At the start of the nineteenth century, many authors began to indicate a desire for emancipation from the rigid social standards of the previous century. A call for individuality began in the romantic period, and was accomplished through the examination of emotion and the resultant evaluation of the self. A few decades later, such compositional ideologies were embedded in many works of literature. Poe’s Arthur Gordon Pym and Browning’s My Last Duchess can be seen as studies of an opposing nature. Throughout Poe’s work, Pym seeks freedom; in fact, he seems impelled toward liberty by means out of his control. Yet it is not merely physical deliverance that he attains, but the infinitely more sublime and important goal of the soul’s release from the torment of the mortal world to the realm of the divine. Conversely, the protagonist of Browning’s narrative has most certainly destroyed the freedom of the subject of the poem—his previous wife. Indeed, to a great extent he represents the retaliation by society against the enfranchisement of the younger generation. It is interesting to note that the agents of physical confinement for both Pym and the Duchess—a boat and a picture frame respectively—form the structural basis for each narrative.
The concept of physical and mental confinement can be seen throughout The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym. Although it was probably not Poe’s intention, setting the narrative on the sea presents an interesting dichotomy: the physical confines of the boat, especially notable when it was sinking, emphasized Pym’s lack of immediate freedom while the vast expanse of the sea allowed a great deal of freedom. Indeed this dichotomy seems to be the thematic basis for the novel: by emerging from the various traps which confine him, Pym traveled on a spiritual journey toward unification with the divine. In order to obtain salvation, he experienced a purification of the soul from the corruption of mortality; it is notable that this process of purification operates inversely to the life cycle. Therefore, Pym’s first imprisonment in the novel—inside a small coffin-like box on board the Grampus—is most akin to death. Indeed, it is vitally important that Pym does indeed symbolically die at the start of the text, as this allows him to relinquish his mortality and begin his quest for purification. In such a dream-like narrative as Poe created, birth and death are somewhat interchangeable: the coffin also bears a great resemblance to a uterine environment. Thus, he emerged from his captivity “redeemed from the jaws of the tomb” and relieved of the “insufferable torments [of his]...dreary prison” (p. 31). Poe establishes a reoccurring theme which Pym replays throughout the text: death and rebirth. Through the remainder of the text, Pym engaged in a Dante-like traverse through an earthbound hell. He was forced to endure a variety of torments and abhorrent experiences: the observation of the horrific remains of a Dutch ship and its crew set adrift; the consumption of one crewmate; the death by starvation of his friend Augustus; and the murder of the crew of the Jane Guy by the natives of Tsalal. Yet, similar to Dante descending through hell, it seems inevitable that Pym had to endure these hardships in order to purify his soul. By experiencing the extremes of human existence, he is able to remove the defects of mortality from his own being. Yet Pym himself did not notice this change until he had actually faced death on the cliff-face on the island of Tsalal in the second-last chapter. He then came to the realization that he had been reborn and “felt a new being” (p. 148).
It is this realization which allows his journey to proceed to a higher level. Pym and his company leave Tsalal and continue south, entering warmer waters. Here, Poe uses his most subtle graphic symbolism. The water gradually turned milky white, a likely allusion to breast milk, and the party entered into a region of extreme whiteness and illumination. While there is a great deal of mystery and tension in this passage, there is no hint of trepidation or terror in Pym. When he describes the immense shrouded figure at the end of the text, he does not use such nomenclature as “dreaded” or “diabolical” as he did with virtually every other creature in the novel. Indeed, this figure seems to be the object of Pym’s quest: such is virtually confirmed when he “rushed into the cataract” where the figure was (p. 155). The entire episode, therefore, is the conclusion of Pym’s spiritual journey. Through the journey itself, he had purified his soul, which had in this passage been incorporated into the divine. It is notable that several aspects of this section can be seen as a return to infancy then to birth. In addition to the aforementioned milky water as breast milk—an obvious symbol of feminine sustenance—the party entered a cataract “where a chasm threw itself open to receive [them]” (p. 155), ostensibly symbolizing the reverse of the birthing process—a return to the womb. It is interesting that Poe equates divinity with motherhood; other than these oblique references there are few instances of women in the text. Indeed, one can only speculate about the relationship Pym had with his own mother as she is not mentioned: perhaps she died in childbirth and Pym was impelled on this journey to atone for his ‘guilty conscience’. Yet such conjecture is largely incidental to the outcome of the journey itself. Ultimately, Pym had succeeded in liberating his soul from earthly boundaries and transcending to the divine.
In examining My Last Duchess, it becomes readily apparent that Browning was attempting to illustrate the extent to which society was protecting itself from the new liberalism of youth. While not explicit in the text, it is likely that there was a great difference in age between the protagonist and his former wife. He attempts, almost desperately, to portray the duchess as an unbound and disruptive force. Indeed, his resentment of her character is quite noticeable. He continually describes her as disloyal and adulterous, claiming that “t’was not/ Her husband’s presence only, called that spot/ Of joy on the Duchess’ cheek”(13-15), that “she had/ A heart...too soon made glad/...she liked whate’er/ She looked on, and her looks went everywhere” (21-4), and that all “who passed [received]/ Much the same smile” as he (44-5). From these details an inference into the character of the duchess is possible. She was obviously free and unrestrained in her expression of emotion, and was most likely curious of and delighted by the many social contacts available to her aristocratic standing. It was her interest in the many aspects of life which most offended the narrator; it is clear that he wanted her to be interested solely in him. The narrator is quite indignant that his duchess values a sunset and her mule equally with his sexual advances. His inadequacy as an aristocratic man further manifests itself when he states that “she ranked/ [his] gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name/ with anybody’s gift” (32-4). Thus, the relationship between the two characters presents itself. The duchess acted in such a manner as to threaten the narrator’s power and perhaps his image in the eyes of his peers. He was then forced make attempts to control her will—to “[give] commands” (45). Yet, he also states that he could not explicitly tell her what he viewed as her faults as he felt that such was below his station; it seems that he expected her to know the etiquette of her class. Abruptly he divulged the outcome of his inability to establish his authority over her. “All smiles stopped together” (46), and the duchess’s death becomes clear. Whether she was killed by the narrator—the ultimate act of control—or alternately she killed herself to escape his torment remains unclear. Yet both instances have an equal meaning symbolically: the duchess was unable to live outside of the traditional roles for her class and act as an individual. Her death can be seen as traditional society attempting to remain in control of her will and to quell her individual personality.
One can argue, however, that ultimately she was indeed successful in establishing herself as an individual and that the narrator was himself socially deviant. There is no mention of those whom the duchess smiled at being offended by her demeanor, nor was she shunned by her peers. It therefore seems likely that the faulty character was the narrator and not his wife. His desire to remove the liberties of his duchess stem from his objectification of woman; this is obvious when he describes his new bride as “[his] object” (53). Indeed, the basis of the poem is the objectification of a woman: the duchess is not a living woman but a portrait on a wall. Her physical freedom has been finally curtailed by the confines of the picture frame, and her character is wholly controlled by the narrator. Every action and observation is dictated by the narrator to the reader in the first person. Indeed, the reader is forced to share in the duchess’s confinement as the poem itself seems claustrophobic and limiting. He says that the reader is “not the first/...to turn and ask thus” (12-13) when no mention of the reader having done so is given; similarly, near the end he bids, or rather commands, the reader to rise and follow him to meet other guests. His attempts are ultimately unsuccessful, however, as the reader is free to determine the true nature of the character of the duchess. Yet, regardless of the reader’s view of her, the duchess remains solely as a picture on a wall.
Both Arthur Gordon Pym and My Last Duchess can be seen as exemplary of the romantic period due to the emphasis on freedom in both texts. Each portrays the central character’s search for liberty, yet they differ somewhat in outcome. The protagonist in Poe’s work ultimately achieves freedom by the emancipation of his soul from the mortal plane. Alternately, the attempts for independence by Browning’s duchess were circumscribed by her husband, who sought to control her ‘free spirit’. Whether he ultimately achieved such control is somewhat arguable, yet the poem as a whole remains a testament to the duchess’s fatal pursuit of liberty. Indeed, the two texts emotionally contrast each other quite nicely: Pym portrays the voyage of the protagonist through horror to liberty, while the duchess’s seemingly blissful experiments with freedom ended in tragedy.
Bibliography
Browning, Robert. My Last Duchess. The Norton Anthology of World Masterpieces. Gen. Ed. Maynard Mack. 6th ed. Vol. 2. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1992. 296-303.
Poe, Edgar Allan. The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym. Boston, USA: David R. Godine, 1973.
Wednesday, December 03, 1997
Monday, November 24, 1997
Hercules Metamorphosed
By the far the most renowned hero in ancient times was Heracles / Hercules. While tradition held a certain ‘pattern’ for his character—an average or expected set of characteristics—authors and poets were continually re-conceptualizing him to suit their own times and their own purposes. It is quite possible to view explicitly many interpretations of the Hercules myth in their respective historical contexts. Whether a writer admired or condemned the character of Hercules greatly determined the role that he was given in the narrative. Both positive and negative perceptions can been seen in Greek and Roman texts; this flawed character was especially suited to tragedy. Although authors reinterpreted the basic myth to serve their own ends—of which Vergil with the Aeneid is exemplary—a pattern of development emerged. Hercules became more of a metaphorical construct, representing the struggle of life over death and conflict within man. Thus two patterns of development can be observed in the character of Hercules: adaptations according to the purposes of individual authors, and a trend toward greater spiritual sophistication.
By examining Hercules in all of the myths in which he is present, it is possible to determine a prototype of his character. Indeed, in doing so, one can associate the origins of the character with Mycenaean times. Exemplary of the highest virtues desired in that era, Hercules possessed enormous strength and physical endurance and was the bravest of men. This in turn led to his importance in the religion and folklore of Mycenae and later Greece. Therefore, explicit within this context, one can see acclamatory sentiments toward Hercules in many authors. Frequently, he is seen as a civilizing force in a world of barbaric chaos. This ‘sophisticating’ aspect of his character can be discerned in the nature of the monsters that he has to overcome in his labours. All of them were supernatural creatures who threatened civilized society: the Hydra and the immortal lion can be seen as encroaching barbarism. Pindar, Timaeus, Aeschylus, and Pisander all praise the hero for these achievements. Yet, such affirmations of Hercules seem merely an appeasement and a supplication to his status as a hero. In the Aeneid, Vergil used Hercules as a means to political and social ends. To a great extent Aeneas was a Roman reincarnation of Hercules, created to exemplify Roman imperialism and unite the populace behind the empire much as Hercules consolidated the disparate Greek city-states. While not nearly as physically imposing as Hercules, Aeneas was nevertheless the most strong and agile warrior in the Aeneid. Additionally, he shared with the Greek hero the utmost self-assurance which his elevated physical ability allowed. Akin to Heracles, he does not check himself in battle but rather relishes it: upon returning to his besieged encampment, “Aeneas was the first to charge against the levies of country-folk...and he was the first to strike Latins down” (Aen. 10, p. 260). The two characters also correspond as founders and defenders of civilization. In addition to his labours, an account of Hercules as civilizer is given in Book VIII of the Aeneid, in which he liberates the people of King Evander from the monster Cacus. The light of civilization was spared from barbarism as Hercules slew the monster and “tore down the doors and the murky den was thrown open” (Aen. 8, p. 209). Aeneas realized a similar achievement: to found Rome he first had to subdue the native Italians. His chief opponent, Turnus, was the absolute embodiment of barbarism; in many ways he was comparable to the opponents of Hercules. Importantly, like Hercules, Aeneas becomes elevated above mortal status by his heroic exploits. Indeed, the comparison between the two heroes in this context was of vital importance for Vergil—and indeed, to his sponsor Augustus—in declaring Roman dominion as having a mythological basis. This belief is implicit in Book VI when Aeneas declares that like Hercules, he too is “descended from highest Jove” (Aen. 6, p. 151). Hercules was thus used as a mythological stamp of approval for Roman imperialism.
