Again while doing some reading relating to Clarissa, I found an article that peaked my interest. It comments on or covers in some depth several of the ideas we brought up in class and the ideas that were most controversial for Richardson.
The article gives examples of readers' response to the novel' lack of poetical justice and offers explanations in Richardson's own words of what he thought of poetical justice and whether or not it was relevant to the type this particular novel.
In addition the article also suggested that Richardson disliked the emotional response and the attachment readers formed to the fictional characters. Most importantly he was not interested in invoking any emotional response simply more concerned with conveying the overall lesson of virtue. The author also goes into detail about why Richardson knew Clarissa must die and what he hoped to gain through her death, In addition it also illustrates Richardson's need to make this novel as different from Pamela as possible. To show a different type of reward for virtue even at the cost of his readers' disappointment
My favorite tidbit of information is a quotation which states "For it was not through the force of Clarissa's death that he intended to move readers to virtue. Rather Richardson wanted to emphasize the pointedly less emotive reformation of Clarissa's first reader , Clarissa's chosen editor, and Richardson's envisioned male hero, John Belford."
anyway a very informative article overall and includes letters from readers and Richardson's views on tragedy and how he related his novel to a more modern style of tragedy.
If EVER you are interested in reading more about points we left open in class this article helps resolve some questions (at least foe me) so I hope you check it out even if it is just a glimpse.
Adam Budd-author
Why Clarissa Must Die:Richardson's Tragedy and Editorial Heroism -title
Project Muse -available via search on clio
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Richardson in Death
Considering Clarissa's concern for her own death, I was intrigued by Samuel Richardson's fascination with his death and burial. Though it appears his tombstone has been rubbed to the point of illegibility, these pictures indicate a simplicity of design. The last picture is actually of a Massachusetts man, Samuel Richardson, whose headstone is more ornate. It is merely offered in contrast.
Richardson in Polite Conversation
I thought you all might be interested in an article concerning Richardson in a book of Eighteenth Century "Table Talk."
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
What's in a name?
I thought since I may have missed a posting in the past, I would make up for it with an extended post today. Here I'm hoping to perhaps flesh out some more possible ideas on names, identity, and psychoanalysis that I raised in the presentation today.
Ian Watt, in particular, is useful in understanding more broadly the significance of naming in Clarissa. The Rise of the Novel's introduction is interesting in how it suggests that the novel presents a sharp break with literary history when it comes to names:
Characters in previous forms of literature were usually given proper names; but the kind of names actually used showed that the author was not trying to establish his characters as completely individualised entities...The early novelists, however, made an extremely significant break with tradition, and named their characters in such a ways as to suggest that they were to be regarded as particular individuals in the contemporary social environment. (25)
The second argument that I find compelling is the use of names as they relate to the titles of novels, and the argument on sexual inequality. From "The Naming of Characters in Defoe and Others":
The use of a single, Christian name for women, but of a full name for men is part of a tacit discrimination between the sexes which is traditional in the novel, and which is reflected in the traditional novel-title. Against Joseph Andrews, Tom Jones, Sir Charles Grandison, Tristram Shandy, Roderick Random, we can set Pamela, Clarissa, Amelia, Evelina, Emma. (333)
What I'm also interested in thinking about--in addition to the way that names say something about the novel itself--is also how the name points to a certain confusion of identity, and how that is linked to the epistolary form of the novel. Many critical scholars--particularly Terry Castle and Stephanie Fysh--suggest that the materiality and form of the novel intervenes in the "illusion of realism" that Richardson achieves. In other words, there versimilitude of reality seems to work on a closed-circuit, and the formal quirks of the novel (Paper X, the signatures that are not signatures), this reality is laid bare as illusion for the reader. This may be what Lacan would refer to as a méconaissance--a misrecognition of the self and of reality itself. Following this psychoanalytic strain, I would suggest as a secondary source, Slavoj Zizek's Enjoy Your Symptom! Jacques Lacan in Hollywood and Out. In the first chapter he suggests why the recipient of a letter always recognizes himself as the addressee of a letter; in other words, the recipient uses to letter to "misrecognize himself", and the letter is essential in constituting individual identity. Unsurprisingly, the first chapter is titled: "Why does a letter always reach its destination?" and in it, he writes of the letter recipient:
I don't recognize myself in it because I'm its addressee, I become its addressee the moment I recognize myself in it. This is the reason why a letter always reaches its addressee: because one becomes its addressee when one is reached. The Derridean reproach that a letter can also miss its addressee is beside the point: it makes sense only insofar as I presuppose that I can be its addressee before the letter reaches me--in other words, it presupposes the traditional teleological trajectory with a preordained goal. (12)
Whew. Well, hopefully I didn't get too far off course with this posting, and hopefully raised a few more ideas to consider when it comes to letters, names, addressees, reality, and identification.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Mementos of death - storing locks of hair
Mementos of Death
Here is a link illustrating the various Memento objects Professor Davidson mentioned in class.
18th century memento rings, bracelets, brooches etc of the 18th C. Some hold hair, pictures or other items to remember loved ones. The imagery illustrated on the jewelry and some of the other objects is associated with death during the 18th century, especially that of the skeleton or bones. A good resource for pictures and to get an idea about what we discussed last class prior to the class on April 15th
http://www.artofmourning.com/rings.html
Here is a link illustrating the various Memento objects Professor Davidson mentioned in class.
18th century memento rings, bracelets, brooches etc of the 18th C. Some hold hair, pictures or other items to remember loved ones. The imagery illustrated on the jewelry and some of the other objects is associated with death during the 18th century, especially that of the skeleton or bones. A good resource for pictures and to get an idea about what we discussed last class prior to the class on April 15th
http://www.artofmourning.com/rings.html
Sunday, April 13, 2008
The most poetical topic in the world
From Edgar Allen Poe, "Philosophy of Composition":
Now, never losing sight of the object-supremeness or perfection at all points, I asked myself-"Of all melancholy topics what, according to the universal understanding of mankind, is the most melancholy?" Death, was the obvious reply. "And when," I said, "is this most melancholy of topics most poetical?" From what I have already explained at some length the answer here also is obvious-"When it most closely allies itself to Beauty: the death then of a beautiful woman is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world, and equally is it beyond doubt that the lips best suited for such topic are those of a bereaved lover."
