and the change that has taken place in the Garden itself.  It’s this metrical variation in the poem that I find so exciting.</span><br /><div style="min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">Thus, the green of the garden has been replaced by the “black gowns” of the priests.  Here we recall Blake’s words in his poem “London” where he says that “Every <i>black</i>ening church appals” (my italics).  In his mind, the Church brings decay and sadness to all that we should champion.  Therefore, the priests are seen “binding with briars” Blake’s “joys and desires”.</span><br /><div style="min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">So, in his experience, Blake realizes the austere control placed on people by the Church and, as a non-conformist, he rallies against this.  Blake may also be attacking a new chapel that was built in Lambeth near his home at the time.  It was built by subscription, meaning that parishioners paid for their pews, and Blake was appalled by this.  Like Chaucer, he hated the idea that those who could not pay would be excluded from eternal life with God – “the gates of this Chapel were shut”.</span><br /><div style="min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: &quot;times&quot; , &quot;times new roman&quot; , serif;">Blake takes arms against the authoritarian nature of the Church and the fact that it consumes all goodness in the world.  Although he was technically a Christian, he hated the Church for its attempts to suppress sexuality and desire, both of which he saw as central to the human condition.  So, in “The Marriage of Heaven and Hell”<i> </i>he writes: “Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity. /  He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence. ”</span><br /><div style="min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: times, 'times new roman', serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: times, 'times new roman', serif;">“The Garden of Love” is, in many ways, representative of Blake’s rebellious spirit, evident in both his mythological artwork and his more avant-garde poetry.  I suppose that is really what I love about this poem, and I guess that’s why it was adored by my mother and my grandmother before her.  Blake, as a Romantic poet, was ahead of his time, forever a champion of equality and freedom.  For that, at least, he should be remembered.</span></div></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-71242128166845470392016-05-24T05:45:00.002-07:002016-05-24T05:45:57.353-07:00"When I heard the learn'd astronomer" - A Brief Analysis of Whitman's Poem<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">When I heard the learn’d astronomer, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">“When I heard the learn’d astronomer” is one of Walt Whitman’s most famous works, not least because it featured in an episode of the hit TV show <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Breaking Bad</i>.  In my mind, the poem is a yet another lyrical representation of Wordsworth’s famous aphorism, “We murder to dissect” (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Tables Turned</i>).  Just as Wordsworth calls us to close the “barren leaves” of scientific study, so Whitman urges us to appreciate the natural world for what it is.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">But what is it that makes this such a powerful poem?  How does Whitman reinforce the potency of his plea?  Well, the answer is: contrast.  The entire premise of the poem is built upon the distinction between science and the natural world.  Hence, the poem begins in a lecture-hall with a “learn’d astronomer” presumably talking about constellations and planetary systems.  Notice how jarring the first five lines are: there’s no constant metre, and line four goes on for so long we almost have to pause for breathe.  There’s a certain irony in this first section in that the “charts and diagrams” which aim to give order to nature end up as a jumbled, jolting selection of words.  <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">It is these “proofs” and “figures” that make Whitman “tired and sick” because they try to represent nature falsely and because they fail to clarify its many complexities.  They ignore nature's wholesome beauty, and focus too much on its details.  Whitman, having left, can escape this false representation of the natural world to enjoy nature’s reality, “the mystical moist night-air” and “the perfect silence of the stars”.  These descriptions undeniably recall the lyrical beauty of Keats’s “Ode to a Nightingale” or Coleridge’s “Frost at Midnight”.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">This is where the contrast comes in.  Rather like a sonnet, this poem has a volta (or turn) after the fifth line.  The mood of the poem changes dramatically with Whitman’s rhyming echoes “rising and gliding out”, banishing the previous jarring tone and beckoning in a new, more elegant and graceful mood.  This is suggested also by the ballerina-esque movements of "rising and gliding" - the words, like Whitman, rise and glide gracefully.  These ideas are reinforced in the echoes of “m” and “st” sounds in the two words “mystical moist,” and then finally by the almost perfect iambic pentameter of the poem’s last line: “Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.”  This fluency of rhythm, when contrasted with the previous jolting pulse, reflects Whitman’s belief in the incomparable beauty of the natural world.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">There are other contrasts, too, in the ideas of noise and solitude.  