Yet Vergil is not in complete accordance with Hercules as a respectable hero. In several manners he seems to view Aeneas as being superior to the Greek hero, partially to reflect a belief in superior Roman morality. Vergil frequently emphasizes that Hercules’s weapon was a club —a primitive bludgeoning device that requires relatively little skill to employ. Alternately, Aeneas wielded spears and more importantly a sword, armaments that can only be constructed in more advanced societies and require an equally elevated sophistication in their handling. Similarly, at times Vergil displays a dislike towards the violence inherent in Hercules’s nature and reflected in Aeneas; several instances in the Aeneid document Aeneas’s tendency to lo losing control to his impulses. As Troy is being sacked, his fury over the loss of this beloved city allowed “madness [to master his] judgement and [gain] complete control” (Aen. 2, 68), and nearly caused him to attack a defenseless woman. When compared to Hercules’s killing of his music teacher Linus, it is easy to note Vergil’s contempt. Indeed, the denunciation of Hercules can be seen in the works of several other authors. Chiefly, they asserted that his extreme strength was dangerous and capriciously applied. One can see such criticism even as early as Homer, who mentions the hubris that Hercules displays and the odious killing of a host, Iphitus (Il. 5.403, Od. 21.28). Yet the most scathing reproach came from Sophocles in the Trachiniae. He portrayed Hercules as a drunk whose vengeance brought the death of Iphitus, whose passions brought the downfall of Oechalia, and whose neglect is painfully felt by his wife and children. A more lighthearted approach to objection can be seen in The Voyage of Argo by Apollonius of Rhodes. In this text, Heracles is gently satirized in a variety of situations: his physical size is noted for the first time in literature as he is forced to sit in the middle of the ship, and he is too strong for his oar to bear (Book 1, p. 67). Yet such docile humour is counterbalanced in the text by a recounting of the murders that he committed, and his last appearance is wholly unflattering. Indeed, Apollonius portrays the irrelevance of such an archaic hero as Hercules for the age in which the poem was written, the Hellenistic period—a time of great scientific and artistic achievement, and an age in which warfare differed greatly from combat portrayed in traditional myths of Hercules. Therefore, in this context it is no surprise that he can not even complete the voyage but is instead drawn away by his passions (Book 1, pp. 70-1). Hercules was further condemned for his hubristic violations of nature. This seems the basis for Seneca’s Hercules Furens, as the hero is seen as the exemplar of human hubris.
While such praise or condemnation of Hercules continued throughout the Greek and Roman periods, one approach to the myth did indeed change over time. Over the centuries, the Hercules myth altered from representing the physical achievements of the hero to symbolizing more metaphysical issues. The true worth of the deeds of Hercules began to be questioned: Lucretius condemned Hercules for ignoring the challenges of the mind and spirit. Yet authors started to merge the two into one concept—the deeds of the hero deriving from spiritual perfection. Thus, the conquests of the hero began to symbolize spiritual accomplishments. Two plays by Euripides exemplify these tendencies. In both Heracles and Alcestis, the hero is forced to confront mortality. Indeed, in the latter play Hercules is seen to overcome death quite literally as he goes down to the underworld and returns with Alcestis. When associated with his ascension into heaven, it can be observed that Hercules became a guarantor of immortality; in reality he was frequently represented in later Roman funeral rites. By the Roman period, the re-evaluation of Hercules as a hero of a spiritual nature became common. In addition to condemning the hero in Hercules Furens, the supreme nature of his spirit in conquering death is emphasized. It is stated that by his virtus he would be able to return from the underworld (312f., 319-24), and constant reference is made to his deification (438ff., 959). By this period, therefore, Hercules can frequently be seen as a symbol of immortality and the struggle of life over death.
From such evidence as has been noted above, admittedly limited to only a few of the multitude of possible authors, it is possible to observe the evolution of the Greek hero from the physical to the spiritual realm. Indeed, in light of the criticism accorded Hercules over the centuries, this transformation conceivably occurred to justify and reaffirm the importance of his character within Greek and Roman society. What is clear about the mythology surrounding the hero is that it was continually being adapted to suit the needs of individual authors. Therefore it is easy to see the protean nature of the Hercules character following two paths: at the same time he transformed in a linear sequence over time, and alternately he was being separately reconstructed by each author in a lateral fashion. Throughout the many changes in Greek and Roman mythology, however, Hercules never lost his importance.
Bibliography
Apollonius of Rhodes. The Voyage of Argo. Trans. E.V. Rieu. London: Penguin Books, 1971.
Fitch, John G. Seneca’s Hercules Furens: A Critical Text with Introduction and Commentary.
Ithaca, USA: Cornell University Press, 1987.
Hamilton, Edith. Mythology. Boston, USA: Little Brown and Company, 1942.
Vergil. The Aeneid. Trans. W.F. Jackson Knight. London: Penguin Books, 1972.
By examining Hercules in all of the myths in which he is present, it is possible to determine a prototype of his character. Indeed, in doing so, one can associate the origins of the character with Mycenaean times. Exemplary of the highest virtues desired in that era, Hercules possessed enormous strength and physical endurance and was the bravest of men. This in turn led to his importance in the religion and folklore of Mycenae and later Greece. Therefore, explicit within this context, one can see acclamatory sentiments toward Hercules in many authors. Frequently, he is seen as a civilizing force in a world of barbaric chaos. This ‘sophisticating’ aspect of his character can be discerned in the nature of the monsters that he has to overcome in his labours. All of them were supernatural creatures who threatened civilized society: the Hydra and the immortal lion can be seen as encroaching barbarism. Pindar, Timaeus, Aeschylus, and Pisander all praise the hero for these achievements. Yet, such affirmations of Hercules seem merely an appeasement and a supplication to his status as a hero. In the Aeneid, Vergil used Hercules as a means to political and social ends. To a great extent Aeneas was a Roman reincarnation of Hercules, created to exemplify Roman imperialism and unite the populace behind the empire much as Hercules consolidated the disparate Greek city-states. While not nearly as physically imposing as Hercules, Aeneas was nevertheless the most strong and agile warrior in the Aeneid. Additionally, he shared with the Greek hero the utmost self-assurance which his elevated physical ability allowed. Akin to Heracles, he does not check himself in battle but rather relishes it: upon returning to his besieged encampment, “Aeneas was the first to charge against the levies of country-folk...and he was the first to strike Latins down” (Aen. 10, p. 260). The two characters also correspond as founders and defenders of civilization. In addition to his labours, an account of Hercules as civilizer is given in Book VIII of the Aeneid, in which he liberates the people of King Evander from the monster Cacus. The light of civilization was spared from barbarism as Hercules slew the monster and “tore down the doors and the murky den was thrown open” (Aen. 8, p. 209). Aeneas realized a similar achievement: to found Rome he first had to subdue the native Italians. His chief opponent, Turnus, was the absolute embodiment of barbarism; in many ways he was comparable to the opponents of Hercules. Importantly, like Hercules, Aeneas becomes elevated above mortal status by his heroic exploits. Indeed, the comparison between the two heroes in this context was of vital importance for Vergil—and indeed, to his sponsor Augustus—in declaring Roman dominion as having a mythological basis. This belief is implicit in Book VI when Aeneas declares that like Hercules, he too is “descended from highest Jove” (Aen. 6, p. 151). Hercules was thus used as a mythological stamp of approval for Roman imperialism.
Yet Vergil is not in complete accordance with Hercules as a respectable hero. In several manners he seems to view Aeneas as being superior to the Greek hero, partially to reflect a belief in superior Roman morality. Vergil frequently emphasizes that Hercules’s weapon was a club —a primitive bludgeoning device that requires relatively little skill to employ. Alternately, Aeneas wielded spears and more importantly a sword, armaments that can only be constructed in more advanced societies and require an equally elevated sophistication in their handling. Similarly, at times Vergil displays a dislike towards the violence inherent in Hercules’s nature and reflected in Aeneas; several instances in the Aeneid document Aeneas’s tendency to lo losing control to his impulses. As Troy is being sacked, his fury over the loss of this beloved city allowed “madness [to master his] judgement and [gain] complete control” (Aen. 2, 68), and nearly caused him to attack a defenseless woman. When compared to Hercules’s killing of his music teacher Linus, it is easy to note Vergil’s contempt. Indeed, the denunciation of Hercules can be seen in the works of several other authors. Chiefly, they asserted that his extreme strength was dangerous and capriciously applied. One can see such criticism even as early as Homer, who mentions the hubris that Hercules displays and the odious killing of a host, Iphitus (Il. 5.403, Od. 21.28). Yet the most scathing reproach came from Sophocles in the Trachiniae. He portrayed Hercules as a drunk whose vengeance brought the death of Iphitus, whose passions brought the downfall of Oechalia, and whose neglect is painfully felt by his wife and children. A more lighthearted approach to objection can be seen in The Voyage of Argo by Apollonius of Rhodes. In this text, Heracles is gently satirized in a variety of situations: his physical size is noted for the first time in literature as he is forced to sit in the middle of the ship, and he is too strong for his oar to bear (Book 1, p. 67). Yet such docile humour is counterbalanced in the text by a recounting of the murders that he committed, and his last appearance is wholly unflattering. Indeed, Apollonius portrays the irrelevance of such an archaic hero as Hercules for the age in which the poem was written, the Hellenistic period—a time of great scientific and artistic achievement, and an age in which warfare differed greatly from combat portrayed in traditional myths of Hercules. Therefore, in this context it is no surprise that he can not even complete the voyage but is instead drawn away by his passions (Book 1, pp. 70-1). Hercules was further condemned for his hubristic violations of nature. This seems the basis for Seneca’s Hercules Furens, as the hero is seen as the exemplar of human hubris.
While such praise or condemnation of Hercules continued throughout the Greek and Roman periods, one approach to the myth did indeed change over time. Over the centuries, the Hercules myth altered from representing the physical achievements of the hero to symbolizing more metaphysical issues. The true worth of the deeds of Hercules began to be questioned: Lucretius condemned Hercules for ignoring the challenges of the mind and spirit. Yet authors started to merge the two into one concept—the deeds of the hero deriving from spiritual perfection. Thus, the conquests of the hero began to symbolize spiritual accomplishments. Two plays by Euripides exemplify these tendencies. In both Heracles and Alcestis, the hero is forced to confront mortality. Indeed, in the latter play Hercules is seen to overcome death quite literally as he goes down to the underworld and returns with Alcestis. When associated with his ascension into heaven, it can be observed that Hercules became a guarantor of immortality; in reality he was frequently represented in later Roman funeral rites. By the Roman period, the re-evaluation of Hercules as a hero of a spiritual nature became common. In addition to condemning the hero in Hercules Furens, the supreme nature of his spirit in conquering death is emphasized. It is stated that by his virtus he would be able to return from the underworld (312f., 319-24), and constant reference is made to his deification (438ff., 959). By this period, therefore, Hercules can frequently be seen as a symbol of immortality and the struggle of life over death.
From such evidence as has been noted above, admittedly limited to only a few of the multitude of possible authors, it is possible to observe the evolution of the Greek hero from the physical to the spiritual realm. Indeed, in light of the criticism accorded Hercules over the centuries, this transformation conceivably occurred to justify and reaffirm the importance of his character within Greek and Roman society. What is clear about the mythology surrounding the hero is that it was continually being adapted to suit the needs of individual authors. Therefore it is easy to see the protean nature of the Hercules character following two paths: at the same time he transformed in a linear sequence over time, and alternately he was being separately reconstructed by each author in a lateral fashion. Throughout the many changes in Greek and Roman mythology, however, Hercules never lost his importance.
Bibliography
Apollonius of Rhodes. The Voyage of Argo. Trans. E.V. Rieu. London: Penguin Books, 1971.
Fitch, John G. Seneca’s Hercules Furens: A Critical Text with Introduction and Commentary.
Ithaca, USA: Cornell University Press, 1987.
Hamilton, Edith. Mythology. Boston, USA: Little Brown and Company, 1942.
Vergil. The Aeneid. Trans. W.F. Jackson Knight. London: Penguin Books, 1972.
Wednesday, November 19, 1997
Urban Women in Late Medieval Europe
In examining the lives of the various townswomen of the late middle ages, it must be noted that there was no single mode of existence throughout all of Europe. Laws and cultural traditions varied quite dramatically with geography; therefore, a manner of life which existed in Florence may not have been reflected in London or Hamburg. There is one constant among all the cases examined, however: without few exceptions, life in a mid- to large-size town was more prosperous, varied, and free for urban women than their rural counterparts. The much greater circulating wealth and occupational diversity of the towns allowed women to be well represented in the economy. To a large extent the majority of the professional work done by women was an extension of their domestic service. However, one must beware not to devalue such occupations on this basis; the work that women performed for their communities was of great importance. A woman’s civil liberties can be seen as linked with the occupational foundations of the town in which she lived. In towns whose economy is based on the trade of goods for which women are the main suppliers, a high degree of freedom and legal support is given to them. The nature of the data that have survived must here be noted. First-hand or other direct accounts of the lives of average urban women are quite rare; indeed, most of the few records that have survived that provide direct access into the experiences of urban women are literary. Therefore, one has to extrapolate from the extant data to provide a more complete picture. In doing so, however, one encounters the problem inherent in medieval data sources: they are neither complete nor continuous. Yet, an admittedly blurry picture of urban women does emerge from these sources. Many are shown to be industrious and successful, even in light of laws in certain regions which greatly prohibited their activities.