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
REVISED 4/9/08: The evolving relationship between logos, ethos, pathos
During our last meeting, we talked about how Richardson uses Clarissa to think through the relationship between logos, ethos, and pathos. Richardson's attempts to negotiate the relationship between these three modes of persuasion (which have their roots in the rhetorical tradition) is part of a very long literary tradition that runs from Aristotle's Poetics/Rhetoric to Edward Young's Conjectures on Original Composition (which was actually addressed to Richardson) and beyond. In thinking over this tradition, I tried to sort out what theorists might have had the greatest impact on Richardson's understanding of ethos-logos-pathos. I took a class on recurrent themes in the history of literary criticism and chose a couple of the works that I thought would be most valuable to someone interested in exploring why Richardson may have chosen to work through logos-ethos-pathos the way that he does.
Longinus, On Sublimity
At a time when philosophers and rhetoricians were focused on the balanced relationship between logos-ethos-pathos established by Aristotle's Rhetoric, Longinus touted the predominance of pathos. Longinus was turned off by the hyper-stylized nature of oratory, and he believed that a truly great writer could achieve sublimity in his writing primarily through pathos, or the writer's rendering of great thoughts and strong emotions. Of course, the rendering of pathos required eloquent logos, but logos was a vehicle for pathos.
On Sublimity had a major comeback in the mid-18th century after it was translated from the Greek into English in the 1730s. It brought the notion of greatness into 18th-century intellectual thought, and the notion was taken up in Mark Akenside's Pleasures of the Imagination, Joseph Addison and Richard Steele's The Spectator (in the imagination essays), and Edward Young's Night Thoughts. Richardson was most definitely exposed to these works in one form or another, so it might be interesting to more closely examine his take on pathos/the sublime.
Cicero, De Oratore
Unlike Aristotle and his Greek predecessors, Cicero championed logos over ethos and pathos. His five pillars of rhetoric (invention, arrangement, style, memory, delivery) were all concerned with the ways in which one orders one's speech to suit one's audience and achieve one's goal (his careful attention to language is not unlike Richardson's).
Cicero enjoyed a resurgence in popularity in the 16th century when Desiderius Erasmus (who enjoyed his own resurgence in popularity as a cultural symbol of the Enlightenment period) translated his works from the Greek into English. The English translations were immensely popular and had a great impact on late 17th, early 18th-century English culture. They were compulsory reading in English primary schools, and it is quite possible that Richardson got a healthy dosage of Ciceronian rhetorical values at a young age.
St. Augustine, On Christian Doctrine
St. Augustine was the first theorist to suggest that the ethos of the writer, rather than the ethos of the characters within the work or the ethos of the audience (which was established by Aristotle in Poetics and Rhetoric), was crucial to the success of a work. The idea that a virtuous writer is a successful writer may have filtered down to Richardson, who most definitely examines the relationship between the ethos of the writer and the writer's command over logos throughout his novel. Interestingly enough, Erasmus also translated Augustinian works.
Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism
Edward Young, Conjectures on Original Composition
These last two works are necessary to any understanding of 18th-century criticism, and while I can't remember any explicit conversations about logos-ethos-pathos, there are definitely great things in here that give a sense of the literary values of the age.
If I think of more works or if someone is interested in this topic, I'll be sure to post!
Longinus, On Sublimity
At a time when philosophers and rhetoricians were focused on the balanced relationship between logos-ethos-pathos established by Aristotle's Rhetoric, Longinus touted the predominance of pathos. Longinus was turned off by the hyper-stylized nature of oratory, and he believed that a truly great writer could achieve sublimity in his writing primarily through pathos, or the writer's rendering of great thoughts and strong emotions. Of course, the rendering of pathos required eloquent logos, but logos was a vehicle for pathos.
On Sublimity had a major comeback in the mid-18th century after it was translated from the Greek into English in the 1730s. It brought the notion of greatness into 18th-century intellectual thought, and the notion was taken up in Mark Akenside's Pleasures of the Imagination, Joseph Addison and Richard Steele's The Spectator (in the imagination essays), and Edward Young's Night Thoughts. Richardson was most definitely exposed to these works in one form or another, so it might be interesting to more closely examine his take on pathos/the sublime.
Cicero, De Oratore
Unlike Aristotle and his Greek predecessors, Cicero championed logos over ethos and pathos. His five pillars of rhetoric (invention, arrangement, style, memory, delivery) were all concerned with the ways in which one orders one's speech to suit one's audience and achieve one's goal (his careful attention to language is not unlike Richardson's).
Cicero enjoyed a resurgence in popularity in the 16th century when Desiderius Erasmus (who enjoyed his own resurgence in popularity as a cultural symbol of the Enlightenment period) translated his works from the Greek into English. The English translations were immensely popular and had a great impact on late 17th, early 18th-century English culture. They were compulsory reading in English primary schools, and it is quite possible that Richardson got a healthy dosage of Ciceronian rhetorical values at a young age.
St. Augustine, On Christian Doctrine
St. Augustine was the first theorist to suggest that the ethos of the writer, rather than the ethos of the characters within the work or the ethos of the audience (which was established by Aristotle in Poetics and Rhetoric), was crucial to the success of a work. The idea that a virtuous writer is a successful writer may have filtered down to Richardson, who most definitely examines the relationship between the ethos of the writer and the writer's command over logos throughout his novel. Interestingly enough, Erasmus also translated Augustinian works.
Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism
Edward Young, Conjectures on Original Composition
These last two works are necessary to any understanding of 18th-century criticism, and while I can't remember any explicit conversations about logos-ethos-pathos, there are definitely great things in here that give a sense of the literary values of the age.
If I think of more works or if someone is interested in this topic, I'll be sure to post!