Whereas before he sits amongst academics in a busy lecture-hall, he later goes outside by himself to judge the magnificence of the stars for himself – he, unlike most people, finds no beauty in facts and figures.  And whilst previously his ears rung with “much applause in the lecture-hall,” outside he can stand “in perfect silence.”  These contrasts exemplify the peacefulness of the natural world, uncorrupted and undissected by scientists and their calculations.  This is what the Romantic poets adored: the freedom, solitude and tranquility of nature, unperturbed by the cruelties of human nature.  This, in essence, is what Whitman illustrates, and thus glorifies.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-8426366804773112862016-05-02T07:53:00.000-07:002016-05-02T13:26:47.133-07:00In Defence of Anti-Zionism<div class="MsoNormal">Perhaps I ought to start this article by saying that this is not a defence of Ken Livingstone, Naz Shah, Malia Bouattia (the new NUS President), or any other public figures recently accused of anti-Semitism.  Rather, I simply hope to defend my own position: that of opposing the policies of Israel and the ideology of Zionism in its current form.  Through this article, I want to demonstrate that, despite what many suggest, my views do not in any way equate to anti-Semitism.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ll start by outlining my basic objections to Zionism.  I was having a conversation recently with a friend of mine about the state of Israel and the role of the Holocaust in its foundation: “No wonder they want a homeland,” she argued, and she had a point: we must sympathise with the desire for a group of people to found a homeland and form a nation, particularly a group of people that have, throughout history and throughout the world, been persecuted.  I recently visited Auschwitz Concentration Camp and I was harrowed by the brutal suffering of those who lived and died under Nazi rule.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">But one question ultimately arises: where will this homeland be founded?  Well, when Zionism began as an ideology in the late 19th century, Palestine was the obvious choice: it was the birthplace of Judaism, once controlled by the Israelites, and referred to in the Torah as the ‘Promised Land’.  But according to the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demographic_history_of_Palestine">Ottoman census of 1878</a>, there were over 400,000 Muslims living in Palestine during this period, comprising 87% of the population.  Jews, on the other hand, comprised only three or four per cent.  What is more, Justin McCarthy estimated that by 1946 there were 1,339,763 non-Jews living in Palestine.  Despite what many Zionists claim, Palestine was not an uninhabited land.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AfwYYOP2BCg/VydqjEwpLxI/AAAAAAAAAhc/wFeETD8IEc4ycQKa9H75KzJI_LAD-VhvQCLcB/s1600/Map%2Bof%2BIsrael.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AfwYYOP2BCg/VydqjEwpLxI/AAAAAAAAAhc/wFeETD8IEc4ycQKa9H75KzJI_LAD-VhvQCLcB/s400/Map%2Bof%2BIsrael.jpg" width="400" /></a>Now, though, Arabs only constitute 18.5% of Israel’s population, and an astonishing one in three refugees worldwide is Palestinian.  In 1947, Israel was given 56% of Palestine and since then the state has expanded to over 80% of what was once Palestinian land.  What is more, there are almost half a million Jews living in occupied territory, and there are 121 settlements officially recognised as illegal by the United Nations.  It seems that Israel is determined to continue its expansion indefinitely, hence <a href="http://edition.cnn.com/2016/04/18/middleeast/israel-syria-golan-heights/">Benjamin Netanyahu’s recent announcement </a>that the Golan Heights will forever remain under Israeli sovereignty.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Now, I’d like to pose a few questions to the reader.  If a homeless family want a home, of course that desire should be fulfilled; but would you be content with that homeless family kicking your own family out of your home and killing one of your children in the process?  Let me pose another question: if a book was “found” that said the UK belonged to the Mormons, would they be justified in taking over our country and forcing so many of us to flee?  Of course not, and it worries me that the absurd it-says-so-in-the-Torah argument is used by Zionists so frequently.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">This Zionist ideology of settler-colonialism has led to constant violence and brutality in the region, stemming also from the desire to ethnically cleanse Palestine, hence the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nakba_Day">1948 Nakba</a> which saw 700,000 Palestinians expelled from their homes and hundreds of Palestinian towns and villages destroyed.  Since then, though, things have only grown worse: Gaza, described by many as “the world’s largest open-air prison”, has been reduced to piles of rubble, and as bombs go off in Palestinian land, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFdBtZgnHlE">Israelis cheer and applaud (literally applauding: watch the video here)</a>.  The Israeli Government say that they act in self-defence, but&nbsp;<span style="font-family: &quot;cambria&quot;; font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.middleeastmonitor.com/20140214-one-palestinian-child-has-been-killed-by-israel-every-3-days-for-the-past-13-years/">between 2000 and 2013, a Palestinian child was killed every three days on average</a> -&nbsp;</span>did these children pose a threat?  