To a great extent, the move to an urban setting emancipated women from a short life of hardship and dependence. Their lifespans increased, quickly surpassing that of men. Coupled with the propensity for men to marry younger brides, there was a large number of women outliving their husbands. In order to accommodate such a situation, property and inheritance laws were gradually modified to preserve women’s liberties. The most universal and important safeguard for women was the emergence of the dowry and dot, the portion of wealth that a bride was required to bring to a marriage. The dowry kept women from utter poverty when they became widowed or were otherwise separated from their husbands as it could not be given to heirs without her consent. Additionally, while the dowry could be freely invested by the husband, it could not be claimed by creditors for any debts owed by him. In many parts of Europe, women could legally disassociate themselves from their indebted husbands and withdraw their dowry. As an adjunct to this ‘guaranteed’ wealth of the dowry, women could inherit the property of their father or husband, either whole or in part. There are many cases of women independently managing the family lands or businesses. Alternately, they might become business partners with their children, the intended heirs of the property. Importantly, women had the right to determine their marital status after the death of their husbands; they were not legally forced into remarriage. Women were also allowed to make their own wills and bequeath property at their discretion, although they frequently needed permission from their husbands while he was still alive. Even though a man had legal control over his wife’s property—indeed, in many regions she had no property of her own save her dowry while her husband was still alive—in practice many women acted independently with their wealth, buying and selling at their desire. In a few regions women had the authority to represent themselves in the courts as well, further suggesting their legal independence. They did not gain complete personal freedom in the domestic or civil spheres however. In very few regions could women engage in politics, either as guild masters or on town councils. Inheritance laws were modified to arrest the concentration of wealth within a few families. Marriages could no longer be arranged among heirs: widows were restricted from marrying a brother of their deceased husband. Indeed by marrying outside of their own households, rich women circulated wealth among the townspeople. Men could still abuse their wives and daughters with impunity, although they could not kill them. Additionally, the threat of withholding the dowry forced daughters to accept the wishes of their fathers, including the arrangement of marriages. In conclusion, it can be seen that with the advent of urban life, women gained a great deal of legal freedom, although they were far from being completely independent of men.
The modern stereotype of a woman in medieval Europe places her in domestic servitude under the authority of her husband. Yet modern scholarship has proven such a situation as unrepresentative of most of the women in the towns and cities of Europe. There was indeed a great deal of work to be done in the urban household: they had to nurse children, cook for the family and guests, manage the goods-stores of the house, spin and weave, and supervise servants. Through the high and late middle ages the role of women in ‘external’ occupations becomes ever more clear. However, the nature of the data must be examined: there is no single source which provides a true picture of the working life of an average urban woman. Thus, as an example, tax records can not be completely relied upon to determine the number of women who engaged in commerce; alternately, they do provide some insight into the extent to which women did participate. As many men performed their trade or business at home, women were actively involved in the process. By observation and participation, they would learn the techniques and intricacies of the crafts first from their fathers and later their husbands. Indeed, these skills were of crucial importance, as women would take over the business when their husbands were away. There are also many instances of women acting on their own, either alongside their husband or in their own separate business affairs. In a few cases, husbands drew up a legal agreement entitling their wives to act on their behalf; the most common of these were not documents but official seals. Women were not limited to participation in the business of their husbands however. Frequently, they established themselves completely independently, either inheriting a business from a parent or commencing one anew. The majority of occupations by which they did so can be seen as extensions of domestic labour: cloth-making, fishing, the selling of foodstuffs and other provisions, and tavern-keeping. While some men objected to dealing with businesswomen, most records demonstrate that women were indeed accepted into the economic sphere as ordinary participants.
Guilds allowed membership to women, and in certain occupations they could become mistresses, although their activities were occasionally limited. The simplest route to membership was through the husband; most guilds allowed a woman to continue practicing the craft after her husband’s death, even though she may not have been a master. As marriage provided such an easy avenue into the fellowship, members were required to have their spouses approved by the guild; it is easy to envisage men who had been rejected by the guilds seeking marriage with a widow who had membership. Several occupations, such as embroidery, brewery, and silk-spinning were almost exclusively female, and this was reflected in the restrictiveness of the respective guilds. Young girls were apprenticed in the same manner as boys, usually entering apprenticeship in their early teens, although by the late medieval period they rarely received guild membership through such means. While the guilds seemed to protect the business interests of women, they became increasingly restrictive towards them towards the end of the middle ages. Men were appropriating occupations which had largely been the domain of women: brewing and cloth-making guilds began to exclude women. The sole occupations which remained exclusively female in the late middle ages were in the silk industry. They could receive a formal education, however for the most part it consisted simply of basic literacy. Indeed women in merchant families were required to be literate to conduct the family business. Yet, with the advent of universities and grammar schools women became increasingly excluded. As many occupations began to require some form of education, women became increasingly marginalized.
The majority of the economic activity described above pertained to the middle class. However, neither the upper or poor classes remained on the fringes of economic society. Indeed, upper class women could all but remain unoccupied: their husbands possessed the majority of the wealth of the urban centres. Cases have survived which demonstrate the extent to which a woman of the upper class engaged in business alongside her husband: she might enter important trade agreements. Additionally, when they inherited the estates of their fathers or husbands, they could come into control of sizeable property and might head a highly successful business. There are several instances of women acting independently as moneylenders and tradeswomen. Women of the lower classes were more restricted in the opportunities presented to them. Domestic service was the most accessible occupation, yet it was not an easy or highly profitable life. Entering into the households of the middle and upper classes, they were expected to work hard in order to allow their masters to concentrate on the family business. These servants were frequently children of poor parents, or even orphans, who would work for their board and perhaps to receive a small wage to put towards their dowry. Distinctions among the classes were just as important to urban-dwellers as to the aristocracy. Sumptuary laws were passed to keep women from dressing ‘above their station’, and there are many records of merchant women wanting to flaunt their modest wealth. The extremely wealthy did have a very high standard of living; indeed, they attempted to live in a similar fashion as the aristocracy. Yet individuals were mobile within the social structure: an increase in wealth gave individuals more power and respectability in the town. There are many cases of men and women marrying wealthier spouses and thus elevating their social positions. This did not occur among the extremely poor and the extremely rich, however. Within this social context, women can be seen as having established themselves as solidly middle class. They were rarely part of the extremely wealthy upper class, unless they had married into or inherited wealth, but they nevertheless enjoyed financial independence. Such was not the case for rural women; it can be seen that within a social context, the city allowed a degree of mobility unknown in the country.
It is impossible to form a complete picture of the typical European urban woman of the late middle ages. The closest that one can come to this goal is to create a broad generalization which may not apply to all regions and circumstances. As has been noted above, women’s legal rights differed greatly from country to country, and even among individual towns. Yet one constant aspect of urban life can be seen throughout Europe: women gained some measure of liberty and financial independence with the move to an urban setting. Their importance in the economic life of cities has been repeatedly proven and is no longer a basis of debate. Yet, in many ways such freedoms were being curtailed in the later medieval period. Thereafter, women would not enjoy the same level of civil freedom that they had in the high and later middle ages until this century.
Bibliography
Ennen, Edith. The Medieval Woman. Trans. Edmund Jephcott. Cambridge, USA: Basil
Blackwell, Inc, 1989.
Gies, Frances and Joseph. Marriage and the Family in the Middle Ages. New York: Harper
& Row, 1987.
Goody, Jack. The Development of the Family and Marriage in Europe. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1983.
Heer, Friedrich. “The Social Status of Women,” Everyman in Europe. Ed. Allan Mitchell & Istvan Deak. New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1981. 125-132.
Herlihy, David. “Advantages and Disadvantages of Women,” Everyman in Europe. Ed.
Allan Mitchell & Istvan Deak. New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1981. 117-125.
Herlihy, David. Medieval Households. Cambridge, USA: Harvard University Press, 1985.
Hollister, C. Warren. Medieval Europe: A Short History. Toronto: John Wiley & Sons, 1982.
LaBarge, Margaret Wade. Women in Medieval Life. London: Hamish Hamilton, 1986.
Nicholas, David. The Domestic Life of a Medieval City: Women, Children, and the Family in
Fourteenth-Century Ghent. Lincoln, USA: University of Nebraska Press, 1985.
Rowling, Marjorie. Everyday Life in Medieval Times. London: B.T. Batsford, 1968.
Seccombe, Wally. A Millennium of Family Change. London: Verso, 1992.
Sheehan, Michael M. Marriage, Family, and the Law in Medieval Europe: Collected Studies.
Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996.
Stuard, Susan Mosher. Women in Medieval Society. USA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1976.
To a great extent, the move to an urban setting emancipated women from a short life of hardship and dependence. Their lifespans increased, quickly surpassing that of men. Coupled with the propensity for men to marry younger brides, there was a large number of women outliving their husbands. In order to accommodate such a situation, property and inheritance laws were gradually modified to preserve women’s liberties. The most universal and important safeguard for women was the emergence of the dowry and dot, the portion of wealth that a bride was required to bring to a marriage. The dowry kept women from utter poverty when they became widowed or were otherwise separated from their husbands as it could not be given to heirs without her consent. Additionally, while the dowry could be freely invested by the husband, it could not be claimed by creditors for any debts owed by him. In many parts of Europe, women could legally disassociate themselves from their indebted husbands and withdraw their dowry. As an adjunct to this ‘guaranteed’ wealth of the dowry, women could inherit the property of their father or husband, either whole or in part. There are many cases of women independently managing the family lands or businesses. Alternately, they might become business partners with their children, the intended heirs of the property. Importantly, women had the right to determine their marital status after the death of their husbands; they were not legally forced into remarriage. Women were also allowed to make their own wills and bequeath property at their discretion, although they frequently needed permission from their husbands while he was still alive. Even though a man had legal control over his wife’s property—indeed, in many regions she had no property of her own save her dowry while her husband was still alive—in practice many women acted independently with their wealth, buying and selling at their desire. In a few regions women had the authority to represent themselves in the courts as well, further suggesting their legal independence. They did not gain complete personal freedom in the domestic or civil spheres however. In very few regions could women engage in politics, either as guild masters or on town councils. Inheritance laws were modified to arrest the concentration of wealth within a few families. Marriages could no longer be arranged among heirs: widows were restricted from marrying a brother of their deceased husband. Indeed by marrying outside of their own households, rich women circulated wealth among the townspeople. Men could still abuse their wives and daughters with impunity, although they could not kill them. Additionally, the threat of withholding the dowry forced daughters to accept the wishes of their fathers, including the arrangement of marriages. In conclusion, it can be seen that with the advent of urban life, women gained a great deal of legal freedom, although they were far from being completely independent of men.
The modern stereotype of a woman in medieval Europe places her in domestic servitude under the authority of her husband. Yet modern scholarship has proven such a situation as unrepresentative of most of the women in the towns and cities of Europe. There was indeed a great deal of work to be done in the urban household: they had to nurse children, cook for the family and guests, manage the goods-stores of the house, spin and weave, and supervise servants. Through the high and late middle ages the role of women in ‘external’ occupations becomes ever more clear. However, the nature of the data must be examined: there is no single source which provides a true picture of the working life of an average urban woman. Thus, as an example, tax records can not be completely relied upon to determine the number of women who engaged in commerce; alternately, they do provide some insight into the extent to which women did participate. As many men performed their trade or business at home, women were actively involved in the process. By observation and participation, they would learn the techniques and intricacies of the crafts first from their fathers and later their husbands. Indeed, these skills were of crucial importance, as women would take over the business when their husbands were away. There are also many instances of women acting on their own, either alongside their husband or in their own separate business affairs. In a few cases, husbands drew up a legal agreement entitling their wives to act on their behalf; the most common of these were not documents but official seals. Women were not limited to participation in the business of their husbands however. Frequently, they established themselves completely independently, either inheriting a business from a parent or commencing one anew. The majority of occupations by which they did so can be seen as extensions of domestic labour: cloth-making, fishing, the selling of foodstuffs and other provisions, and tavern-keeping. While some men objected to dealing with businesswomen, most records demonstrate that women were indeed accepted into the economic sphere as ordinary participants.