Some thoughts on criticism
There is a very large volume of excellent critical work on Clarissa, and these remarks are intended only as a preliminary guide to some things that touch upon issues we've discussed recently in class. You can use the bibliography I handed round at the beginning of class as a guide to some of what's out there; other starting points include keyword searches in JSTOR and Project Muse or indeed in CLIO. Indexes and notes or bibliographies in critical books can also be very useful--something that doesn't speak directly to the critical issues you're interested in may still be useful in terms of directing you to works that offer significant help.
Something we haven't talked about much involves the multiple editions of Richardson's fictions, and the effects and implications of his practice of revising following initial publication. We also haven't really considered what Richardson's correspondence reveals, either about his practice and intentions as a novelist or about his understanding of the nature of the familiar letter. Peter Sabor's and Tom Keymer's essays in the Approaches to Teaching Richardson volume offer useful starting points for considering these questions.
On Job and the form of the "meditation," Gabrielle Starr's discussion in Lyric Generations and Keymer's essay in the collection of essays edited by Sabor and Margaret Doody are also good starting points.
Keymer's Richardson's Clarissa and the Eighteenth-Century Reader is probably my single favorite critical book on Richardson, and is a mine of information and ideas about everything related to the novel!
Cynthia Wall's book on descriptive language, The Prose of Things, would be a good way into thinking about realism and literary technique. I have a chapter on Pamela-Shamela in my book about hypocrisy, and you could look there if you're interested in the ways that Richardson constructs arguments by allowing characters to give voice to positions that are then complicated or clarified by the way they are set into the narrative as a whole.
Leah Price published an essay on Richardson and offers more extended discussion in The Anthology and the Rise of the Novel of different practices of reading--skimming, skipping--as they are encouraged by the material forms of a novel's publication.
Joe Bray's introduction to the book on the epistolary novel is useful in terms of bibliography and laying out some important ideas about first- and third-person voice, consciousness and the novel; the critical literature on epistolarity is huge, so use common sense about how much to look at and what you really need for your essay! Terry Castle's book on Clarissa's ciphers is well worth a look if you are interested in questions concerning language and the production of identity.
I will give you in class today an essay by Siobhan Kilfeather that offers a summary of the state of Richardson criticism from the perspective of the late 1980s--it will give you a good sense of the earlier critical literature that's out there and which books might be of interest.
Something we haven't talked about much involves the multiple editions of Richardson's fictions, and the effects and implications of his practice of revising following initial publication. We also haven't really considered what Richardson's correspondence reveals, either about his practice and intentions as a novelist or about his understanding of the nature of the familiar letter. Peter Sabor's and Tom Keymer's essays in the Approaches to Teaching Richardson volume offer useful starting points for considering these questions.
On Job and the form of the "meditation," Gabrielle Starr's discussion in Lyric Generations and Keymer's essay in the collection of essays edited by Sabor and Margaret Doody are also good starting points.
Keymer's Richardson's Clarissa and the Eighteenth-Century Reader is probably my single favorite critical book on Richardson, and is a mine of information and ideas about everything related to the novel!
Cynthia Wall's book on descriptive language, The Prose of Things, would be a good way into thinking about realism and literary technique. I have a chapter on Pamela-Shamela in my book about hypocrisy, and you could look there if you're interested in the ways that Richardson constructs arguments by allowing characters to give voice to positions that are then complicated or clarified by the way they are set into the narrative as a whole.
Leah Price published an essay on Richardson and offers more extended discussion in The Anthology and the Rise of the Novel of different practices of reading--skimming, skipping--as they are encouraged by the material forms of a novel's publication.
Joe Bray's introduction to the book on the epistolary novel is useful in terms of bibliography and laying out some important ideas about first- and third-person voice, consciousness and the novel; the critical literature on epistolarity is huge, so use common sense about how much to look at and what you really need for your essay! Terry Castle's book on Clarissa's ciphers is well worth a look if you are interested in questions concerning language and the production of identity.
I will give you in class today an essay by Siobhan Kilfeather that offers a summary of the state of Richardson criticism from the perspective of the late 1980s--it will give you a good sense of the earlier critical literature that's out there and which books might be of interest.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Clarissa the Casuist...is she justified?
When Clarissa writes the letter that sends Lovelace flying down to Berkshire to await her next post, we readers can hardly believe she would deceive him (L. 421.1, page 1233). Unfortunately for Lovelace, Clarissa remains in London, preparing to die and go to her Father in heaven rather than her Mr. Harlowe in England. This dissimulation seems uncharacteristic of Clarissa, even though we know she is loathe to put herself in this situation again.
I found an outside source particularly helpful when attempting to find out if Clarissa's letter could be justified or if Lovelace could rightly accuse her of lying-Perez Zagorin's Ways of Lying: Dissimulation, Persecution and Conformity in Early Modern Europe.
[Note: Above, I termed Clarissa's behavior as "dissimulation," but in Ways of Lying, Zagorin distinguishes between "dissimulation" and "simulation," saying "dissimulation is pretending not to be what one actually is, whereas simulation is pretending to be what one actually is not" (3). If we apply Zagorin's distinction to Clarissa's letter to Lovelace, we might say she simulates more than she dissimulates, for she implies she is going somewhere she is actually not, although her language is such that even that implication might be interpreted multiple ways.]
Lovelace's rage upon discovery of the letter's equivocation implies he does not allow any justification for Clarissa's simulation. Scholars, religious authorities, and moral philosophers of the time might differ, however.
Lovelace often refers to casuistry as an argumentative method for purposes of persuasion, but Zagorin offers clarification about the dual connotations of casuistry.
Approaches to casuistry that Zagorin mentions are noted here as working definitions that can be transferred to L. 421.1 (1233) in Clarissa:
If we transfer the definitions of these facets of casuistry to Richardson's Clarissa, it is clear that Lovelace employs the liberties afforded by probabilism and mental reservation (he always seems ready to marry Clarissa yet preconditions or adverse situations somehow prevent the ceremony), whereas Clarissa uses equivocation in L. 421.1. Both can be described as casuists, yet it is Lovelace who utilizes the tactics that contribute to casuistry's derogatory connotation.