You only have to look at the death tolls to see who is most in the wrong: in 2014, for example, <a href="http://www.ifamericansknew.org/stat/deaths.html">86 Israelis were killed compared to 2262 Palestinians.</a><o:p></o:p><br /><br />Perhaps, though, one could argue that Israel is in fact fighting in self-defence.  After all, Hamas militants do often fire missiles over the border into Israeli territory.  But not only does Hamas support a two-state solution in accord with international consensus, they also agree to and respect ceasefires over and over again.  As Noam Chomsky writes, "The regular pattern is for Israel, then, to disregard whatever ceasefire is in place, while Hamas observes it - as Israel has officially recognised - until a sharp increase in Israeli violence elicits a Hamas response, followed by even fiercer [Israeli] brutality."  So in reality, Israel seems to be acting less for self-defence and more for their ideology.  This is why, on July 9th 2014, about two thirds of those killed were innocent women and children and only a few Hamas targets were hit - the idea that this was 'self-defence' bemuses me.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Arabs are discriminated against in every branch of life, and from an early age many Israeli children are encouraged to see their Arab counterparts as “other”.  In her book <a href="https://electronicintifada.net/content/book-review-how-israeli-school-textbooks-teach-kids-hate/11571">“Palestine in Israeli Schoolbooks: Ideology and Propaganda in Education”</a>, Nurit Peled-Elhanan states that in Israeli schoolbooks Arabs are only represented as “refugees, primitive farmers and terrorists” and that, in “hundreds and hundreds” of books, there was not one photograph that showed an Arab as a “normal person”.  A shocking <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arab_citizens_of_Israel">36% of Jews</a>&nbsp;believe that non-Jews in Israel should have no right to vote.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Indeed, many have drawn parallels between the way in which Palestinians in occupied territories are treated and the way in which black people were treated in South Africa during apartheid.  To an extent, the Israelis control the lives and movement of all those living in the West Bank through a system of ID cards, military checkpoints, and the West Bank barrier.  What is more, around some settlements there are separate roads for Palestinian citizens, and in occupied territories, Palestinians are discriminated against in terms of infrastructure, legal rights, and access to land and resources.  Perhaps this is why in 1975, the United Nations General Assembly passed<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_Nations_General_Assembly_Resolution_3379">&nbsp;Resolution 3379</a>&nbsp;(now replaced by later resolutions), which concluded that “Zionism is a form of racism and racial discrimination,” epitomised by the racist annexation wall.  Though Zionism itself may not be a racist ideology, the policies that stem from it certainly are.&nbsp;<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">So it's not just the fact that Palestinians have been driven from their homes and their countries, it's also that they are still subject to violence and discrimination.  But does the suffering of the Jewish people in the past justify the suffering of the Palestinian people in the present?  The answer is, unequivocally, no.  This <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7tupJRSi7M">quotation from Jewish anti-Zionist Norman Finkelstein</a>should suffice to defend my position: <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">“My late father was at Auschwitz concentration camp, my late mother was at Majdanek concentration camp.  Every single member of my family, on both sides, was exterminated.  Both of my parents were in the Warsaw Ghetto uprising, and it is precisely and exactly because of the lessons my parents taught me and my two siblings, that I will not be silent when Israel commits its crimes against the Palestinians.  And I consider nothing more despicable than to use their suffering, and their martyrdom, to try to justify the torture, the brutalisation, the demolition of homes, that Israel daily commits against the Palestinians. ”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">And that brings me to my next point.  This week, many Zionists have claimed that those who oppose Zionism also oppose Judaism: they say that anti-Zionists are anti-Semites, and the word Jew has simply been replaced by the word Zionist.  Does that mean, then, that those Jews who oppose Zionism are anti-Semitic?  Ilan Pappe, Norman Finkelstein, and all those Jewish men and women who turn up to pro-Palestinian rallies – are they anti-Semites too?  Or do they, as I do, simply oppose the brutality of Zionist ideology?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">I hope I have outlined here my reasons for opposing the state of Israel in its current form: because its actions are racist, violent, and, perhaps most importantly, illegal.  I could give hundreds more examples about violence and discrimination against Palestinians, but I don’t want to bore you.  The facts and statistics I have given speak for themselves and are, I hope, representative of the whole.  I’m sure that many will call me a terrorist-sympathiser and all that, so I ought to say that I condemn all unnecessary violence (whether it is Israel, Hamas, or Hezbollah), even if it is for a cause that I believe in.