Was she dangerous? Or just lied to? Or...both?

     Hannah Foster's Coquette was, I have to admit, an extremely interesting read. Here, the readers are finally given an insight into the world, thoughts, and emotions of late 18th century womankind. And then, the 'poster child' (Eliza Wharton) for female independence is 'ruined,' and her respectability, admirable desires for true love, and dedication to assert her independence both of mind and spirit become something of a set of symptoms of whore-ish, devlish, fallen ways. What were once so admirable qualities become her greatest faults--her stepping stones to sin.

     As soon as I closed the book upon finishing it, Michael Jackson's song Dangerous came to mind. Literally, right after I shut the book for the last time, the beat and lyrics of Dangerous were in my head. Maybe it's because Stanford does refer to Eliza as "dangerous" a few times in the book, but it started my wheels a-turning. If Sanford thought she was "dangerous" because of her so-called tempting, luring, fresh, volatile ways, I began to wonder what Eliza's 'theme song' would be for her predicament. And thus, an idea for this blog was born.

Major Peter Sanford's take on the situation:

Whatever your take on Michael Jackson might be, you have to admit...the man could dance, choreograph, and sing.

      Like Jaqlyn said in class on Monday, the natives (in Diaz’s account of Aztec conquest) aren’t given a face until they are a part of the conquest (either as plunder or when they are coerced into sexual relationships). How is Cortez’s men’s treatment of the natives any different than the way men treated the ‘courtable,’ available women of Eliza's time? Eliza is faceless until she is wanted by a man. She then is finally given room to express her own personality in the presence of Sanford, but only upon recognizing her does she even get room to move about the room with unrestrained grace and fluidity. Then, as we all know, Sanford decides that he must have Eliza. He must court her. He must make her his. He must assert his dominance over her. His only regret in desiring her so is that “[he] really wish[es] she had less merit, that [he] might have plausible excuse for neglecting her” (Foster 116). Sanford does" neglect her," and eventually impregnates her with child. Even though she is the fallen hero of the story, Sanford is still given room to speak and says to his friend at the end of the book, “Let it warn you, my friend, to shun the dangerous paths which I have trodden, that you may be never be involved in the hopelessly ignominy and wretchedness of Peter Sanford” (Foster 166). Maybe Sanford is referring to the dangerous path he tread in wooing Eliza, but I venture to see it as Sanford's warning to stay away from the dangerous, independent, sexual woman (because, of course, it is always a woman's fault for a man's demise. She is the bitch who ruined his care-free batchelor life. Note the heavy use of sarcasm :[). A woman like...just...like...Eliza. Just like Michael Jackson said, "she's so dangerous."

Eliza's feelings on her predicament:
Click here: Tell Me Lies by Natalie Cole
     This song is one of my absolute favorites. Natalie Cole (Nat King Cole's, a famous jazz singer, daughter) is just, well, amazing. This song is from one of my favorite childhood movies, Cats Don't Dance. Randy Newman wrote all the songs and lyrics (this explains why I still love the music from a KID'S movie). That's okay; I'm okay with admitting I still like the occasional cartoon now and then. This movie just has an incredible, toe-tapping, uplifting soundtrack. Love it even today.
     But, back to the literature--I do believe that Eliza is one of the most powerful, independent, assertive, goal-driven women in late 18th century literature, but I can also identify with her situation and see how easy it would be to believe the fantastic-sounding, emotion-filled, so easily-believable lies of one or another Peter Sanford. We've all done it. I've done it. It's so easy to get caught up in the dream of something or someone that you let your perception of reality and your wall to those lies crumble like a metaphorical Berlin Wall. Then, you're kind of screwed and left cold and alone, only wishing he was still there to tell you those lies once again. Though they be lies, they at least were comforting and familiar.