Now, is she justified? Indeed, Clarissa's letter appears substantiated by both Catholic and Protestant perspectives on casuistry. The "exercises in casuistry" at a Catholic seminary reviewed the practice of equivocation and allowed that "the resulting deceit would rest not with the respondent but with the questioner[i.e. Lovelace], who by taking the answer in his own sense deceived himself" (Ways of Lying 187). As a further vindication of Clarissa's word choice, Zagorin actually references Ductor Dubitantium by Jeremy Taylor, whose Holy Living is one of the books Clarissa reads, for Taylor's allowance of lying in specific situations, namely when dealing with "children and madmen, or for the sake of charity and to save the life of a neighbor, friend, or public person" (249). [Could Lovelace not be considered a child? Is he exempt from the label "madman"? Does Clarissa not write this letter for her own charity, to save her own life?] It is as if Clarissa had perfectly comprehended and then exercised Taylor's guidelines regarding casuistry, for she even adheres to his stipulation that "a guilty person [is] obliged to admit the truth if interrogated justly" when she readily admits to Belford of the ambiguity in her letter and hopes that "I have not taken an inexcusable step" (Clarissa 1247).
*For further discussion: Views about the use of and even the legitimacy of casuistry cannot be categorized as Catholic or Protestant, since the interpretations of casuistry depend largely on the individual theologian or religious authority. Certain trends nonetheless exist, such as the affirmation of equivocation over mental reservation by several Protestants (i.e. Taylor) or the predominance of mental reservation in certain persecuted Catholic sects (i.e. the Jesuits). If we see the authorial persona in Clarissa as favoring Clarissa's equivocation over Lovelace's mental reservations, could that be a subtle attempt on Richardson's part to offer commentary of his own about his side in the Protestantism/Catholicism debate?*
I found an outside source particularly helpful when attempting to find out if Clarissa's letter could be justified or if Lovelace could rightly accuse her of lying-Perez Zagorin's Ways of Lying: Dissimulation, Persecution and Conformity in Early Modern Europe.
[Note: Above, I termed Clarissa's behavior as "dissimulation," but in Ways of Lying, Zagorin distinguishes between "dissimulation" and "simulation," saying "dissimulation is pretending not to be what one actually is, whereas simulation is pretending to be what one actually is not" (3). If we apply Zagorin's distinction to Clarissa's letter to Lovelace, we might say she simulates more than she dissimulates, for she implies she is going somewhere she is actually not, although her language is such that even that implication might be interpreted multiple ways.]
Lovelace's rage upon discovery of the letter's equivocation implies he does not allow any justification for Clarissa's simulation. Scholars, religious authorities, and moral philosophers of the time might differ, however.
Lovelace often refers to casuistry as an argumentative method for purposes of persuasion, but Zagorin offers clarification about the dual connotations of casuistry.
- (1) As a science, "casuistry consists in application of the general rules of morality to concrete situations in which the particular circumstances involve conflicting duties and create doubt or confusion as to what is right or licit to do," but
- (2) "casuistry has been widely regarded as a species of ingenious and plausible reasoning designed to circumvent some rule of moral conduct" (153-4).
Approaches to casuistry that Zagorin mentions are noted here as working definitions that can be transferred to L. 421.1 (1233) in Clarissa:
- probabilism: "Probabilism...held that in a situation of doubt it was licit to follow a less or the least probable opinion" (161) "[probabilism] served as a higher-order principle within the realm of casuistry to license the acceptability of other opinions on all aspects of moral duties...it enabled people to act in any matter simply by following the opinion of an approved authority" (163)
- mental reservation: "false statement completed by an unexpressed addition in the mind which made it true" (163)
- equivocation: "use of words or expressions with a double meaning different for the speaker than for the hearer" (163)
If we transfer the definitions of these facets of casuistry to Richardson's Clarissa, it is clear that Lovelace employs the liberties afforded by probabilism and mental reservation (he always seems ready to marry Clarissa yet preconditions or adverse situations somehow prevent the ceremony), whereas Clarissa uses equivocation in L. 421.1. Both can be described as casuists, yet it is Lovelace who utilizes the tactics that contribute to casuistry's derogatory connotation.
Now, is she justified? Indeed, Clarissa's letter appears substantiated by both Catholic and Protestant perspectives on casuistry. The "exercises in casuistry" at a Catholic seminary reviewed the practice of equivocation and allowed that "the resulting deceit would rest not with the respondent but with the questioner[i.e. Lovelace], who by taking the answer in his own sense deceived himself" (Ways of Lying 187). As a further vindication of Clarissa's word choice, Zagorin actually references Ductor Dubitantium by Jeremy Taylor, whose Holy Living is one of the books Clarissa reads, for Taylor's allowance of lying in specific situations, namely when dealing with "children and madmen, or for the sake of charity and to save the life of a neighbor, friend, or public person" (249). [Could Lovelace not be considered a child? Is he exempt from the label "madman"? Does Clarissa not write this letter for her own charity, to save her own life?] It is as if Clarissa had perfectly comprehended and then exercised Taylor's guidelines regarding casuistry, for she even adheres to his stipulation that "a guilty person [is] obliged to admit the truth if interrogated justly" when she readily admits to Belford of the ambiguity in her letter and hopes that "I have not taken an inexcusable step" (Clarissa 1247).
*For further discussion: Views about the use of and even the legitimacy of casuistry cannot be categorized as Catholic or Protestant, since the interpretations of casuistry depend largely on the individual theologian or religious authority. Certain trends nonetheless exist, such as the affirmation of equivocation over mental reservation by several Protestants (i.e. Taylor) or the predominance of mental reservation in certain persecuted Catholic sects (i.e. the Jesuits). If we see the authorial persona in Clarissa as favoring Clarissa's equivocation over Lovelace's mental reservations, could that be a subtle attempt on Richardson's part to offer commentary of his own about his side in the Protestantism/Catholicism debate?*
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Passages for class today
(Because a sudden glimmer of realism made me see that if I don't put them up right this minute, they almost certainly won't go up till this time next week!...)