Guilds allowed membership to women, and in certain occupations they could become mistresses, although their activities were occasionally limited. The simplest route to membership was through the husband; most guilds allowed a woman to continue practicing the craft after her husband’s death, even though she may not have been a master. As marriage provided such an easy avenue into the fellowship, members were required to have their spouses approved by the guild; it is easy to envisage men who had been rejected by the guilds seeking marriage with a widow who had membership. Several occupations, such as embroidery, brewery, and silk-spinning were almost exclusively female, and this was reflected in the restrictiveness of the respective guilds. Young girls were apprenticed in the same manner as boys, usually entering apprenticeship in their early teens, although by the late medieval period they rarely received guild membership through such means. While the guilds seemed to protect the business interests of women, they became increasingly restrictive towards them towards the end of the middle ages. Men were appropriating occupations which had largely been the domain of women: brewing and cloth-making guilds began to exclude women. The sole occupations which remained exclusively female in the late middle ages were in the silk industry. They could receive a formal education, however for the most part it consisted simply of basic literacy. Indeed women in merchant families were required to be literate to conduct the family business. Yet, with the advent of universities and grammar schools women became increasingly excluded. As many occupations began to require some form of education, women became increasingly marginalized.
The majority of the economic activity described above pertained to the middle class. However, neither the upper or poor classes remained on the fringes of economic society. Indeed, upper class women could all but remain unoccupied: their husbands possessed the majority of the wealth of the urban centres. Cases have survived which demonstrate the extent to which a woman of the upper class engaged in business alongside her husband: she might enter important trade agreements. Additionally, when they inherited the estates of their fathers or husbands, they could come into control of sizeable property and might head a highly successful business. There are several instances of women acting independently as moneylenders and tradeswomen. Women of the lower classes were more restricted in the opportunities presented to them. Domestic service was the most accessible occupation, yet it was not an easy or highly profitable life. Entering into the households of the middle and upper classes, they were expected to work hard in order to allow their masters to concentrate on the family business. These servants were frequently children of poor parents, or even orphans, who would work for their board and perhaps to receive a small wage to put towards their dowry. Distinctions among the classes were just as important to urban-dwellers as to the aristocracy. Sumptuary laws were passed to keep women from dressing ‘above their station’, and there are many records of merchant women wanting to flaunt their modest wealth. The extremely wealthy did have a very high standard of living; indeed, they attempted to live in a similar fashion as the aristocracy. Yet individuals were mobile within the social structure: an increase in wealth gave individuals more power and respectability in the town. There are many cases of men and women marrying wealthier spouses and thus elevating their social positions. This did not occur among the extremely poor and the extremely rich, however. Within this social context, women can be seen as having established themselves as solidly middle class. They were rarely part of the extremely wealthy upper class, unless they had married into or inherited wealth, but they nevertheless enjoyed financial independence. Such was not the case for rural women; it can be seen that within a social context, the city allowed a degree of mobility unknown in the country.
It is impossible to form a complete picture of the typical European urban woman of the late middle ages. The closest that one can come to this goal is to create a broad generalization which may not apply to all regions and circumstances. As has been noted above, women’s legal rights differed greatly from country to country, and even among individual towns. Yet one constant aspect of urban life can be seen throughout Europe: women gained some measure of liberty and financial independence with the move to an urban setting. Their importance in the economic life of cities has been repeatedly proven and is no longer a basis of debate. Yet, in many ways such freedoms were being curtailed in the later medieval period. Thereafter, women would not enjoy the same level of civil freedom that they had in the high and later middle ages until this century.
Bibliography
Ennen, Edith. The Medieval Woman. Trans. Edmund Jephcott. Cambridge, USA: Basil
Blackwell, Inc, 1989.
Gies, Frances and Joseph. Marriage and the Family in the Middle Ages. New York: Harper
& Row, 1987.
Goody, Jack. The Development of the Family and Marriage in Europe. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1983.
Heer, Friedrich. “The Social Status of Women,” Everyman in Europe. Ed. Allan Mitchell & Istvan Deak. New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1981. 125-132.
Herlihy, David. “Advantages and Disadvantages of Women,” Everyman in Europe. Ed.
Allan Mitchell & Istvan Deak. New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1981. 117-125.
Herlihy, David. Medieval Households. Cambridge, USA: Harvard University Press, 1985.
Hollister, C. Warren. Medieval Europe: A Short History. Toronto: John Wiley & Sons, 1982.
LaBarge, Margaret Wade. Women in Medieval Life. London: Hamish Hamilton, 1986.
Nicholas, David. The Domestic Life of a Medieval City: Women, Children, and the Family in
Fourteenth-Century Ghent. Lincoln, USA: University of Nebraska Press, 1985.
Rowling, Marjorie. Everyday Life in Medieval Times. London: B.T. Batsford, 1968.
Seccombe, Wally. A Millennium of Family Change. London: Verso, 1992.
Sheehan, Michael M. Marriage, Family, and the Law in Medieval Europe: Collected Studies.
Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1996.
Stuard, Susan Mosher. Women in Medieval Society. USA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1976.
Thursday, November 13, 1997
Witchcraft in Colonial America
Mythology surrounding witchcraft is deeply embedded in the social tapestry of modern western civilization. Yet there is a great deal of misconception and outright fallacy in popular culture regarding the phenomenon. Contemporary scholarship to a great extent endeavours to alter these preconceptions. In order to begin the analysis of the tragic spectacle of witchcraft, the nature of accusation must first be addressed: what situations typically led to suspicion? Additionally, the character of the “average” witch must be determined; indeed, the scholastic theories concerning witches differ greatly from traditional stereotypes, which developed after the majority of witch trials had passed into history. Similarly, those who accused witches have been misconceived in the centuries after their actions and therefore must be re-examined. Yet, while these stereotypes are in question, some witches were in fact executed, agreeing with convention; however, a greater number of those accused were acquitted of the charges against them, or never entered court at all. The relationship between witches and accusers is itself of great importance in analyzing witchcraft cases. While a number of factors governed the attitudes of each party for the other, the most obvious aspect of the interactions between accused witches and their accusers was conflict, usually of a financial nature. When such personal conflict was elevated to include the entire community, as occurred in Salem in 1692, a major outbreak of witchcraft persecution erupted. Yet Salem is a peculiar case; it will be briefly examined as an extremity of the normal model of witchcraft, and not as the defining element of colonial witchcraft as it is popularly believed to have been.
The most fundamental issue that needs to be explored is the nature and origins of witchcraft accusations: on what grounds were they given? Scholastic consensus attributes suspicion with conflict between two individuals, most likely neighbours. They might have had a dispute over land claims or other large-scale financial matter, or over smaller interpersonal experiences, such as one party’s constant intrusion into the house of the other, which would lead to disdain. The events which were most conducive to suspicion involved the exchange of goods, frequently initiated by the witch. Demands for goods or favours were usually rejected; the victim might project their guilty conscience towards the witch, which would frequently be confirmed with some chastising remark from the witch. Such seemingly minor incidents would climax when the victim would suffer an accident or disaster, either to himself or his family, or to his property. Any contact with the witch prior to being afflicted in the aforementioned fashion could lead to a formal accusation for witchcraft. Yet a further situational aspect was required. Seemingly in opposition to all the internal conflict that was required in order to promote suspicion of witchcraft, a fundamental stability needed to exist at the level of the community. One does not see periods of witchcraft trials during town settlement, or when a dangerous external force threatened the community. After examining the sources it becomes clear that the traditional stereotypes have some modicum of truth, yet are greatly exaggerated in the details. Therefore, while the majority of witches were in fact older women, the evidence requires further contemplation. Accusations for witchcraft were not dispensed at the sight of one instance of possible witchcraft. Alternately, suspicions of witchcraft gradually increased over several decades before one event, as described above, triggered formal accusations. When interpreted in a social context, the majority of those who participated in witchcraft proceedings were members of the lower classes. It was they who accepted witchcraft as a societal danger most readily; it is quite easy to envisage the economic hardships suffered by the lower classes and therefore their willingness to denounce their economic rivals. Yet when a powerful individual was a participant, the case had a higher probability of entering the courts. At the same time however, many educated members of the upper class were skeptical of the legality of such trials.
From these beginnings, models of typical witches and their victims can be created. Far from being old wise-women who engaged in pagan religious practices in contempt of their Puritan neighbours or social misfits who defied authority, those accused and condemned for witchcraft were conventional members of their communities. In virtually every case, however, there was one abnormality which differentiated the accused from the other members of their town and forced them into being viewed as “outsiders”. The most obvious of these abnormalities, at least from the position of the accuser, was the social status of the accused. In the majority of witchcraft trials, witches were of the low and lower-middle classes, while the individuals bringing forth charges were of a higher class. Such statistics have a relatively easy explanation: wealthier individuals could bring charges of witchcraft to court with greater authority and less opposition. They could have more easily condemned their social inferiors and would not have been as vulnerable to counter accusations. Notably, those “mobile”individuals who began to lose their wealth and high status were also easily accused. It is easy to visualize such individuals incurring the enmity of their higher-class neighbours in attempting to ameliorate their position by engaging in activities which could have been seen as socially threatening, or by allowing their jealousies to be exhibited. Additionally, it must be noted that while members of the upper classes were not exempt from accusations, they were rarely convicted; their influence in the community was simply too great. The portrait of witchcraft victims is less straightforward than that of their accused. Indeed, to a modern observer they do not seem to be victims so much as persecutors in their own right. Yet they did not use witchcraft merely to gain advantage over those whom they disdained; conversely, they truly believed that they were the victims of diabolical machinations. One group stands out among victims: young adult males. Men in this age group were most susceptible to victimization because to a great extent they were the most vulnerable individuals financially; they had begun the long, arduous process of establishing an independent livelihood. Analyzing such a situation, it is easy to interpret witchcraft accusations deriving from the crop and handicraft failures noted above; these men projected their own failure onto others.
The Salem witchcraft outbreak in 1692 is exceptional due to the excessiveness of both the circumstances which led up to it and the extent to which it progressed. Fundamentally, the situation in Salem was similar to other cases in that accusations derived from conflict. Yet personal conflicts increased to engulf the entire community, dividing it into factions. This fragmentation can be traced to several linked sources: hostility between Salem Town and Salem Village; divided loyalties for the Village minister of the time, Samuel Parris; and financial conflict between the two leading families of the Village. Each of these aspects was linked by threads of power, in both the financial and political spheres. The evidence is quite clear: those whose loyalties lay with the Village attempted to accuse those whose interests lay in the Town, or at least individuals who were involved with them. Notably, in opposition to the expected trend, accusations rose from the lower classes to being aimed at some of the powerful and influential people of the Village. However, it was ultimately these same individuals who brought an end to the accusations, mainly through the inability of the law to properly deal with the situation. Therefore, in examining the abnormal degree of persecution in Salem, one must remain aware of the peculiarities of the Town’s situation; the nineteen witches who were executed were not killed on the basis of crop failures or petty jealousies alone.
Witchcraft is one of the most cited yet most misunderstood aspects of colonial America. The language and philosophy of the persecutions have entered into the cultural conscience of the western world. It is interesting to note, however, that most of these fragments of history were derived from the extreme case of Salem. The outbreak in 1692 is not representative of witchcraft in the colonies as a whole. Indeed, the typical case is a cautious and rational one, although the particular convictions do not associate with modern ideology. Yet it is important to situate the phenomenon of witchcraft as a part of the normal experiences of early settlers in the new world.
Bibliography
Boyer, Paul, and Stephen Nissenbaum. Salem Possessed: The Social Origins of Witchcraft.
Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1974.
Demos, John Putnam. Entertaining Satan: Witchcraft and the Culture of Early New England.
New York: Oxford University Press, 1983.
The most fundamental issue that needs to be explored is the nature and origins of witchcraft accusations: on what grounds were they given? Scholastic consensus attributes suspicion with conflict between two individuals, most likely neighbours. They might have had a dispute over land claims or other large-scale financial matter, or over smaller interpersonal experiences, such as one party’s constant intrusion into the house of the other, which would lead to disdain. The events which were most conducive to suspicion involved the exchange of goods, frequently initiated by the witch. Demands for goods or favours were usually rejected; the victim might project their guilty conscience towards the witch, which would frequently be confirmed with some chastising remark from the witch. Such seemingly minor incidents would climax when the victim would suffer an accident or disaster, either to himself or his family, or to his property. Any contact with the witch prior to being afflicted in the aforementioned fashion could lead to a formal accusation for witchcraft. Yet a further situational aspect was required. Seemingly in opposition to all the internal conflict that was required in order to promote suspicion of witchcraft, a fundamental stability needed to exist at the level of the community. One does not see periods of witchcraft trials during town settlement, or when a dangerous external force threatened the community. After examining the sources it becomes clear that the traditional stereotypes have some modicum of truth, yet are greatly exaggerated in the details. Therefore, while the majority of witches were in fact older women, the evidence requires further contemplation. Accusations for witchcraft were not dispensed at the sight of one instance of possible witchcraft. Alternately, suspicions of witchcraft gradually increased over several decades before one event, as described above, triggered formal accusations. When interpreted in a social context, the majority of those who participated in witchcraft proceedings were members of the lower classes. It was they who accepted witchcraft as a societal danger most readily; it is quite easy to envisage the economic hardships suffered by the lower classes and therefore their willingness to denounce their economic rivals. Yet when a powerful individual was a participant, the case had a higher probability of entering the courts. At the same time however, many educated members of the upper class were skeptical of the legality of such trials.