     Eliza was lied to. She wanted so badly (and had a right to want to be) a part of a “happy pair ... Should it ever be my fate to ear the hymenial chain, may I be thus united! … The purest and most ardent affection, the greatest countenance of taste and wishes distinguish this lovely couple … they have no satisfaction look for beyond each other,” that she let the lies of the corrupt Peter Sanford lure her into a false relationship (Foster 14). But, who can blame her!? I certainly can't. In a world of cordiality and formality, to have a real, loving, caring, friendship and relationship with your spouse was only the stuff of dreams. Even though Sanford lied to her and made her a means to an end to bolster his self-confidence and overpowering, conquering demeanor, I can't criticize her 'lack' of judgment in the matter. He offered her 'love.' He offered her safety. He offered her about as equal as a relationship as anyone in that time could. Did he love her? Maybe at the end of the book. And that's a small maybe. Did she love him? She loved the idea of him, but the actual person of Major Peter Sanford was a complete and utter stranger. Eliza was told lies, and I believe that--even until the end of her life--all she wanted to be told was some more lies to bolster imitated happiness.
     Yes, two different stories about the situation. So, what do you decide? Was Eliza dangerous? Was she lied to? Or both?

Foster, Hannah. Coquette. New York: Oxford University Press, 1986. Print.

The Monsters in the Closet

 “’I have no leisure for such enquiries [sic] [of the mythical tales of monsters and the credibility of myths]; shall I tell you why? I must first know myself,…to be curious about that which is not my concern, while I am still ignorant of my own self, would be ridiculous” –Socrates (Asma 19).

            We see a shift in American fears from the 1600s to the 1800s; unlike the Puritans’ fears of an unseen, outside force of witchcraft and wizardry (as discussed in the previous blog post), the early Americans begin to comprehend and fear a possible, undisturbed ‘monster’ inside all of them--the oh-so easily influenced un-moralistic primitive who can be awakened in each and every one of their souls. But, what caused this shift? Once so keen on rooting out and punishing an actual damned human being, why is it now that they begin to recognize that there might be a damned witch lying dormant inside each of their own souls? Was it when they recognized their own fault in the Salem witch trials? Or…

            Did the shift begin when Puritans started interacting with the Native Americans, the first “other” human outsiders they encountered so different than themselves? Before they met the native people, the only people the Puritans would have personally known in this new land would be their white, English, Christian contemporaries. But, now there is a new group of people--a darker-skinned people who seem to have been forsaken by God and left to their own primal whims and pleasures. To the Puritans, this seems like a calling to 'rescue' these poor damned souls and incorporate them into society. But, that obviously didn’t work as planned. The Native Americans had a thriving culture, one which would be the envy of any starving Puritan (if any Puritan had the guts to recognize or verbalize that). Soon, the kidnappings started, warfare began, and people--Native Americans and Puritans alike--died in droves at the cold, clammy hands of disease and the cold, unfeeling hands of gunfire or arrow head.  In Mary Rowlandson’s account, A Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration, the story of Mary’s captivity with the Native Americans is portrayed in such a way that the natives are made out to be a horrifying, deadly, disturbed, un-moralistic people. But, even if that was so (I’m purely speaking in theoretical terms; I personally think the Native Americans had a fascinating, family-centered, loving culture), why was it that ‘innocent’ white men and women ran back to their captors after they were returned to their white families? Historical records tell us that many colonists ran back home to their ‘Indian’ captors and immersed themselves in the culture, even marrying into the tribes (Stodola 6, Axtell 194). Was there a Native American, primitive, monster inside all people, even good Christian people, who could be awakened upon interaction with people who called that devil to the forefront of the captives’ personalities? I think the Puritans thought so. It’s Dances with Wolves; only for the Puritans, it’s ‘Dances with the Devil.’

Avatar: The new blockbuster representation of our monster within 

(Really, this movie is just Dances with Wolves starring aliens instead and with an environmentalist agena; yet...it's still one of my favorite movies) 