Bits and bobs for annotation
Some things that caught my eye as worthy of further exploration/annotation:
The list of books at the bottom of p. 525
Smallpox (p. 659)
Private marriages (p. 668 and elsewhere)
Breast-feeding (p. 706)
"internuncioship" (p. 731)
The mechanics of keys, locks and keyholes in this period (p. 739)
Richardson's use of "indices" (p. 743)
"Clocked stockings" (p. 766)
Chancery (p. 784)
"Elopement" - the word and the practice (p. 804)
Tacit consent (p. 845)
"Private vices, public benefits" and Bernard Mandeville's works and reputation (p. 847)
Marriage licenses (p. 871)
Witches and demonology (p. 924)
The list of books at the bottom of p. 525
Smallpox (p. 659)
Private marriages (p. 668 and elsewhere)
Breast-feeding (p. 706)
"internuncioship" (p. 731)
The mechanics of keys, locks and keyholes in this period (p. 739)
Richardson's use of "indices" (p. 743)
"Clocked stockings" (p. 766)
Chancery (p. 784)
"Elopement" - the word and the practice (p. 804)
Tacit consent (p. 845)
"Private vices, public benefits" and Bernard Mandeville's works and reputation (p. 847)
Marriage licenses (p. 871)
Witches and demonology (p. 924)
Monday, March 24, 2008
Stendhal's Crystallized Nut
This is kind of a useless post, but some might find it amusing, I hope. Near the end of Stendhal's autobiography (Chap. 38), The Life of Henry Brulard, Stendhal writes about how he hates Paris, especially its cuisine. He has a pithy explanation for his dislike of the Parisian cuisine: "It was the moral constraint which was killing me." Then he goes on -
"Consider the full extent of my unhappiness! I who believed myself to be at once a Saint-Preux and a Valmont (in Les Liaisons dangereuses, an imitation of Clarissa which has become the breviary of the provincials), I who, believing myself to have an infinite capacity for loving and being loved, believed that the opportunity alone was lacking... I had pictured society to myself solely and utterly in terms of the Memoires secrets of Duclos, the three or seven volumes of St-Simon published at that time and novels."
He goes on. And incredibly, despite his complaint about going out to "society," it seems that Stendhal actually met the woman after whom Mme de Merteuil of Les Liaisons dangereuses was conceived!
"I had met with society, and then only at long range, only at Mme de Montmaur's, the original of Mme de Merteuil in Les Liaisons dangereuses. She was by then old, rich and lame. Of that I am sure; as for morality, she objected to them giving me only half a crystallized nut when I went to see her in Le Chevallon, she always made them give me a whole one. 'Children take it to heart so," she used to say... This detail about Mme de Montmaur, the original of Mme de Merteuil, is out of place here perhaps, but I wanted to use the anecdote of the crystallized nut to show what I knew of society."
It's bizarre, this anecdote about the crystallized nut. Funny, too. But there's also something tricky & profound in this anecdote of the crystallized nut, in Mme de Montmaur/Mme de Merteuil's insistence on "them" giving Stendhal a whole crystallized nut. I haven't unraveled it yet, but it seems that Stendhal is trying to say something about art & love. How would this apply to Clarissa, or Les Liaisons, if at all? No idea yet. I'm just rambling so far.
But the notion of "crystallization" is a pivotal idea in Stendhal's aesthetics. It first appears in Stendhal's Love, another autobiographical/essayistic book about his unrequited love for a woman named Mathilde Dembowski. In Chapter 2 of Love, Stendhal describes a couple of lovers throwing a twig into the salt mines of Salzburg -
"Two or three months later they pull it out covered with a shining deposit of crystals. The smallest twig, no bigger than a tom-tit's claw, is studded with a galaxy of scintillating diamonds. The original branch is no longer recognizable... What I have called crystallization is a mental process which draws from everything that happens new proofs of the perfection of the loved one."
Simply put: it's seeing your loved one everywhere, in everything. Then through the process, an ordinary person (a twig) becomes perfected in the lover's eyes (as crystals). But Stendhal extends this metaphor into his theories on art & on literature... the process of making art, too, the evocative power of the artist, is a crystallization according to Stendhal. In a weirdly related manner, Sir Thomas Browne's Garden of Cyrus is literally about this process of crystallization: his crystal is the quincunx, a perfect shape which could be found in all animate and inanimate things, which reflects the perfect design of God. In our own times, the late German writer W. G. Sebald would obsess about the crystals (mentions both Browne & Stendhal's crystals) extensively throughout his works.
I'm going to think about this further and see how it relates to Les Liaisons specifically, and maybe to Clarissa, as Stendhal mentions both by name.
How do you crack a crystallized nut? (Sorry for the poor joke.)
He goes on. And incredibly, despite his complaint about going out to "society," it seems that Stendhal actually met the woman after whom Mme de Merteuil of Les Liaisons dangereuses was conceived!
"I had met with society, and then only at long range, only at Mme de Montmaur's, the original of Mme de Merteuil in Les Liaisons dangereuses. She was by then old, rich and lame. Of that I am sure; as for morality, she objected to them giving me only half a crystallized nut when I went to see her in Le Chevallon, she always made them give me a whole one. 'Children take it to heart so," she used to say... This detail about Mme de Montmaur, the original of Mme de Merteuil, is out of place here perhaps, but I wanted to use the anecdote of the crystallized nut to show what I knew of society."
It's bizarre, this anecdote about the crystallized nut. Funny, too. But there's also something tricky & profound in this anecdote of the crystallized nut, in Mme de Montmaur/Mme de Merteuil's insistence on "them" giving Stendhal a whole crystallized nut. I haven't unraveled it yet, but it seems that Stendhal is trying to say something about art & love. How would this apply to Clarissa, or Les Liaisons, if at all? No idea yet. I'm just rambling so far.