<br /><br />I was surprised and shocked to be called an anti-Semite and a racist this week, despite having consistently and unequivocally opposed all forms of racism throughout my life.  I cannot speak for everyone who supports Palestinian rights and opposes Israel, but I can say with certainty that being anti-Zionist and anti-Semitic are not one and the same – the two must not be conflated.  Opposing Zionism, as I do, does not in any way make you an anti-Semite.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-18376759563025477452016-03-10T05:37:00.000-08:002016-03-10T05:37:09.482-08:00Is Emma Woodhouse a likeable heroine?<div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Austen once famously remarked that Emma is “a heroine whom no-one but myself will much like,” and her rationale for saying this is obvious: unlike Fanny Price or Anne Elliot, Emma is not a particularly admirable character.  Indeed, many of the novel’s greatest disasters (Box Hill, for instance) or near-disasters (Harriet’s near damnation to the fate of being “an old maid at last, like Miss Bates”) are caused by Emma and her famous lack of judgement.  Emma, despite being clever, is, in the words of Claire Tomalin, “consistently wrong”.  Moreover, she is an arrogant heroine, particularly when it comes to her obsession with class and hierarchy.  And yet, despite her flaws, there is a certain appeal and allure in Emma that is perhaps lacking in the somewhat bland Fanny Price.  We are attracted to Emma’s desire for excitement and her undeniable charm, and thus, though Emma is not a particularly admirable character, she is certainly a likeable protagonist.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">One of Emma’s least attractive traits is her obsession with class, which comes across on a number of occasions in the novel but particularly in her attitudes to Miss Bates and the Coles.  Austen emphasises the extreme differences in Emma and Miss Bates’s situation: Emma is “handsome, clever, and rich with a comfortable home,” whilst Miss Bates is “neither young, handsome, rich,” with “no intellectual superiority” and living “in a very small way.”  Indeed, it is worth noting that Austen herself was very much like Miss Bates: a relatively poor spinster living on the benevolence of her brother Edward Knight with her mother (as Miss Bates does) and sister Cassandra.  Austen’s arguable similarity to Miss Bates perhaps explains Austen’s pity for Miss Bates in Emma’s arrogance (Emma “seldom went near them” because she was afraid of “falling in with the second rate and third rate of Highbury”) and lack of concern (she does not contribute “what she ought” to their comfort), despite the fact that, when Emma does visit, she is “most cordially and even gratefully welcomed.”  Emma’s attitude to Miss Bates, the novel’s moral compass, determines our opinion of her, and can be contrasted to Mr Knightley’s benevolence and care towards the Bateses (giving the rest of his apples and lending his carriage).  Emma’s attitude towards the Coles is similarly unattractive (and also rather comic): she at first refuses to go to their party because they are “only moderately genteel” (not a “superior family”), preferring to remain in “solitary grandeur”.  Again, this is another unattractive perspective on Emma.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Emma also shows her arrogance when it comes to her confidence in her own flawed judgement, which leads her to persuade Harriet to reject Robert Martin and to fall in love with Elton, who “never thought of Miss Smith” in the whole course of his existence.  Emma mistakes Elton’s false and excessive gallantry regarding the painting and his charade to be directed at Harriet, when really it was directed at her (despite John’s warning her that Elton has “a great deal of good will” towards her).  Emma mocks Martin’s proposal of marriage, despite the fact that he “expressed good sense” and rented “a very large farm” (with espalier apple-trees, indicating wealth), because he is a farmer and “must be coarse and unpolished”.  This generalisation is also seen in her attitude to the poor family she visits, who must have no “extraordinary virtue” because of their poverty.  Again, we see here Emma’s obsession with class, in this instance exacerbated by her lack of judgement.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">However, there are a number of reasons that the reader cannot help liking Emma.  Firstly, Austen’s use of free indirect discourse forces us to see the happenings of the novel largely from Emma’s own perspective, encouraging us to sympathise with her.  As Gard argues, it is free indirect discourse that makes us pity Emma after Box Hill when Austen writes: “How could she have been so brutal, so cruel to Miss Bates?”  Thus, the reader forms a connection with Emma, making it almost impossible to dislike her, though we are still more than aware of her faults.  Moreover, this free indirect discourse means that, on first reading the novel, very many readers suffer the same ignorance and lack of judgment that Emma does: we may not notice that Mr Elton’s gallantry is in fact directed towards Emma, and we may not realise that Jane and Frank are engaged, although Mr Knightley does suspect Frank of “some indication to trifle with Jane.”  Thus, we cannot help pitying Emma and sympathising with her mistakes.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">We also pity Emma because she does, in fact, change throughout the novel, and thus the novel can be read as a so-called Bildungsroman.  