            As Asma says, Socrates believed that the “lowest part of the soul (the appetites) has become the ruling part of the soul” (Asma 18). As time progressed, I think that this belief in the dormant, uncontrollable devil in all souls took a firm hold on the fears of the early American settlers. Even after the Native Americans were eradicated (they really were eradicated…early American settlers were awful, selfish, narrow-minded bigots bent on destorying anything/anyone different from themselves--okay, I’ll get off my high horse), there was still this fear that the internal devil could rear his ugly head. And then, once someone let his/her inner devil take presedence over their moral self, it's just like Sean said in class: "If you let yourself slide into the devil's demise, you become a visible example of what the devil can do to even the most moral of people." You become the living example of a devil's possession on Earth. “The classicist E.R. Dodds [said] … internal forces, usually monstrous, sometimes benign, … rise their ugly heads during crisis points in our lives … [T]hey ‘are not truly part of the self, since they are not within man’s conscious control; they are endowed with a life and energy of their own, and so can force a man, as it were from the outside, into conduct foreign to him’” (Asma 20). For instance, take Nathanial Hawthorne’s story of poor Hester Prynne. Once an innocent, supposedly-widowed settler (even though we soon find out that isn’t at all true), she is ‘tempted’ into having an affair which results in a an unwanted pregnancy. Then, she and her baby are made a spectacle to warn the other Puritan settlers what can happen if you let your inner ‘monster’ remove your inhibitions and corrupt your morals and soul. Look at damned Hester--her ‘monster’ reared his ugly head and now she will be forced to wear that scarlet ‘A’ forever. Cue laughter from hypocritical Puritans. So, Hester of course things that “something doubtful, something…might be deeply wrong…beneath” (Hawthorne 1378). Even though Hester is talking about the joy she derives out of doing needlework, a supposedly “morbid meddling of conscience with an immaterial matter,” she does seem to think that there is something inherently wrong with her, something monstrous and sinful that lies beneath her once clean, white facade (Hawthorne 1378). The ‘monster’ has been awakened, and now she serves as an example of what can happen if others let their own ‘monsters’ awaken.

            Just like Socrates said, why trouble yourself with ‘monsters’ in the outside world when in fact the ‘monsters’ of our own souls are so unknown to us and demand our full attentions to keep quiet. The early American settlers discovered their ‘monsters,’ and tried desperately to keep them quiet. But, as they soon discovered, those monsters couldn’t always be silenced.

Asma, Stephen T. On Monsters: an Unnatural History of Our Worst Fears. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2009. Print.

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. The Scarlet Letter. New York: Bantam, 1986. Print.

Rowlandson, Mary White. Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration. [S.l.]: Kessinger, 200. Print.

"White Indians" handout from class: Stodola/Axtell

Reflection on Cotton Mather's On Witchcraft - Fear of the Unknown

             I will admit with utter honesty that I read Cotton Mather’s On Witchcraft with a skewed, already preconceived view that, well, to put in bluntly, “These people were nuts. They were just caught up in the hysteria to get those witches.” I tried to get rid of this bias, shove it to the back of my mind, and I attempted to read Mather’s work through an unfiltered lens. But, after years of high school education screaming in the recesses of my mind, 'Nope, the Salem Witch Trials are just a perfect example of what mass religious hysteria can do,' reading the text unfiltered became quite a daunting task to undertake. I didn’t want to accept that previously taught simplistic view; it was too dry, too easy to repeat by future generations, and too dependent on the idea of mob mentality. I desperately wanted to see the process of an individual 's progression to such witchery claims. This book began to unearth some of that process. Eventually, I stumbled into this semi-successful revelation: the Salem Witch Trials were not just an example of religious hysteria; they are an example of what our human psyche, even today, is capable of creating in the presence of an unseen, intangible fear. It took Wednesday’s class discussion to pinpoint my now so different opinion, an opinion with which I am much more comfortable.