But the notion of "crystallization" is a pivotal idea in Stendhal's aesthetics. It first appears in Stendhal's Love, another autobiographical/essayistic book about his unrequited love for a woman named Mathilde Dembowski. In Chapter 2 of Love, Stendhal describes a couple of lovers throwing a twig into the salt mines of Salzburg -
"Two or three months later they pull it out covered with a shining deposit of crystals. The smallest twig, no bigger than a tom-tit's claw, is studded with a galaxy of scintillating diamonds. The original branch is no longer recognizable... What I have called crystallization is a mental process which draws from everything that happens new proofs of the perfection of the loved one."
Simply put: it's seeing your loved one everywhere, in everything. Then through the process, an ordinary person (a twig) becomes perfected in the lover's eyes (as crystals). But Stendhal extends this metaphor into his theories on art & on literature... the process of making art, too, the evocative power of the artist, is a crystallization according to Stendhal. In a weirdly related manner, Sir Thomas Browne's Garden of Cyrus is literally about this process of crystallization: his crystal is the quincunx, a perfect shape which could be found in all animate and inanimate things, which reflects the perfect design of God. In our own times, the late German writer W. G. Sebald would obsess about the crystals (mentions both Browne & Stendhal's crystals) extensively throughout his works.
I'm going to think about this further and see how it relates to Les Liaisons specifically, and maybe to Clarissa, as Stendhal mentions both by name.
How do you crack a crystallized nut? (Sorry for the poor joke.)
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Familial Duty and Duty to parents
Mary Wolstonecraft A Vindication of the Rights of Women. http://etext.virginia.edu/etcbin/toccer-new2?id=WolVind.sgm&images=images/modeng&data=/texts/english/modeng/parsed&tag=public&part=12&division=div1
After reading this in political philosophy I re-read it recently and found it was particularly relevant to our discussion of Clarissa's sense of duty to her family. Because Clarissa has such a strong sense of familial duty, I wondered how many women felt compelled to have the same sense of duty to their parents and to what extent. Because Mary Wolstonecraft was an educated female writing during the 18th century I found her words relevant to our discussion. Below you will find the section on parental duty contained in A Vindication of the Rights of Women. Written only 50 years or so after Clarissa
[62] Dr. Johnson makes the same observation.
[63] I myself heard a little girl once say to a servant, 'My mama has been scolding me finely this morning, because her hair was not dressed to please her.' Though this remark was pert, it was just. And what respect could a girl acquire for such a parent without doing violence to reason?
After reading this in political philosophy I re-read it recently and found it was particularly relevant to our discussion of Clarissa's sense of duty to her family. Because Clarissa has such a strong sense of familial duty, I wondered how many women felt compelled to have the same sense of duty to their parents and to what extent. Because Mary Wolstonecraft was an educated female writing during the 18th century I found her words relevant to our discussion. Below you will find the section on parental duty contained in A Vindication of the Rights of Women. Written only 50 years or so after Clarissa
Duty to Parents.
There seems to be an indolent propensity in man to make prescription always take place of reason, and to place every duty on an arbitrary foundation. The rights of kings are deduced in a direct line from the King of kings; and that of parents from our first parent.
Why do we thus go back for principles that should always rest on the same base, and have the same weight to-day that they had a thousand years ago-and not a jot more? If parents discharge their duty they have a strong hold and sacred claim on the gratitude of their children; but few parents are willing to receive the respectful affection of their offspring on such terms. They demand blind obedience, because they do not merit a reasonable service: and to render these demands of weakness and ignorance more binding, a mysterious sanctity is spread round the most arbitrary principle; for what other name can be given to the blind duty of obeying vicious or weak beings merely because they obeyed a powerful instinct?
The simple definition of the reciprocal duty, which naturally subsists between parent and child, may be given in a few words: The parent who pays proper attention to helpless infancy has a right to require the same attention when the feebleness of age comes upon him. But to subjugate a rational being to the mere will of another, after he is of age to answer to society for his own conduct, is a most cruel and undue stretch of power; and, perhaps, as injurious to morality as those religious systems which do not allow right and wrong to have any existence, but in the Divine will.
I never knew a parent who had paid more than common attention to his children, disregarded;62 on the contrary, the early habit of relying almost implicitly on the opinion of a respected parent is not easily shook, even when matured reason convinces the child that his father is not the wisest man in the world. This weakness, for a weakness it is, though the epithet amiable may be tacked to it, a reasonable man must steel himself against; for the absurd duty, too often inculcated, of obeying a parent only on account of his being a parent, shackles the mind, and prepares it for a slavish submission to any power but reason.
I distinguish between the natural and accidental duty due to parents.
The parent who sedulously endeavours to form the heart and enlarge the understanding of his child, has given that dignity to the discharge of a duty, common to the whole animal world, that only reason can give. This is the parental affection of humanity, and leaves instinctive natural affection far behind. Such a parent acquires all the rights of the most sacred friendship, and his advice, even when his child is advanced in life, demands serious consideration.
With respect to marriage, though after one and twenty a parent seems to have no right to withhold his consent on any account; yet twenty years of solicitude call for a return, and the son ought, at least, to promise not to marry for two or three years, should the object of his choice not entirely meet with the approbation of his first friend.
But, respect for parents is, generally speaking, a much more debasing principle; it is only a selfish respect for property. The father who is blindly obeyed, is obeyed from sheer weakness, or from motives that degrade the human character.
A great proportion of the misery that wanders, in hideous forms, around the world, is allowed to rise from the negligence of parents; and still these are the people who are most tenacious of what they term a natural right, though it be subversive of the birth-right of man, the right of acting according to the direction of his own reason.
I have already very frequently had occasion to observe, that vicious or indolent people are always eager to profit by enforcing arbitrary privileges; and, generally, in the same proportion as they neglect the discharge of the duties which alone render the privileges reasonable. This is at the bottom a dictate of common sense, or the instinct of self-defence, peculiar to ignorant weakness; resembling that instinct, which makes a fish muddy the water it swims in to elude its enemy, instead of boldly facing it in the clear stream.