With the help of Mr Knightley, Emma learns to treat others less as objects and generalizations (she begins wanting to befriend Harriet because she will find her “useful”) and more as people (at the end “She wanted to be of use” to Jane, offering her carriage).  This development breaks down the reader’s moral distance from Emma, allowing us to warm to her and pity her in her lamentations: “I seem to have been doomed to blindness.”  Indeed, she changes her bigoted opinion of Mr Martin completely, telling Knightley “at that time I was a fool” and the narrator says: “It would be a great pleasure to know Robert Martin.”  And though it is possible to argue that Emma’s acceptance that her and Harriet’s “intimacy must sink” shows how she is still obsessed with hierarchy, this is perhaps more because Emma and Harriet never were good friends for one another: Knightley was right when he noted that Harriet’s “ignorance is hourly flattery.”  Emma also makes amends with Miss Bates, and Austen uses the words “repentance” and “contrition” to emphasise Emma’s moral change.  Thus, Emma’s change makes her a more likeable character.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Emma is also not, in fact, an ill-natured person: her mistakes are not caused by malice or cruelty, but by boredom.  Her sense of the superiority of her own judgement can in a large sense be put down to the fact that she was, from a young age, “directed chiefly by her own” and was mistress of her house in a town that “afforded her no equals” (though this is not exactly true).  Thus, Emma is not entirely to blame, just as Lydia is not entirely to blame for Mr and Mrs Bennett’s bad parenting that leads to her moral transgressions.  It is the dullness of Emma’s society and life (she has never been to the sea or to Box Hill, despite its proximity, and her father “was unfit for any acquaintance”) that causes her greatest mistakes, particularly her venturing into match-making and her role as an imaginist.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Moreover, Emma is inherently a good person, as the narrator observes: “There were moments of self-examination in which her conscience could not quite acquit her.”  For every section devoted to her mischief, Booth argues, “there is a section devoted to her self-reproach,” and it is this that makes Emma such a relatable figure.  Despite her relapse (when she considers, after her resolve not to matchmake, whether Harriet could marry one of the Coxes or later Frank Churchill), she eventually learns the dangers of her meddling through her constant cycles of mistake and repentance.  Thus, Emma’s unattractive qualities and actions, Box Hill for example, can be put down to her boredom rather than a purposeful cruelty.  Unlike Mr and Mrs Elton at the ball, Emma does not purposefully harm anybody, and she always repents her mistakes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Thus, it is clear that though Emma is a flawed heroine, she is still a likeable one.  Austen is often seen as an anti-Jacobin, neo-Classical or Augustan writer, rejecting the obsession with the imagination and fancy that became prominent in the Romantic period.  This is most evident in her two novels “Northanger Abbey” and “Sense and Sensibility”, and it is also evident in “Emma” as the heroine gradually realises she must submit to a “subjection of the fancy to the understanding.”  Nonetheless, the reality is that Emma’s great attraction lies in her imagination and her “desire to make life vivid” (Morgan).  As Gard argues, “she is the victim of her marvellous ideas,” marvellous because of their attempts to enliven a rather dull life.  It is Emma’s emphasis on the imagination that, though it leads her astray, we so admire and love.  Indeed, we applaud Knightley when he allows for “the momentary conquest of eagerness over judgment,” showing that Emma’s exciting attributes and charm have influenced Knightley (he remarks that he, too, has changed).  This exciting charm and obsession with the imagination leads Knightley, and indeed the reader, to view Emma as “the sweetest and best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her faults.”  Emma’s sin is, as Lionel Trilling observes, the poet’s sin, and it is this that makes her such a likeable heroine.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-68655168124686617102016-03-09T12:04:00.000-08:002016-03-09T12:04:20.325-08:00Is Caryl Churchill’s “Top Girls” a feminist, socialist drama?<div class="MsoNormal">What differentiates Caryl Churchill’s “Top Girls” from many other feminist dramas is that, not only does it criticise the cruelties of patriarchy, it also points out the flaws of feminism and the dangers of what is known as intra-sexual oppression. “ Top Girls” is a feminist play – Churchill once wrote that “what I feel is quite strongly a feminist position, and that inevitably comes into what I write.”  However, it is not unequivocally so, since the play also dwells on the unattractive aspects of modern, radical, and capitalist feminism. “ Top Girls” was influenced by Thatcher’s coming to power (a figure who embodies this capitalist feminism) and by Churchill’s trip to America touring her play “Vinegar Tom”.  In America, she came across a type of feminism much more associated with business and success within capitalist structures, rather than the more traditional, socialist feminism she was used to.  It is this capitalist approach to female emancipation that Churchill criticises, and in this sense it is a feminist, socialist drama.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The first act of the play begins as a celebration of female success and of Marlene’s recent appointment as Managing Director.  