From these beginnings, models of typical witches and their victims can be created. Far from being old wise-women who engaged in pagan religious practices in contempt of their Puritan neighbours or social misfits who defied authority, those accused and condemned for witchcraft were conventional members of their communities. In virtually every case, however, there was one abnormality which differentiated the accused from the other members of their town and forced them into being viewed as “outsiders”. The most obvious of these abnormalities, at least from the position of the accuser, was the social status of the accused. In the majority of witchcraft trials, witches were of the low and lower-middle classes, while the individuals bringing forth charges were of a higher class. Such statistics have a relatively easy explanation: wealthier individuals could bring charges of witchcraft to court with greater authority and less opposition. They could have more easily condemned their social inferiors and would not have been as vulnerable to counter accusations. Notably, those “mobile”individuals who began to lose their wealth and high status were also easily accused. It is easy to visualize such individuals incurring the enmity of their higher-class neighbours in attempting to ameliorate their position by engaging in activities which could have been seen as socially threatening, or by allowing their jealousies to be exhibited. Additionally, it must be noted that while members of the upper classes were not exempt from accusations, they were rarely convicted; their influence in the community was simply too great. The portrait of witchcraft victims is less straightforward than that of their accused. Indeed, to a modern observer they do not seem to be victims so much as persecutors in their own right. Yet they did not use witchcraft merely to gain advantage over those whom they disdained; conversely, they truly believed that they were the victims of diabolical machinations. One group stands out among victims: young adult males. Men in this age group were most susceptible to victimization because to a great extent they were the most vulnerable individuals financially; they had begun the long, arduous process of establishing an independent livelihood. Analyzing such a situation, it is easy to interpret witchcraft accusations deriving from the crop and handicraft failures noted above; these men projected their own failure onto others.
The Salem witchcraft outbreak in 1692 is exceptional due to the excessiveness of both the circumstances which led up to it and the extent to which it progressed. Fundamentally, the situation in Salem was similar to other cases in that accusations derived from conflict. Yet personal conflicts increased to engulf the entire community, dividing it into factions. This fragmentation can be traced to several linked sources: hostility between Salem Town and Salem Village; divided loyalties for the Village minister of the time, Samuel Parris; and financial conflict between the two leading families of the Village. Each of these aspects was linked by threads of power, in both the financial and political spheres. The evidence is quite clear: those whose loyalties lay with the Village attempted to accuse those whose interests lay in the Town, or at least individuals who were involved with them. Notably, in opposition to the expected trend, accusations rose from the lower classes to being aimed at some of the powerful and influential people of the Village. However, it was ultimately these same individuals who brought an end to the accusations, mainly through the inability of the law to properly deal with the situation. Therefore, in examining the abnormal degree of persecution in Salem, one must remain aware of the peculiarities of the Town’s situation; the nineteen witches who were executed were not killed on the basis of crop failures or petty jealousies alone.
Witchcraft is one of the most cited yet most misunderstood aspects of colonial America. The language and philosophy of the persecutions have entered into the cultural conscience of the western world. It is interesting to note, however, that most of these fragments of history were derived from the extreme case of Salem. The outbreak in 1692 is not representative of witchcraft in the colonies as a whole. Indeed, the typical case is a cautious and rational one, although the particular convictions do not associate with modern ideology. Yet it is important to situate the phenomenon of witchcraft as a part of the normal experiences of early settlers in the new world.
Bibliography
Boyer, Paul, and Stephen Nissenbaum. Salem Possessed: The Social Origins of Witchcraft.
Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1974.
Demos, John Putnam. Entertaining Satan: Witchcraft and the Culture of Early New England.
New York: Oxford University Press, 1983.
Monday, October 27, 1997
A Combined Analysis of Jonathan Swift - A Modest Proposal and Gulliver's Travels
In examining two works by Jonathan Swift, Gulliver’s Travels and A Modest Proposal, one must take into account the political and social history of Ireland in the early seventeenth century. Swift created these works to comment upon Ireland’s desperate condition; socially and economically, his country was depressed, almost primitive, when compared the rest of Europe at that time. Specifically, he addressed England’s policy of colonial rule that was imposed on Ireland, which drained the country of its material and human resources. Additionally, he uses this as a basis to explore the human consequences of living under such conditions, and to question whether human nature is inherently evil or if such is forced upon an individual in dire circumstances. Found at a more basic and technical level, ideological structure is a further relation between the two texts: each of them uses logic and irrationality to clarify Swift’s opinions.
Historically, one of the main causes of Ireland’s miserable social and economic state was the foreign policy that detrimentally tied it to Britain. Much of the land was owned either by British or Irish landlords who lived in England and remained indifferent to anything except that which ensured their own wealth. They imposed a quasi-feudal system upon the farmers who worked the land, taxing the majority of their labour. Such absentee landlords were bitterly condemned by Swift, especially in A Modest Proposal. He viewed them as parasites who consumed Ireland whole. Indeed, such consumption was the metaphorical basis for the text: instead of England profiting from the devouring of Irish workers, Ireland itself should profit by eating the infants of the poor. He notes the abuses of the landlords directly, as the infants would be “very proper for [them], who, as they have already devoured most of the parents, seem to have the best title to the children” (MP, 298). In many ways this theme harkens back to Gulliver’s Travels, which was published three years before. Notably, Swift outlines the preparation of meat in the two texts, which in each case brings torment to the poor in order to sate the rich. Such is obvious in A Modest Proposal; in Gulliver, Swift emphasizes the economic misery caused by luxury, represented by the exotic dressing that is required in the preparation of food for the rich (GT, 244). Interestingly, Swift seems to foreshadow his later work with a few sporadic phrases. When Gulliver first encounters the Houyhnhnms, he discovers that he cannot eat their food, but instead will “absolutely starve, if [he does] not get to some of his own species” (GT, 223). Later on he describes a difference in opinion among the Europeans: “whether flesh be bread, or bread be flesh” (GT, 238). He provides a solution for the problem of the literal and economic famine in Ireland, similar in each of the texts. Irish people had to adopt an almost mercantilist approach to manufacture and consumerism: goods were not to be exported until the local population was satisfied, and only goods manufactured in Ireland were to be purchased (GT, 245; MP, 302).
Notably, in each of the texts Swift is despondent, believing that humankind is far too engulfed in its faults to heed his advice. Indeed, in both works he draws elaborate lists of the flaws of human nature and thereafter provides a few examples to vindicate his convictions (GT, 236; MP, 298). Significantly, he seems to assign such ‘evil’ tendencies to those who lack the financial means to support themselves, and who are brought to such ends by an oppressive foreign country. These outcasts are forced to turn to such practices as stealing and prostitution for survival. Importantly, Swift describes these actions as if they were admirable occupations; he does, in fact, place stealing in the same sentence among a list of professions including farming and craftsmanship. Therefore, one is left to infer that Swift actually sympathizes with those who’s nature has been corrupted by elements outside their control. Within certain passages of Gulliver’s Travels, Swift seems to use the Houyhnhnms to vocalize his own beliefs. In describing the Yahoos, one of the Houyhnhnms states that he does not hate them for their ‘evil’ nature any more than he does a “sharp stone for cutting his hoof” (GT, 240). Yet, his prose is not always so straightforwardly logical; cause does not necessarily have to lead to effect. The hero of Swift’s travelogue, Gulliver himself, upon close examination, truly is the embodiment of the negative qualities in mankind. While ignoring the lesser vices of stealing and cheating (although one may argue that he can be accused of perjury, as the contents of his “real” journeys are quite fantastical), he does seem to have a predisposition towards a deviant sexuality, particularly of a violent nature. This can seen in his dealings with the Lilliputians, the Brobdingnagians, and most especially, the Yahoos. Gulliver seems to have a sexual desire for young, or at least small, children; at one point he describes a twenty-eight-year-old as being “past his prime” (GT, 15). In Lilliput, he allows the tiny people to dance on his hand and play in his hair, and entertains a few of them, young females, in private (GT, 23 and 52 respectively). In both the land of the Brobdingnagians and the Yahoos, he exposes himself to children (GT, 83 and 258). Indeed, in those two circumstances, Gulliver does more than merely strip himself naked. He engages in sex-play with a young Brobdingnagian by manipulating her natural curiosity, and interacts with a Yahoo infant in such a manner that leads one to suppose that he is molesting the child. To escape from the land of the Houyhnhnms near the end of the text, Gulliver fashions a sail out of the skins of infant Yahoos (GT, 275); one can only imagine the extent to which a soul must be corrupted in order to complete such an undertaking. Yet, unlike the ‘innocent’ victims of British colonial policy found in A Modest Proposal, Gulliver’s criminal tendencies do not stem from social oppression; alternately, it seems as though he fails in society because of his dubious constitution. Therefore, early in the novel he fails to establish himself as a doctor not because of excessive taxation or famine, but instead due to his deviency, which was noticed by his patients (GT, 3). These disagreeable inclinations can very easily remain undetected by the reader; indeed the many editions of Gulliver’s Travels retold for children exist as proof that many readers have seen Gulliver as an admirable character. Perhaps such was Swift’s intention: in order to demonstrate the universality of moral corruption, he forces readers to sympathize, or even to admire, Gulliver.
In order to more emphatically indicate his beliefs, Swift distances the reader from the subject. He accomplishes this similarly in each of the works studied. He places a third party between the narrator and the audience, which acts as mediator and interpreter, refining communication between the two. In each of the two texts this filter is reason. In Gulliver’s Travels, the reader observes humanity through the eyes of the Houyhnhnms, who are themselves the embodiment of ultimate reason. By filtering the reader’s observances through another species, and using reason as a tool for judgement, Swift’s beliefs in the flaws of humanity become more readily apparent. The Houyhnhnms analyze and condemn virtually every aspect of humanity, from institutions to the basic emotional characteristics upon which they are built. Similarly, he uses pure logic—in a very legal, scientific manner—when describing his suggestion to eat the infants of the poor. While the subject matter may be utterly abhorrent to most readers, by using such rational, indeed almost pure, language, Swift legitimizes his proposal to the reader. The Houyhnhnms themselves had used virtually the same argument when they decided to exterminate the Yahoos. Fundamentally, Swift’s use of logical arguments appeals to the reader as being irrefutable. By such means he conveys to the reader the irrationality, and thus the abominable nature, of the issues that he explores, from the slaughter of infants and undesirable species to the oppression of his home country. It is interesting to note that while Swift seems to criticize reason as being a destructive force, for the reader of these two texts, it serves as an enlightening instrument by which Swift’s true opinions can be more deeply understood.
After examining A Modest Proposal and Gulliver’s Travels, it is quite clear that Jonathan Swift finds human nature utterly contemptible. His most well-known hero, Gulliver, is in fact one of the most vile characters in early modern literature. At the same time, however, he addresses the argument that people can be forced to explore such nether regions of their souls in extreme conditions; this is examined by A Modest Proposal. Yet, in his prose Swift has always proven himself to be a man of contradictions and oppositions. While he seems to detest reason, it is in fact his most important tool for conveying his ideology to the reader. These two texts, because of their focus upon human nature, are among the most enlightening, indeed revealing, works created.
Bibliography
Swift, Jonathan. Gulliver’s Travels. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc, 1948.
Swift, Jonathan. A Modest Proposal. The Norton Anthology of World Masterpieces. Gen. Ed. Maynard Mack. 6th ed. Vol. 2. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1992. 296-303.
Historically, one of the main causes of Ireland’s miserable social and economic state was the foreign policy that detrimentally tied it to Britain. Much of the land was owned either by British or Irish landlords who lived in England and remained indifferent to anything except that which ensured their own wealth. They imposed a quasi-feudal system upon the farmers who worked the land, taxing the majority of their labour. Such absentee landlords were bitterly condemned by Swift, especially in A Modest Proposal. He viewed them as parasites who consumed Ireland whole. Indeed, such consumption was the metaphorical basis for the text: instead of England profiting from the devouring of Irish workers, Ireland itself should profit by eating the infants of the poor. He notes the abuses of the landlords directly, as the infants would be “very proper for [them], who, as they have already devoured most of the parents, seem to have the best title to the children” (MP, 298). In many ways this theme harkens back to Gulliver’s Travels, which was published three years before. Notably, Swift outlines the preparation of meat in the two texts, which in each case brings torment to the poor in order to sate the rich. Such is obvious in A Modest Proposal; in Gulliver, Swift emphasizes the economic misery caused by luxury, represented by the exotic dressing that is required in the preparation of food for the rich (GT, 244). Interestingly, Swift seems to foreshadow his later work with a few sporadic phrases. When Gulliver first encounters the Houyhnhnms, he discovers that he cannot eat their food, but instead will “absolutely starve, if [he does] not get to some of his own species” (GT, 223). Later on he describes a difference in opinion among the Europeans: “whether flesh be bread, or bread be flesh” (GT, 238). He provides a solution for the problem of the literal and economic famine in Ireland, similar in each of the texts. Irish people had to adopt an almost mercantilist approach to manufacture and consumerism: goods were not to be exported until the local population was satisfied, and only goods manufactured in Ireland were to be purchased (GT, 245; MP, 302).