From the clear stream of argument, indeed, the supporters of prescription, of every denomination, fly; and, taking refuge in the darkness, which, in the language of sublime poetry, has been supposed to surround the throne of Omnipotence, they dare to demand that implicit respect which is only due to His unsearchable ways. But, let me not be thought presumptuous, the darkness which bides our God from us, only respects speculative truths-it never obscures moral ones, they shine clearly, for God is light, and never, by the constitution of our nature, requires the discharge of a duty, the reasonableness of which does not beam on us when we open our eyes.
The indolent parent of high rank may, it is true, extort a shew of respect from his child, and females on the continent are particularly subject to the views of their families, who never think of consulting their inclination, or providing for the comfort of the poor victims of their pride. The consequence is notorious; these dutiful daughters become adulteresses, and neglect the education of their children, from whom they, in their turn, exact the same kind of obedience.
Females, it is true, in all countries, are too much under the dominion of their parents; and few parents think of addressing their children in the following manner, though it is in this reasonable way that Heaven seems to command the whole human race. It is your interest to obey me till you can judge for yourself; and the Almighty Father of all has implanted an affection in me to serve as a guard to you whilst your reason is unfolding; but when your mind arrives at maturity, you must only obey me, or rather respect my opinions, so far as they coincide with the light that is breaking in on your own mind.
A slavish bondage to parents cramps every faculty of the mind; and Mr. Locke very judiciously observes, that 'if the mind be curbed and humbled too much in children; if their spirits be abased and broken much by too strict an hand over them; they lose all their vigour and industry.' This strict hand may in some degree account for the weakness of women; for girls, from various causes, are more kept down by their parents, in every sense of the word, than boys. The duty expected from them is, like all the duties arbitrarily imposed on women, more from a sense of propriety, more out of respect for decorum, than reason; and thus taught slavishly to submit to their parents, they are prepared for the slavery of marriage. I may be told that a number of women are not slaves in the marriage state. True, but they then become tyrants; for it is not rational freedom, but a lawless kind of power resembling the authority exercised by the favourites of absolute monarchs, which they obtain by debasing means. I do not, likewise, dream of insinuating that either boys or girls are always slaves, I only insist that when they are obliged to submit to authority blindly, their faculties are weakened, and their tempers rendered imperious or abject. I also lament that parents, indolently availing themselves of a supposed privilege, damp the first faint glimmering of reason, rendering at the same time the duty, which they are so anxious to enforce, an empty name; because they will not let it rest on the only basis on which a duty can rest securely: for unless it be founded on knowledge, it cannot gain sufficient strength to resist the squalls of passion, or the silent sapping of self-love. But it is not the parents who have given the surest proof of their affection for their children, or, to speak more properly, who by fulfilling their duty, have allowed a natural parental affection to take root in their hearts, the child of exercised sympathy and reason, and not the over-weening offspring of selfish pride, who most vehemently insist on their children submitting to their will merely because it is their will. On the contrary, the parent, who sets a good example, patiently lets that example work; and it seldom fails to produce its natural effect-filial reverence.
Children cannot be taught too early to submit to reason, the true definition of that necessity, which Rousseau insisted on, without defining it; for to submit to reason is to submit to the nature of things, and to that God, who formed them so, to promote our real interest.
Why should the minds of children be warped as they just begin to expand, only to favour the indolence of parents, who insist on a privilege without being willing to pay the price fixed by nature? I have before had occasion to observe, that a right always includes a duty, and I think it may, likewise, fairly be inferred, that they forfeit the right, who do not fulfil the duty.
It is easier, I grant, to command than reason; but it does not follow from hence that children cannot comprehend the reason why they are made to do certain things habitually: for, from a steady adherence to a few simple principles of conduct flows that salutary power which a judicious parent gradually gains over a child's mind. And this power becomes strong indeed, if tempered by an even display of affection brought home to the child's heart. For, I believe, as a general rule, it must be allowed that the affection which we inspire always resembles that we cultivate; so that natural affections, which have been supposed almost distinct from reason, may be found more nearly connected with judgment than is commonly allowed. Nay, as another proof of the necessity of cultivating the female understanding, it is but just to observe, that the affections seem to have a kind of animal capriciousness when they merely reside in the heart.
It is the irregular exercise of parental authority that first injures the mind, and to these irregularities girls are more subject than boys. The will of those who never allow their will to be disputed, unless they happen to be in a good humour, when they relax proportionally, is almost always unreasonable. To elude this arbitrary authority girls very early learn the lessons which they afterwards practise on their husbands; for I have frequently seen a little sharp-faced miss rule a whole family, excepting that now and then mamma's angry will burst out of some accidental cloud;-either her hair was ill dressed,63 or she had lost more money at cards, the night before, than she was willing to own to her husband; or some such moral cause of anger.
After observing sallies of this kind, I have been led into a melancholy train of reflection respecting females, concluding that when their first affection must lead them astray, or make their duties clash till they rest on mere whims and customs, little can be expected from them as they advance in life. How indeed can an instructor remedy this evil? for to teach them virtue on any solid principle is to teach them to despise their parents. Children cannot, ought not, to be taught to make allowance for the faults of their parents, because every such allowance weakens the force of their parents, because every such allowance weakens the force of reason in their minds, and makes them still more indulgent to their own. It is one of the most sublime virtues of maturity that leads us to be severe with respect to ourselves, and forbearing to others; but children should only be taught the simple virtues, for if they begin too early to make allowance for human passions and manners, they wear off the fine edge of the criterion by which they should regulate their own, and become unjust in the same proportion as they grow indulgent.
The affections of children, and weak people, are always selfish; they love their relatives, because they are beloved by them, and not on account of their virtues. Yet, till esteem and love are blended together in the first affection, and reason made the foundation of the first duty, morality will stumble at the threshold. But, till society is very differently constituted, parents, I fear, will still insist on being obeyed, because they will be obeyed, and constantly endeavour to settle that power on a Divine right which will not bear the investigation of reason.
[62] Dr. Johnson makes the same observation.