            At first, Mather’s depiction of the witch hunt seems like a quest or façade just to bolster nationalism and camaraderie. When hunger, cold, and disease are so rampant, why not unite a people with a common cause (fear) to destroy those damned witches? Then, claims of witchery and devilish enchantments start circulating, and whether intended or not, soon this national disaster has united the people of Salem into one, blessed, holy people dedicated to eradicating God’s foil. The Devil “aims at inflaming [them] one against another,” so it is imperious to their own survival as a community to protect their young prodigy (the afflicted, accusatory girls), their Christian tradition, and their own souls from possible possession by the Devil and his legions (25). At one point, Mather calls upon the Bible’s “Third of Colossians and the Fifteenth verse” (25) to unite his people in the idea that ¹⁵“the peace of Christ rule in [their] hearts, to which binds everything together in perfect harmony” (Colossians). Notice the choice of words in this verse. Binds. Together. Perfect harmony. When a force so dark, so sinister, and so intangible threatens their livelihood and Christian souls, binding together is the one source of comfort and power they have against such an other-wordly force. But, is this nationalism really togetherness? Yes, they are all brought together by their common quest to destroy the devilish intruders, but it ultimately tears their own lives apart when they recognize their faults. The judges and perpetrators die as tormented souls. Their support of this togetherness eventually leads to their own, individual separation. In regards to perfect harmony, it is interesting that Mather calls on their togetherness to represent perfect harmony. Their accusations against (who we now know as innocent people) seem far from perfect. Neighbor against neighbor, man against wife, parents against children. That is not perfect harmony. How can it be so when later in the same book of Colossians, God instructs,¹⁹“Husbands, love your wives and never treat them harshly?” Suspicion, even if it is of a devil in their midst, is not perfect harmony.

            But, in the face of such an unknown, unseen ghost (because the Devil can morph shapes as Mather says), this togetherness and perfect harmony are all the people of Salem had to comfort themselves. This fear of an unseen creature, something that can assume any shape to tempt you and steal your soul…wouldn’t you be afraid, too? Wouldn’t you run to your fellow Salem citizens as a means of comfort? It is the fear of the unknown that is perhaps the greatest fear of all. When Suzanne prompted us to think about how the Puritans perceived the wilderness around them, we as a collective student body decided that Mather makes their situation sound like the poor people are up against something so evil, it is beyond the minds of the people. They couldn't wrap their heads around those fears. As I said in class, our fears today are tangible, recognizable. We can see them. The car hurtling towards us is to be feared because it could strike us dead. The snowy blizzard outside is to be feared because we know the dangers of hypothermia and frostbite. But, to be told to fear something you can’t even see and that can be lurking around you at any given moment--that is truly terrifying. No wonder these poor people relied on each other and supported each other’s accusations. Accusations meant getting rid of people who could become, or were, the unseen fear. Camaraderie provided protection. Religious fervor provided God’s graced protection. Consensus and, dare I say--mob mentality, gave each Salem resident a cause, a home, a sense of familiarity.

            On just a side note, one thing that particularly struck me about Mather’s characterization of the Devil is that he himself, much to my surprise, speaks in Latin – the supposedly holy language of God, his son, his angels, his holy pastors and priests, and the holy book (aka the Bible). On page 17, the Devil answers the “Popish Curate” in Latin - quite a beautiful language in of itself. Just ironic I guess…just thought it was worth pointing out.

            Lastly, at one point while reading “Enchantments Encountered,” I couldn’t help but to notice a blatant connection between J.K. Rowling’s creation in the Harry Potter series - the ultimate incarnation of the devilish wizard: HeWhoMustNotBeNamed (the infamous Voldemort). I didn’t want to be THAT person to make the obvious connection between Harry Potter and witchcraft, but it’s there, and really does deserve some attention. Mather says he “will not Name” the other evil spirits “lest [he] should by Naming, Teach them” (19-20). I take this to mean that Mather fears naming these evil spirits because, just like Rowling creates in her series, saying the name of such an evil spirit will only recognize his power and strengthen him further. So, Rowling is no dummy…she knew a lot of British and American literature before she began this series. If she didn’t, would we have pop-culture’s new depiction of evil: the bald, nose-less Voldemort? I think not. I stand in my claim that, well, Harry Potter is one badass series of literature :]

            So, in reading excerpts of Cotton Mather’s On Witchcraft, I have come to understand a little bit more about the psyche of the tormented souls of Salem--a collective psyche of unimaginable fear that would drive anyone, even you or I, to do some unthinkable things. And, just because it’s fun, I did include a Harry Potter reference in my understanding of the reading :] I am thaaat kid :]

I think Voldemort needs to learn to brush his teeth...just saying.

“Colossians.” The New Revised Standard Version The Holy Bible: Ed. Thomas Nelson. Graded     Press, 1990. Print.

Mather, Cotton. On Witchcraft. Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 2005. Print.