Notably, in each of the texts Swift is despondent, believing that humankind is far too engulfed in its faults to heed his advice. Indeed, in both works he draws elaborate lists of the flaws of human nature and thereafter provides a few examples to vindicate his convictions (GT, 236; MP, 298). Significantly, he seems to assign such ‘evil’ tendencies to those who lack the financial means to support themselves, and who are brought to such ends by an oppressive foreign country. These outcasts are forced to turn to such practices as stealing and prostitution for survival. Importantly, Swift describes these actions as if they were admirable occupations; he does, in fact, place stealing in the same sentence among a list of professions including farming and craftsmanship. Therefore, one is left to infer that Swift actually sympathizes with those who’s nature has been corrupted by elements outside their control. Within certain passages of Gulliver’s Travels, Swift seems to use the Houyhnhnms to vocalize his own beliefs. In describing the Yahoos, one of the Houyhnhnms states that he does not hate them for their ‘evil’ nature any more than he does a “sharp stone for cutting his hoof” (GT, 240). Yet, his prose is not always so straightforwardly logical; cause does not necessarily have to lead to effect. The hero of Swift’s travelogue, Gulliver himself, upon close examination, truly is the embodiment of the negative qualities in mankind. While ignoring the lesser vices of stealing and cheating (although one may argue that he can be accused of perjury, as the contents of his “real” journeys are quite fantastical), he does seem to have a predisposition towards a deviant sexuality, particularly of a violent nature. This can seen in his dealings with the Lilliputians, the Brobdingnagians, and most especially, the Yahoos. Gulliver seems to have a sexual desire for young, or at least small, children; at one point he describes a twenty-eight-year-old as being “past his prime” (GT, 15). In Lilliput, he allows the tiny people to dance on his hand and play in his hair, and entertains a few of them, young females, in private (GT, 23 and 52 respectively). In both the land of the Brobdingnagians and the Yahoos, he exposes himself to children (GT, 83 and 258). Indeed, in those two circumstances, Gulliver does more than merely strip himself naked. He engages in sex-play with a young Brobdingnagian by manipulating her natural curiosity, and interacts with a Yahoo infant in such a manner that leads one to suppose that he is molesting the child. To escape from the land of the Houyhnhnms near the end of the text, Gulliver fashions a sail out of the skins of infant Yahoos (GT, 275); one can only imagine the extent to which a soul must be corrupted in order to complete such an undertaking. Yet, unlike the ‘innocent’ victims of British colonial policy found in A Modest Proposal, Gulliver’s criminal tendencies do not stem from social oppression; alternately, it seems as though he fails in society because of his dubious constitution. Therefore, early in the novel he fails to establish himself as a doctor not because of excessive taxation or famine, but instead due to his deviency, which was noticed by his patients (GT, 3). These disagreeable inclinations can very easily remain undetected by the reader; indeed the many editions of Gulliver’s Travels retold for children exist as proof that many readers have seen Gulliver as an admirable character. Perhaps such was Swift’s intention: in order to demonstrate the universality of moral corruption, he forces readers to sympathize, or even to admire, Gulliver.
In order to more emphatically indicate his beliefs, Swift distances the reader from the subject. He accomplishes this similarly in each of the works studied. He places a third party between the narrator and the audience, which acts as mediator and interpreter, refining communication between the two. In each of the two texts this filter is reason. In Gulliver’s Travels, the reader observes humanity through the eyes of the Houyhnhnms, who are themselves the embodiment of ultimate reason. By filtering the reader’s observances through another species, and using reason as a tool for judgement, Swift’s beliefs in the flaws of humanity become more readily apparent. The Houyhnhnms analyze and condemn virtually every aspect of humanity, from institutions to the basic emotional characteristics upon which they are built. Similarly, he uses pure logic—in a very legal, scientific manner—when describing his suggestion to eat the infants of the poor. While the subject matter may be utterly abhorrent to most readers, by using such rational, indeed almost pure, language, Swift legitimizes his proposal to the reader. The Houyhnhnms themselves had used virtually the same argument when they decided to exterminate the Yahoos. Fundamentally, Swift’s use of logical arguments appeals to the reader as being irrefutable. By such means he conveys to the reader the irrationality, and thus the abominable nature, of the issues that he explores, from the slaughter of infants and undesirable species to the oppression of his home country. It is interesting to note that while Swift seems to criticize reason as being a destructive force, for the reader of these two texts, it serves as an enlightening instrument by which Swift’s true opinions can be more deeply understood.
After examining A Modest Proposal and Gulliver’s Travels, it is quite clear that Jonathan Swift finds human nature utterly contemptible. His most well-known hero, Gulliver, is in fact one of the most vile characters in early modern literature. At the same time, however, he addresses the argument that people can be forced to explore such nether regions of their souls in extreme conditions; this is examined by A Modest Proposal. Yet, in his prose Swift has always proven himself to be a man of contradictions and oppositions. While he seems to detest reason, it is in fact his most important tool for conveying his ideology to the reader. These two texts, because of their focus upon human nature, are among the most enlightening, indeed revealing, works created.
Bibliography
Swift, Jonathan. Gulliver’s Travels. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc, 1948.
Swift, Jonathan. A Modest Proposal. The Norton Anthology of World Masterpieces. Gen. Ed. Maynard Mack. 6th ed. Vol. 2. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1992. 296-303.
Saturday, October 04, 1997
Forced Conformity in Crime and Punishment and the Inferno
The drive to find reason and order is the basis for nearly all human endeavors, and such an impetus is well represented in literature. Yet, as the protagonists of Crime and Punishment and the Inferno develop in their respective narratives, they soon come to the realization that the logic that they once applied to the world may not be valid. These intellectual metamorphoses can be summed up in a quotation from La Celestina. Both Raskolnikov and Dante view their world as rational and just. This rational ideology provides the former a sense of certainty and constancy, yet the latter initially cannot reason through the chaos of his situation. However, as they progress through their stories, each character quickly recognizes the error of such beliefs and becomes pressed by forces both internal and external to modify their ideologies. For Raskolnikov, such a reformation is gradual, complete, and ultimately unsatisfying; his reformed ideology is in accord with the quotation, as from his logical mind springs disorder. Conversely, the transformation of Dante’s character is more abrupt yet more subtle, and the change itself is the reverse of that of the character paraphrased from La Celestina: rejecting the chaos of reason he finds order in the truth of the divine.
For Raskolnikov, the world is governed by certain cardinal laws that could be learned and subsequently utilized by man for his own purposes. His interpretation of these laws was obviously influenced by his isolation for the majority of his adult life--they do not translate well to the practical world. Raskolnikov developed a highly theoretical system of beliefs that he was to realize by murdering the moneylender and her sister. He hypothesized that certain men could be worthy of transcending established law and creating a new world order:
...I know...that he who is strong in mind and spirit will be [the commoners’]
master. He who dares much is right....He who dismisses with contempt what
men regard as sacred becomes their law-giver, and he who dares more than
anyone is more right than anyone....that power is given only to him who dares
to stoop and take it. (Dostoyevsky, 431)
Raskolnikov frequently uses the model of Napoléon as justification for his actions; he does in fact view himself as a modern Bonaparte throughout the early stages of the novel. Therefore, he does not believe that by killing the old woman he is committing a crime, but instead freeing himself from any hindrances to his future greatness. Yet, while such a philosophy is perfectly valid when analyzed cognitively, its application to the physical world is greatly flawed. The most damaging of all the “wilde Beasts” (La Celestina) that accost Raskolnikov is his own conscience. He had failed to include the human element in his equation, and he often acknowledges this error in the final parts of the text; the con of his reason was his exclusion of his emotions. While he rationally scrutinized every detail concerning his upcoming action--from the method of concealing his hatchet to what hat he should wear--he falsely judged his emotional control:
If only [he could] succeed in keeping [his] will and [his] reasoning faculties
unimpaired, then all the difficulties will be overcome....there was consequently
no danger of his reason or will-power being in any way affected during the
carrying out of his plan, simply because what he intended to do was ‘not a
crime’. (Dostoyevsky, 90-1)
Raskolnikov ultimately does not control his emotions during the murder and loses himself in the moment. He mechanically kills the sister of the moneylender and leaves behind the trail of physical evidence that he had planned to conceal. The death of the moneylender herself does not seem to weigh greatly upon his conscience, but the ‘accidental’ murder of her sister is of great agitation to him. Frequently assaulted by his guilt, Raskolnikov feels oppressed every time a possible path to freedom presents itself: after another man confesses to his crime, he “[felt] as though an enormous weight had pinned him to the ground, as though he had been drugged. Ever since that scene with Nikolay in Porfiry’s office he had begun to feel cramped and stifled” (Dostoyevsky, 458). There is definitely “no certainty in [the] calmes [of the world]” (La Celestina), the “calmes” in this instance being Raskolnikov’s apparent freedom. His anxiety in such moments ultimately leads to an understanding of the importance of uncertainty and disorder in the world. By the end of the text he has recognized the flaws in his ideology and consequently confesses his guilt. Conversing with Sonia, he blames his crime not on a Nietzsche-esque ‘superman’ ideal, but on the devil: “...I had no right to possess the power....I was not a Napoléon....the devil had dragged me there, and that it was only afterwards that he explained to me...that I was the same kind of louse as the rest” (Dostoyevsky, 432-3). Apparently he has completely rejected his formal ‘great-man’ ideology in favour of Christian supplication. Such a metamorphosis is somewhat unsatisfying, as Dostoyevsky’s skilful manipulation imparts in the reader a desire to witness Raskolnikov succeed in transcending from the plight of the average person. His character becomes uninspired and uninteresting, and one does not get the sense that he will ever become a ‘superman’ in the future. Perhaps the reader is left to ponder their own “Dance full of changes” (La Celestina), and modify their own rationale. Yet it cannot be ignored that when Raskolnikov finally finds peace after experiencing the chaos of his idealism, there cannot be a continuation of his story.
While the minutiae of Dante’s elementary ideology are not described explicitly, the details concerning his philosophical transformation are apparent. He is introduced in the text as having gone “astray/ from the straight road and [waking up] to find [himself]/ alone in a dark wood” (Dante, p. 1286, 1-3). Feeling inspired when he sees the light of the sun, which he interprets as a sign of hope, he attempts to escape from this wood by climbing over the first hill that he sees; such to him is the most logical solution to his entrapment. This easy resolution is not attainable, however, as Dante’s progress is arrested by three beasts representing the vices of worldliness. Driven back to the darkness of ignorance, the figure of Virgil appears to guide him down through the slope of Hell. Initially reacting to his isolation by relying on his rationality to guide him from the wood demonstrates one of the principal elements of Dante’s ideology: his faith in human logic. Taken in its obviously Christian context, such was contrary to divine truth and constitutes the primary deficiency of all humanity and can be traced to the fall of Adam and Eve. The wood itself could represent this error inherent in mortal life. Dante’s descent through the underworld is an attempt for his reason to bring him closer to that divine truth. Yet, while his initial confidence in logic hindered his progress, such logic was unguided and unbounded. By introducing Virgil as a guide, Dante’s reason becomes refined to see only what must be seen in order to acknowledge sin. Through logic Dante is to transcend logical thought and achieve divine grace. This paradox remains incomprehensible to him until he encounters the various sinners in hell. Through a gradual and labyrinthine process of acquaintance and cognizance of their sins, Dante realizes that all the sinners have been condemned for subjecting themselves to the same vices that originally led him “from the True Way” (1286, 12). They are then subject to the unearthly logic of hell and punished according to their crimes. Therefore, in accordance with this logic, for his faith in logic Dante is ‘punished’ by being led through hell by the personification of reason. In this instance the punishment allows the criminal the freedom to sublimate himself and change his philosophy to conform to the will of the condemner; Dante is the only ‘sinner’ in the text allowed this freedom. The souls are withheld from the divine light of truth because of their inability to see beyond reason, and they are therefore damned to an eternity without hope. Indeed, the poet seems to suggest that there is not even a place for hope in the world, which the pilgrim had originally relied on, as it must literally be abandoned before journeying towards spiritual enlightenment. Dante has in fact abandoned any thoughts of hope for the journey through hell: he shows no desire or excitement toward the prospect of exiting from the underworld. Alternately, he demonstrates a resignation to the journey itself; he has learned that there is no reason for either despair or hope as his ordeal is governed entirely by divine reason. Thus Dante becomes more sure of his path and more certain of his future. He no longer wanders lost in the “valley of evil/ whose maze had sapped [his] very heart with fear” (1287, 13-14) as he had before his journey, but “without thought of rest/...climb[s] the dark” (1423, 139-40) certain that he is on the path to enlightenment. Dante’s philosophical transformation, therefore, is opposite to that suggested by the quotation from La Celestina. While he once looked at the world rationally and found only chaos, he rejected human logic in favour of divine reason and found the world to indeed be “governed by order and ruled by reason” (La Celestina).