[63] I myself heard a little girl once say to a servant, 'My mama has been scolding me finely this morning, because her hair was not dressed to please her.' Though this remark was pert, it was just. And what respect could a girl acquire for such a parent without doing violence to reason?
Types and Exhanges of power in Clarissa
http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=0013-8304%28197522%2942%3A2%3C214%3A%22ARTIO%3E2.0.CO%3B2-5
Just struck me as interesting
After reading an article by
I was struck by the exchanges of power which take place throughout the novel. Not only do Clarissa and Lovelace exchange places of power midway through the novel, as Clarissa but the exchange of power can almost be read as a chain of people and the types of power exerted over others. However, it is not the exchanges of power which I found to be most interesting, but the idea that these exchanges of power act as catalysts for the majority of action in the novel, which is especially evident when Clarissa runs away from Lovelace and we enter the most dramatic and action packed events of the novel.
As for the types of power, each character exerts various types of power at different times throughout the novel. The two main types of power are obviously physical power and mental power. In addition if we include the letters and
From the beginning of the novel as Clarissa exchanges letters concerning the duel between her brother and Lovelace the reader gets the first glimpse of the exchange of physical power. As the novel continues Clarissa’s family exerts its own power over Clarissa in the form of familial duty and guilt(mental power) to try to gain her consent to marry Solmes. In addition there is the power of fear which at times becomes one of the most vital sources of power acting as a catalyst for the characters’ actions.
Throughout the rest of the novel Each character has his or her own way of gaining, losing or exerting power over others, or having the force exerted upon them. It seems that no character no matter how minute their part in the novel has a n experience with power.
While lovelace deal mostly in manipulation of the mind and physical power over Clarissa during the rape…Clarissa is mostly driven by fear. Fear of loss. Losing her virtue, her family, her reputation and above all the fear of living an unhappy life. In the of the novel it is Clarissa’s power, her fear, and her physical power(illness) which leads to her demise.
The article references several letters to look at.
113,182,339,320,289,479,493,494,415,419 – just to mention a few
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Contexts
There are a number of very interesting essays in the collection titled Clarissa and Her Readers: New Essays for the Clarissa Project, ed. Carol Houlihan Flynn and Edward Copeland (New York: AMS, 1999), but two that stand out as especially useful for thinking about matters in today's reading are as follows:
Juliet McMaster, "Reading the Body in Clarissa" (189-212), on theories of acting and the expression of emotions in eighteenth-century psychology
Isobel Grundy, "Seduction Pursued by Other Means? The Rape in Clarissa" (256-67), on the intellectual, legal and literary contexts for Richardson's use of the term and concept of "rape"
Juliet McMaster, "Reading the Body in Clarissa" (189-212), on theories of acting and the expression of emotions in eighteenth-century psychology
Isobel Grundy, "Seduction Pursued by Other Means? The Rape in Clarissa" (256-67), on the intellectual, legal and literary contexts for Richardson's use of the term and concept of "rape"
Connotations
I was taken aback by what seemed to me an excessively sexual allusion in one of Lovelace's letters: "If thou likest her, I'll get her for thee with a wet finger, as the saying is!" (L239, 810). But when I looked it up, I found that the primary allusion is to spinning, and the spinner's habit of wetting the forefinger with the mouth. The sexual connotation is surely there, but secondary.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
FATE and ERROR
In the last class we discussed the terms Fate and Error as they are used in letter 178. In this letter Miss Howe states that she has often told Clarissa there is a “kind of fate in her error, if an error.”
While we discussed both terms in biblical contexts and in relation to ancient writing I thought a definition from OED would be helpful here in understanding the multiple meanings of both words.
Below is the OED definitions of Fate. As Prof Davidson stated, in the case of this particular letter and time period the term is associated with wandering from one’s path or wandering from a righteous or harmless path to something more harmful or as the definition states “devious.”In addition there are numerous terms associated with error such as erroneous which also mean harmful wandering or include in their definition the word HARM or HARMFUL.
Below the definition of Error you will find the various definitions of fate. The negative connotation of the word and its association with the evil or diabolical is not particularly surprising considering how many words are associated with the letters FATE. However, in relation to the passage from Clarissa it becomes a moment of foreshadowing or warning as Miss Howe tells Clarissa that she is once again commenting on the fact that there is a kind of absolute negative conclusion a fate of death or evil in her wandering. As she continues Miss Howe also states that “had you never erred” which can also mean not only had she not made several mistakes in judgment, but had she not wandered off her destined or harmless path then perhaps she would not be suffering. Considering Clarissa’s ultimate fate in this novel accurate definitions of both terms proved to be very helpful especially as both terms are associated with death, evil or harm.
ERROR OED
erring, ppl. a. erringly, adv. erroneosity erroneous erroneously, adv. erroneousness erronist error error, v. errorful errorious, a. errorist
I. 1. The action of roaming or wandering; hence a devious or winding course, a roving, winding. Now only poet.
The primary sense in Latin; in Fr. and
13
II. 
[A common use in OF.; cf.
o
1460 J. CAPGRAVE Chron. 252 The bischoppis..opened no mouth to berk ageyn these erroneous doggis.
FATE
Fatah, n. fatal, a. fatalism fatalist fatalistic, a. fatality fatalize, v. fatally, adv. fatalness fata Morgana fatary fatation fatch, n. fate, n. fate, v. fated, ppl. a. fateful, a.
. Of an individual, an empire, etc.: The predestined or appointed lot; what a person, etc. is fated to do or suffer.
c. In etymological sense: An oracle or portent of doom.
4. a. What will become of, or has become of (a person or thing); ultimate condition; destiny. Often in to decide, fix, seal one's fate. a fate worse than death: see
c. An instrument of death or destruction. poet.
5. attrib. and Comb. a. simple attrib., as fate-spell; also fate-like adj.; b. objective, as fate-denouncing, -foretelling, -scorning ppl. adjs.; c. instrumental, as fate-environed, -fenced (implied in fate-fencedness), -folden, -furrowed, -menanced, -stricken adjs.
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