However, this celebration swiftly transmogrifies into a chaotic scene of female suffering.  Although we applaud the feminist attitudes held by these women, seen in Nijo’s questioning of male power (“Priests were often vagrants, so why not a nun?”)  and Joan’s expression of female achievement (“I never obeyed anyone.  They all obeyed me…”), these attitudes are soon proven to be somewhat ironic.  These women, though they have achieved success, are all undeniably conditioned by society.  This explains Isabella’s feelings of guilt (“Whenever I came back to England I felt I had so much to atone for,”) and Nijo’s blaming of herself for the flaws and cruelties of society: “The first half of my life was all sin and the second all repentance.”  These feelings of guilt demonstrate the fact that these women still believe that male power is a part of the order of nature, thus making their success somewhat sardonic.  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">This is not to trivialise the success of these women: Joan became Pope and Isabella was asked to join the National Geographical Society.  What it does show, however, is how these women have been conditioned.  This is also seen in their responses to their own suffering: Joan describes her death with particularly bland language (“They took me by the feet and dragged me out of town and stoned me to death”), perhaps suggesting that she feels she deserved to die.  After all, Joan does refer to herself as a “heresy”, reinforcing this idea of self-blame.  It is these feelings that make these women ignorant of their own incredible suffering, epitomised by Nijo’s response to Marlene’s questioning her experience of rape: “I belonged to him.  It was what I was brought up for from a baby.”  It is not until they hear of Griselda’s immense ordeals and they are spurred on by Marlene that they really comprehend the extent to which they suffered, epitomised in Marlene’s words: “O God, why are we all so miserable?”  <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">The chaos of the scene’s end, as all the women describe their singular acts of triumph (even Griselda begins to challenge patriarchy), undercuts the previous sense of celebration In the act, with Joan crying and being sick in the corner.  Thus, it is clear that Act 1, rather than simply focusing on the success of these women, demonstrates the ways in which women have been conditioned by society (as seen in Nijo’s obsession with clothes) and the ways in which they have suffered, epitomised by Griselda’s stoic submissiveness.  Thus, Act 1 is the act that introduces and develops the theme of feminism through encouraging pity for the plight of women throughout history.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Act 2, on the other hand, presents us with a very different image, emphasising the brutality of modern feminism and so-called “yuppie” culture.  It seems that the women of Act 2, particularly Nell and Marlene, have adopted typically negative male stereotypes of drinking and promiscuity in order to gain power.  For example, Nell celebrates the fact that she has slept with two men over the weekend (“One Friday, one Saturday”), a story to which Win, in a typically macho-man style, responds, “Aye Aye.”  This belligerence is also seen in the women’s reaction to the news about Howard: Marlene calls him a “Poor sod” and Nell brutally remarks: “Lucky he didn’t get the job if that’s what his health’s like.”  These ideas of cruelty are also seen in the way in which Nell and Marlene seem to oppress other women.  Marlene is brutal in her interview with Jeanine (she tells her that advertisement agencies are “looking for something glossier”), who ends the interview as a feeble wreck with the unconvincing words, “Yes, all right. ”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">Nell’s interview with Shona is similarly telling.  Nell and Win both celebrate “Tough birds” like them, and Nell warms to Shona because she sees her as driven and successful, particularly when she says: “I never consider people’s feelings.”  However, when Nell realises that Shona is lying about her identity and qualifications, she at once holds back any assistance she might be able to give her.  This demonstrates the biggest problems with modern feminism and intra-sexual oppression: these women are prepared to help other “Tough birds”, but they will not lend a helping hand to those who need it most, those who, as Marlene says, have not “got what it takes.”  This is perhaps most clear in Marlene’s cruel (though somewhat understandable) reaction to Mrs Kidd: rather than helping Mrs Kidd and comforting her in her realisation that her own life relies on the success of her husband, Marlene simply tells her to “Piss off”.  Though Win is not quite as cruel as the others (she shows sympathy for Angie and Louise), the overwhelming sense of Act 2 is one of a lack of concern for the plight of other women, and thus Churchill criticises capitalist feminism.  This is an idea also glimpsed at in Act 1 in the overlapping dialogue (showing a disinterest, perhaps, in the problems of others) and in the silence of the waitress.  This implies that, throughout history, many women have been reluctant to help their female counterparts.  Though there are moments of collective triumph in Act 1 (in Nijo and Gret’s stories), the self-obsession of these women demonstrates the need for a more socialist approach to feminism.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">By placing the Angie and Kit scene before the office scene, Churchill ensures that Act 2 does not appear to celebrate the structures of capitalism.  