The common belief shared by both Raskolnikov and Dante at the end of their respective texts is a faith in divine order. Initially, each of them subscribed to human logic and reason yet ultimately found such an outlook erroneous. While Dante became liberated and enlightened by such a realization and ultimately found salvation, it seems as though Raskolnikov lost his soul during his metamorphosis. Certainly his appeal is diminished in the eyes of the reader. Originally observing the world in a rational manner, he was driven into a state of chaos. Yet upon rejecting his logic and accepting divine will, he became insipid and lifeless. Conversely, Dante became rejuvenated by his subjugation to the machinations of the divine, and consequently remains an interesting character. Such shifts in the ideologies and consequent salvation or damnation of these two disparate characters are both Pro or Con.
Bibliography
Alighieri, Dante. Inferno. Trans. John Ciardi. The Norton Anthology of World Masterpieces.
Gen. Ed. Maynard Mack. 6th ed. Vol. 1. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1992.
1286-1423.
Dostoyevsky, Fyodor. Crime and Punishment. Trans. David Magarshack. London: Penguin
Books, 1951.
For Raskolnikov, the world is governed by certain cardinal laws that could be learned and subsequently utilized by man for his own purposes. His interpretation of these laws was obviously influenced by his isolation for the majority of his adult life--they do not translate well to the practical world. Raskolnikov developed a highly theoretical system of beliefs that he was to realize by murdering the moneylender and her sister. He hypothesized that certain men could be worthy of transcending established law and creating a new world order:
...I know...that he who is strong in mind and spirit will be [the commoners’]
master. He who dares much is right....He who dismisses with contempt what
men regard as sacred becomes their law-giver, and he who dares more than
anyone is more right than anyone....that power is given only to him who dares
to stoop and take it. (Dostoyevsky, 431)
Raskolnikov frequently uses the model of Napoléon as justification for his actions; he does in fact view himself as a modern Bonaparte throughout the early stages of the novel. Therefore, he does not believe that by killing the old woman he is committing a crime, but instead freeing himself from any hindrances to his future greatness. Yet, while such a philosophy is perfectly valid when analyzed cognitively, its application to the physical world is greatly flawed. The most damaging of all the “wilde Beasts” (La Celestina) that accost Raskolnikov is his own conscience. He had failed to include the human element in his equation, and he often acknowledges this error in the final parts of the text; the con of his reason was his exclusion of his emotions. While he rationally scrutinized every detail concerning his upcoming action--from the method of concealing his hatchet to what hat he should wear--he falsely judged his emotional control:
If only [he could] succeed in keeping [his] will and [his] reasoning faculties
unimpaired, then all the difficulties will be overcome....there was consequently
no danger of his reason or will-power being in any way affected during the
carrying out of his plan, simply because what he intended to do was ‘not a
crime’. (Dostoyevsky, 90-1)
Raskolnikov ultimately does not control his emotions during the murder and loses himself in the moment. He mechanically kills the sister of the moneylender and leaves behind the trail of physical evidence that he had planned to conceal. The death of the moneylender herself does not seem to weigh greatly upon his conscience, but the ‘accidental’ murder of her sister is of great agitation to him. Frequently assaulted by his guilt, Raskolnikov feels oppressed every time a possible path to freedom presents itself: after another man confesses to his crime, he “[felt] as though an enormous weight had pinned him to the ground, as though he had been drugged. Ever since that scene with Nikolay in Porfiry’s office he had begun to feel cramped and stifled” (Dostoyevsky, 458). There is definitely “no certainty in [the] calmes [of the world]” (La Celestina), the “calmes” in this instance being Raskolnikov’s apparent freedom. His anxiety in such moments ultimately leads to an understanding of the importance of uncertainty and disorder in the world. By the end of the text he has recognized the flaws in his ideology and consequently confesses his guilt. Conversing with Sonia, he blames his crime not on a Nietzsche-esque ‘superman’ ideal, but on the devil: “...I had no right to possess the power....I was not a Napoléon....the devil had dragged me there, and that it was only afterwards that he explained to me...that I was the same kind of louse as the rest” (Dostoyevsky, 432-3). Apparently he has completely rejected his formal ‘great-man’ ideology in favour of Christian supplication. Such a metamorphosis is somewhat unsatisfying, as Dostoyevsky’s skilful manipulation imparts in the reader a desire to witness Raskolnikov succeed in transcending from the plight of the average person. His character becomes uninspired and uninteresting, and one does not get the sense that he will ever become a ‘superman’ in the future. Perhaps the reader is left to ponder their own “Dance full of changes” (La Celestina), and modify their own rationale. Yet it cannot be ignored that when Raskolnikov finally finds peace after experiencing the chaos of his idealism, there cannot be a continuation of his story.
While the minutiae of Dante’s elementary ideology are not described explicitly, the details concerning his philosophical transformation are apparent. He is introduced in the text as having gone “astray/ from the straight road and [waking up] to find [himself]/ alone in a dark wood” (Dante, p. 1286, 1-3). Feeling inspired when he sees the light of the sun, which he interprets as a sign of hope, he attempts to escape from this wood by climbing over the first hill that he sees; such to him is the most logical solution to his entrapment. This easy resolution is not attainable, however, as Dante’s progress is arrested by three beasts representing the vices of worldliness. Driven back to the darkness of ignorance, the figure of Virgil appears to guide him down through the slope of Hell. Initially reacting to his isolation by relying on his rationality to guide him from the wood demonstrates one of the principal elements of Dante’s ideology: his faith in human logic. Taken in its obviously Christian context, such was contrary to divine truth and constitutes the primary deficiency of all humanity and can be traced to the fall of Adam and Eve. The wood itself could represent this error inherent in mortal life. Dante’s descent through the underworld is an attempt for his reason to bring him closer to that divine truth. Yet, while his initial confidence in logic hindered his progress, such logic was unguided and unbounded. By introducing Virgil as a guide, Dante’s reason becomes refined to see only what must be seen in order to acknowledge sin. Through logic Dante is to transcend logical thought and achieve divine grace. This paradox remains incomprehensible to him until he encounters the various sinners in hell. Through a gradual and labyrinthine process of acquaintance and cognizance of their sins, Dante realizes that all the sinners have been condemned for subjecting themselves to the same vices that originally led him “from the True Way” (1286, 12). They are then subject to the unearthly logic of hell and punished according to their crimes. Therefore, in accordance with this logic, for his faith in logic Dante is ‘punished’ by being led through hell by the personification of reason. In this instance the punishment allows the criminal the freedom to sublimate himself and change his philosophy to conform to the will of the condemner; Dante is the only ‘sinner’ in the text allowed this freedom. The souls are withheld from the divine light of truth because of their inability to see beyond reason, and they are therefore damned to an eternity without hope. Indeed, the poet seems to suggest that there is not even a place for hope in the world, which the pilgrim had originally relied on, as it must literally be abandoned before journeying towards spiritual enlightenment. Dante has in fact abandoned any thoughts of hope for the journey through hell: he shows no desire or excitement toward the prospect of exiting from the underworld. Alternately, he demonstrates a resignation to the journey itself; he has learned that there is no reason for either despair or hope as his ordeal is governed entirely by divine reason. Thus Dante becomes more sure of his path and more certain of his future. He no longer wanders lost in the “valley of evil/ whose maze had sapped [his] very heart with fear” (1287, 13-14) as he had before his journey, but “without thought of rest/...climb[s] the dark” (1423, 139-40) certain that he is on the path to enlightenment. Dante’s philosophical transformation, therefore, is opposite to that suggested by the quotation from La Celestina. While he once looked at the world rationally and found only chaos, he rejected human logic in favour of divine reason and found the world to indeed be “governed by order and ruled by reason” (La Celestina).
The common belief shared by both Raskolnikov and Dante at the end of their respective texts is a faith in divine order. Initially, each of them subscribed to human logic and reason yet ultimately found such an outlook erroneous. While Dante became liberated and enlightened by such a realization and ultimately found salvation, it seems as though Raskolnikov lost his soul during his metamorphosis. Certainly his appeal is diminished in the eyes of the reader. Originally observing the world in a rational manner, he was driven into a state of chaos. Yet upon rejecting his logic and accepting divine will, he became insipid and lifeless. Conversely, Dante became rejuvenated by his subjugation to the machinations of the divine, and consequently remains an interesting character. Such shifts in the ideologies and consequent salvation or damnation of these two disparate characters are both Pro or Con.
Bibliography
Alighieri, Dante. Inferno. Trans. John Ciardi. The Norton Anthology of World Masterpieces.
Gen. Ed. Maynard Mack. 6th ed. Vol. 1. New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1992.
1286-1423.
Dostoyevsky, Fyodor. Crime and Punishment. Trans. David Magarshack. London: Penguin
Books, 1951.
Tuesday, August 05, 1997
Politics in Republican Rome
Roman Politics
The composition and operation of the Roman Republic has had a great influence on many subsequent governments in the western world. One can observe many parallels, as the republic straddles political ideology in both antiquity and modern times. Yet it must be noted that the
republic as it existed in Rome was fundamentally determined by its place in history, and modern values must therefore not be equated with those in antiquity. While the vote of the people was part of the system, Rome was largely oligarchical. Herein will be examined the arrangement of the governmental system and the practice of getting elected as it existed largely in the mid- to late- republic. Additionally, the methods by which power was controlled, especially by the aristocracy will be noted.
Fundamentally, the republic was structured on ancient tribal groupings that had existed for centuries before its foundation. These tribes, which were based on familial ties and ancient land holdings, gathered together to form the tribal assembly, or comitia tributa. The fate of legislation presented to this assembly was determined by a majority vote of the tribes, which in turn was determined by a majority vote of the individual members of each tribe. A second assembly was also used for voting purposes, although this one, the comitia centuriata, was organized by age and wealth in addition to tribal divisions. From this assembly can be felt the power of the nobility as voting was taken by century, those of the poor being greatly outnumbered by those of the aristocratic class. One of the main purposes of these assemblies was to elect the various magistracies that existed at Rome to govern both the city and the provinces. The lesser magistracies–the quaestors, aediles, and tribunes–were determined by the comitia tributa, while the most important positions–the praetors, consuls, and censors–were elected by the vote of the centuries. The third important assembly in Rome was the Senate, which was constituted of ex-magistrates. By the late republic its authorization was required to pass legislation and any decrees it issued were to be strictly adhered to. Ironically, the power of the senate was increased by the attempts of two plebian tribunes to bypass its power. In order to pass land redistribution and other laws to aid the lower and middle classes, the brothers Gracchi demonstrated the power of the tribunate to appeal to the people. In response to this the senate issued the senatus consultum ultimatum, which declared martial law and resulted in the deaths of the Gracchi. In subsequent decrees of the S.C.U., the senate ratified the bill to persecute its enemies, declaring them ‘enemies of the state.’ Subsequently, the power of the tribunes were greatly diminished, and the senate became further empowered. Therefore, it can be easily observed that structurally, power in Rome was under tight control of the nobles.
Nobility was of great importance in obtaining political office in Rome. There was never a salary paid to the various magistracies of Rome, therefore the political system revolved around an individual’s ambitions for power, honor, and fame. There were many methods to gain all three during an individual’s political career. In order to advance through the cursus honorum, which was the established legal sequence of holding the various magistracies from quaestor to censor, an aspiring politician had to establish a good public image. Such could be most immediately accomplished through military victory and its consequent triumph; additionally, a triumphator could immortalize their victory by erecting statues and monuments to themselves. Furthermore, military crises could result in the continual support of a prominent military officer to retain imperium longer than was legally allowable. Similarly, the senate may have been anxious that the glory that some politicians would gain in triumph would undermine their power, and thus they may have attempted to influence consular elections: in the war against Hannibal, the senate did not want M. Terentius Varro, a consul who was critical of their abilities, to validate his claims by defeating Hannibal and therefore another consul was given the command. What the senate feared most was that a triumphant consul who was critical of them would be elevated to the censorship, as did C. Flaminius.