Moreover, the placement of the scene creates an ironic juxtaposition between Angie’s dismal circumstances (her garden has “a shelter made of junk”) and the cold glamour of the office scenes.  This juxtaposition lingers until Marlene’s final words of the Act: “She’s not going to make it.”  The futile and dreary depiction of Angie’s life (she is forced to invent tales of ghosts and vampires in order to add excitement to her life), along with the hopeless desire of Angie to escape (“If I don’t get away from here I’m going to die”) makes Marlene’s condemnation of Angie as a “Packer in Tesco” even more poignant and harsh.  The inability of Marlene to recognise her daughter (“Have you an appointment?”  she asks), along with Angie’s struggle to communicate with Mrs Kidd (Angie answers the wrong question) emphasise the brutality of Marlene’s abandoning of her child.  Indeed, Marlene’s decision to abandon her daughter has created an irreversible rift between the two, a rift that is obvious through an analysis of vocabulary in particular.  Marlene has had to reject a family life in order to succeed, and the image presented of Angie in Act 2 encourages us to dislike Marlene’s decision.  In fact, Churchill commented that she “did want people to feel that Marlene was wrong… in rejecting Angie,” and thus Churchill criticizes the lack of humanity in capitalist feminism, since it necessitates the abandonment of an inherent maternal instinct.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">It is in Act 3 that Churchill really drives home this feminist, socialist message.  In the denouement, Churchill confronts two completely polarized political beliefs through the two sisters: Marlene believes “in the individual” and Thatcherism, whereas Joyce is a socialist who spits when she sees a Rolls Royce.  The dismal circumstances of Angie and Joyce’s lifestyle (Joyce can only offer Marlene an egg) demonstrate once again the cruelty of Marlene’s attitude, an attitude summarized in her rejection of the working class as “lazy and stupid”.  Marlene then goes on to defend Angie, telling Joyce “You run her down too much”, even though a year later she tells Win that Angie is “not going to make it”.  The overwhelming sense of Act 3 is that it highlights the cruelty of Marlene: she has rejected her sister and her daughter for six years, and she tells Joyce she should not bother visiting her elderly mother.  And although Joyce is not a perfect role model (Churchill herself said she was “limited and bad-tempered” as seen in her calling Angie a “fucking rotten little cunt”) she is certainly more humane than Marlene, as when she says: “Or what?  Have her put in a home?  Have some stranger take her would you rather?”  Thus, though Joyce is not perfect, what Act 3 demonstrates is that the loss of humanity necessitated by success in a capitalist world is crippling and uncaring for other women.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">What Churchill seems to advocate in this play is a collective, socialist form of feminism: she celebrates Marlene’s ambition, whilst also celebrating Joyce’s humanity and kindness.  Likewise, she condemns the cruelties of Nell and Marlene, whilst also condemning Joyce’s inertia (though Joyce does at least go to evening classes and works four jobs).  The real sadness of the play is that Marlene is prepared to subject her own daughter to the very life she herself desired to escape.  It is this self-centred approach that Churchill condemns.  Indeed, Roberts noted: ““Top Girls” states unequivocally that success within a system that ignores humanity must necessitate an analysis of motive and achievement.”  If feminism, and indeed society itself, does not change its approach to female emancipation and the female predicament, then the future really will be “Frightening…” A collective, socialist feminism is, for Churchill, the way forward to a brighter, more equal future.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4432645760054556774.post-21309800205435935102016-03-09T07:33:00.002-08:002016-03-09T07:33:33.146-08:00The Government Must Protect the Unaccompanied Children in the Calais "Jungle"<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Read the article as published in The Huffington Post here:&nbsp;</span><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/tom-bailey2/calais-jungle_b_9334460.html">http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/tom-bailey2/calais-jungle_b_9334460.html</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Squalid hovels; flooded tents; expanses of mud, rubbish, and faeces: the conditions of the Calais ‘Jungle’ are truly awful.  Indeed, in a recent Upper Tribunal decision, Mr Justice McCloskey stated that the camp’s conditions are “about as deplorable as any citizen of the developed nations could imagine. ”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">According to a recent census carried out by volunteers, there are currently <span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-themecolor: text1;">5497 refugees living in the makeshift camp, a number that has been gradually increasing over the last year.  It is no wonder, then, that the French authorities have finally decided to address the problem: on the 12<sup>th</sup> of January, refurbished shipping containers supposedly able to hold about 1800 refugees were introduced into the camp.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Soon after this, a huge swathe of the camp was bulldozed and many refugees were moved into the new accommodation.  Of course, the fact that these refugees now have secure and sanitary housing is a good thing, but by no means does it solve the problem.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In fact, on Thursday evening a French judge gave the local authorities the green light to demolish the southern part of the Calais camp.  They estimate that 800-1000 residents would need to be relocated to the containers or to alternative centres of accommodation located around France.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But these numbers wildly underestimate the true population of this area, in which about 3455 refugees currently reside.  With only 1156 alternative places presently available across France (as claimed in court), this eviction could leave hundreds of refugees stranded.  To make matters worse, the French have stated that once the southern section of the camp is cleared, they will begin on the northern section, which houses 2042 residents, including 137 Syrian households.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The greatest victims of these demolitions are, without a doubt, the children.  Latest figures show that there are 651 children living in the Jungle, 423 of whom are unaccompanied.  These children are vulnerable to dangers like trafficking, violence, exploitation, and abuse, not to mention the risk of carcinogenic disease caused by the toxic white asbestos found throughout the camp.  <o:p></o:p></span></span><br /><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-themecolor: text1;">It is estimated that 91 of these unaccompanied children have close family in the UK, explaining their presence in the camp.  </span><span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">Under the current Dublin Regulation (“Dublin III”), if an unaccompanied refugee child has a relative with protection status in another EU member state, they can request to be reunited.  The EU member state might then make what is known as a “take charge” request to the other member state in respect of the child’s protection claim.  The child would then, in theory, be admitted into the country and reunited with family.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="Standard" style="background: white; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">All sounds great, doesn’t it?  But there’s a catch.  The legal advice offered in the Jungle is extremely limited, and unsurprisingly, unaccompanied foreign minors are not legally competent to make a claim for asylum.  These claims must be made on their behalf by a legal representative (appointed by a state-funded agency), and the process of registering a child’s asylum application takes at least three months.  Indeed, the whole process of addressing “take charge” requests can take up to a year, making it a long and difficult procedure for anyone, particularly a child traumatised by war and violence.  The complexity and red tape involved in the process perhaps explains why, during the whole of 2015, France made only 4 “take charge” requests to the UK, and none related to unaccompanied minors.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">But this is where Article 8 of the 1998 Human Rights Act comes in.  Article 8 states that, </span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-themecolor: text1;">“</span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-themecolor: text1;">Everyone has the right to respect for his private and family life…” Making use of Article 8, the aforementioned Upper Tribunal ruled that three child refugees and one adult refugee with a disability should be admitted immediately to the UK from the Jungle in order to be reunited with family members.  The Upper Tribunal also stated that, in cases of similarly vulnerable refugees, the same course should be followed.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This means that a large number of the children in the Jungle have a legal right to live across the Channel.  That’s why we need the government to introduce a physical presence of immigration officers in Calais who are ready, willing and able to give assistance and advice, ensuring that those minors who can assert a credible claim can make an application for asylum in France, so that they can then be admitted into the United Kingdom.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">These actions would be consistent with the Upper Tribunal ruling in January (“Zat”) and the UK government’s August 2015 promise to monitor the camps in France for vulnerable individuals, offering advice and support in their applications for asylum in France, a commitment that has thus far been overlooked.  <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Citizens UK have details of all the unaccompanied children who fall within the Zat principles: all they need is for the UK government to take control of the situation so that young boys and girls, lost in the alien world of Northern France, can be reunited with their loved ones.  The government must act if it wants to avert the possibility of a true humanitarian tragedy, a tragedy which would involve young children dispersing from the camps to become the victims of abduction, abuse, and worse.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The demolition is expected to begin next week.  There are real human lives at stake, and there is only a small window of opportunity to make them just a little better.  That’s why the government can, and must, act.</span></div>Thomas Baileyhttps://plus.google.com/105434045440950232504noreply@blogger.com0