A second method of advancement, and one which was far more accessible than military command, was public oratory, either before the assemblies or in one of the various courts of Rome. An aspiring politician who was a competent speaker could easily sway the assembly to their ideologies. One of the more common tools used by politicians was to stress the important, or even divine, status of their ancestors: Gaius Gracchus emphasized the supernatural events of his family history by relating a ‘prophetic’ dream that he had pertaining to his then-deceased brother Tiberius. Additionally, prestige and political respect derived from the public’s belief that a politician conducted himself in an appropriate manner in both the public and private spheres and that he was not influenced by ‘enemies of the state’ or by gaining profit at public expense. Consequently, many attacks were made against opponents using these suspicions as a basis to promote a rising politician’s own cause. Respect and prestige could also be gained be the display of oratorical skills in the popular courts. A successful prosecution or defense would greatly increase a budding politician’s popularity, as demonstrated by Cicero’s winning prosecution of Verres. Alternately, a politician might use the courts to conspire against his opponents and improve his popularity. A common tactic was to accuse an opponent of bribery to lessen his support. Other charges, such as extortion, were used against political opponents in an effort not only to discredit them, but also to advance the interests of a politician and his supporters. It seems likely that the trial of Rutilius Rufus was conducted to ensure the economic interests of the equites in Asia and their support of G. Marius against certain senators. Such accusations were common enough to warrant a politician’s attention. Therefore they needed to secure a good sized group of friends, or amici, to protect him from public charges: these friends would act as witnesses, jurors, magistrates, and advocates in court; they would also be important in election times.
Ironically, many of these supporters were gained through bribery, either implicitly or explicitly displayed. While monetary ‘donations’ to potential supporters were common enough, more often a politician would be more discrete, gaining sponsors by presenting lavish diners, purchasing expensive clothes for them, and treating them to free seats at spectacles. While many laws were enacted to curtail the extent of bribery in politics, such laws were easily bypassed. Instead of a politician presenting dinners himself, he could employ his friends to do so for him; additionally, a politician could use the divisores, tribal officials, to distribute bribes among a tribe of which he was not an official patron. If support was not to be found through an open wallet, it could also be gained with a closed fist. Physical harassment of voters was common enough to force reforms in the assembly: secret ballots provided anonymity and the narrowing of the galleries that led to the tribunal decreased violence before elections. It is notable that the use of bribery and violence as means to persuade the voters and eliminate political rivals was largely executed by the senators and other members of the wealthy aristocracy; it was they alone who could afford bribes and gangs of toughs to support their desires through physical coercion. The issuing of the senatus consultum ultimum to execute G. Gracchus and many of his followers is a good example of this. Similarly, the nobility could control the vote of the assemblies by securing the rural vote, either through bribery or violence. Therefore it can be easily seen that many successful politicians in the mid- to late-republic were wealthy aristocrats.
The republic in Rome cannot be called a democracy as it was largely oligarchical in nature. From it’s structure to the methods of getting and keeping power, the republic emphasized the power of the wealthy. Indeed, there are many instances of the nobles’ keeping control over the republic against lower class politicians, or supporters of lower class values, from usurping too much power over the state; the massacres of the Gracchi and their followers are prime examples of this. Therefore, because of this, the democratic nature of the republic should not be over stressed.
Bibliography
Alexander, M. “How Many Roman Senators Were Ever Prosecuted?” Phoenix 47 (1993), 238-255.
Kallett-Marx, R. “The Trial of Rutilius Rufus,” Phoenix 44 (1990), 122-139.
Lintott, A. “Electoral Bribery in the Roman Republic,” JRS 80 (1990), 1-16.
Marsh, Frank Burr. A History of the Roman World from 146 to 30 B.C. London: 1963.
McDonald, A.H. Republican Rome. London: 1966.
Millar, F. “Politics, Persuasion, and the People Before the Social War (150-90 B.C.),” JRS 76
(1986), 1-11.
Rawson, E. “Religion and Politics in the Late Second Century B.C. at Rome,” Phoenix 28 (1974),
192-212.
Rosenstein, N. “Competition and Crisis in Mid-Republican Rome,” Phoenix 47 (1993), 313-338.
Wiseman, T.P. “Competition and Co-operation,” Roman Political Life 90 B.C. - A.D. 69. Ed. T.P. Wiseman. Exeter, U.K.: 1985.
The composition and operation of the Roman Republic has had a great influence on many subsequent governments in the western world. One can observe many parallels, as the republic straddles political ideology in both antiquity and modern times. Yet it must be noted that the
republic as it existed in Rome was fundamentally determined by its place in history, and modern values must therefore not be equated with those in antiquity. While the vote of the people was part of the system, Rome was largely oligarchical. Herein will be examined the arrangement of the governmental system and the practice of getting elected as it existed largely in the mid- to late- republic. Additionally, the methods by which power was controlled, especially by the aristocracy will be noted.
Fundamentally, the republic was structured on ancient tribal groupings that had existed for centuries before its foundation. These tribes, which were based on familial ties and ancient land holdings, gathered together to form the tribal assembly, or comitia tributa. The fate of legislation presented to this assembly was determined by a majority vote of the tribes, which in turn was determined by a majority vote of the individual members of each tribe. A second assembly was also used for voting purposes, although this one, the comitia centuriata, was organized by age and wealth in addition to tribal divisions. From this assembly can be felt the power of the nobility as voting was taken by century, those of the poor being greatly outnumbered by those of the aristocratic class. One of the main purposes of these assemblies was to elect the various magistracies that existed at Rome to govern both the city and the provinces. The lesser magistracies–the quaestors, aediles, and tribunes–were determined by the comitia tributa, while the most important positions–the praetors, consuls, and censors–were elected by the vote of the centuries. The third important assembly in Rome was the Senate, which was constituted of ex-magistrates. By the late republic its authorization was required to pass legislation and any decrees it issued were to be strictly adhered to. Ironically, the power of the senate was increased by the attempts of two plebian tribunes to bypass its power. In order to pass land redistribution and other laws to aid the lower and middle classes, the brothers Gracchi demonstrated the power of the tribunate to appeal to the people. In response to this the senate issued the senatus consultum ultimatum, which declared martial law and resulted in the deaths of the Gracchi. In subsequent decrees of the S.C.U., the senate ratified the bill to persecute its enemies, declaring them ‘enemies of the state.’ Subsequently, the power of the tribunes were greatly diminished, and the senate became further empowered. Therefore, it can be easily observed that structurally, power in Rome was under tight control of the nobles.
Nobility was of great importance in obtaining political office in Rome. There was never a salary paid to the various magistracies of Rome, therefore the political system revolved around an individual’s ambitions for power, honor, and fame. There were many methods to gain all three during an individual’s political career. In order to advance through the cursus honorum, which was the established legal sequence of holding the various magistracies from quaestor to censor, an aspiring politician had to establish a good public image. Such could be most immediately accomplished through military victory and its consequent triumph; additionally, a triumphator could immortalize their victory by erecting statues and monuments to themselves. Furthermore, military crises could result in the continual support of a prominent military officer to retain imperium longer than was legally allowable. Similarly, the senate may have been anxious that the glory that some politicians would gain in triumph would undermine their power, and thus they may have attempted to influence consular elections: in the war against Hannibal, the senate did not want M. Terentius Varro, a consul who was critical of their abilities, to validate his claims by defeating Hannibal and therefore another consul was given the command. What the senate feared most was that a triumphant consul who was critical of them would be elevated to the censorship, as did C. Flaminius.
A second method of advancement, and one which was far more accessible than military command, was public oratory, either before the assemblies or in one of the various courts of Rome. An aspiring politician who was a competent speaker could easily sway the assembly to their ideologies. One of the more common tools used by politicians was to stress the important, or even divine, status of their ancestors: Gaius Gracchus emphasized the supernatural events of his family history by relating a ‘prophetic’ dream that he had pertaining to his then-deceased brother Tiberius. Additionally, prestige and political respect derived from the public’s belief that a politician conducted himself in an appropriate manner in both the public and private spheres and that he was not influenced by ‘enemies of the state’ or by gaining profit at public expense. Consequently, many attacks were made against opponents using these suspicions as a basis to promote a rising politician’s own cause. Respect and prestige could also be gained be the display of oratorical skills in the popular courts. A successful prosecution or defense would greatly increase a budding politician’s popularity, as demonstrated by Cicero’s winning prosecution of Verres. Alternately, a politician might use the courts to conspire against his opponents and improve his popularity. A common tactic was to accuse an opponent of bribery to lessen his support. Other charges, such as extortion, were used against political opponents in an effort not only to discredit them, but also to advance the interests of a politician and his supporters. It seems likely that the trial of Rutilius Rufus was conducted to ensure the economic interests of the equites in Asia and their support of G. Marius against certain senators. Such accusations were common enough to warrant a politician’s attention. Therefore they needed to secure a good sized group of friends, or amici, to protect him from public charges: these friends would act as witnesses, jurors, magistrates, and advocates in court; they would also be important in election times.
Ironically, many of these supporters were gained through bribery, either implicitly or explicitly displayed. While monetary ‘donations’ to potential supporters were common enough, more often a politician would be more discrete, gaining sponsors by presenting lavish diners, purchasing expensive clothes for them, and treating them to free seats at spectacles. While many laws were enacted to curtail the extent of bribery in politics, such laws were easily bypassed. Instead of a politician presenting dinners himself, he could employ his friends to do so for him; additionally, a politician could use the divisores, tribal officials, to distribute bribes among a tribe of which he was not an official patron. If support was not to be found through an open wallet, it could also be gained with a closed fist. Physical harassment of voters was common enough to force reforms in the assembly: secret ballots provided anonymity and the narrowing of the galleries that led to the tribunal decreased violence before elections. It is notable that the use of bribery and violence as means to persuade the voters and eliminate political rivals was largely executed by the senators and other members of the wealthy aristocracy; it was they alone who could afford bribes and gangs of toughs to support their desires through physical coercion. The issuing of the senatus consultum ultimum to execute G. Gracchus and many of his followers is a good example of this. Similarly, the nobility could control the vote of the assemblies by securing the rural vote, either through bribery or violence. Therefore it can be easily seen that many successful politicians in the mid- to late-republic were wealthy aristocrats.
The republic in Rome cannot be called a democracy as it was largely oligarchical in nature. From it’s structure to the methods of getting and keeping power, the republic emphasized the power of the wealthy. Indeed, there are many instances of the nobles’ keeping control over the republic against lower class politicians, or supporters of lower class values, from usurping too much power over the state; the massacres of the Gracchi and their followers are prime examples of this. Therefore, because of this, the democratic nature of the republic should not be over stressed.
Bibliography
Alexander, M. “How Many Roman Senators Were Ever Prosecuted?” Phoenix 47 (1993), 238-255.
Kallett-Marx, R. “The Trial of Rutilius Rufus,” Phoenix 44 (1990), 122-139.
Lintott, A. “Electoral Bribery in the Roman Republic,” JRS 80 (1990), 1-16.
Marsh, Frank Burr. A History of the Roman World from 146 to 30 B.C. London: 1963.
McDonald, A.H. Republican Rome. London: 1966.
Millar, F. “Politics, Persuasion, and the People Before the Social War (150-90 B.C.),” JRS 76
(1986), 1-11.
Rawson, E. “Religion and Politics in the Late Second Century B.C. at Rome,” Phoenix 28 (1974),
192-212.
Rosenstein, N. “Competition and Crisis in Mid-Republican Rome,” Phoenix 47 (1993), 313-338.
Wiseman, T.P. “Competition and Co-operation,” Roman Political Life 90 B.C. - A.D. 69. Ed. T.P. Wiseman. Exeter, U.K.: 1985.
Thursday, April 17, 1997
Socioeconomic Status and Academic Achievement
What is the relationship between socioeconomic status and academic opportunity and achievement?
Boudon, Raymond. (1974). “Basic Mechanisms Generating Inequality of Educational Opportunity.” Education, Opportunity, and Social Inequality. New York: John Wiley & Sons.
This chapter attempts to provide a model for the creation of the inequality of educational opportunity (IEO) among social classes; the author uses survey data to address this issue. Initially, the author identifies several theories concerning IEO from the sociological literature: the “value theory” states that people in different socioeconomic classes differ in their values; alternately, the “social position theory” proposes that an individual’s social aspirations are related to their socioeconomic origins. He then provides data to support his own model for the basis of IEO. By introducing a two-step process by which IEO is generated--the primary effects of social stratification and its secondary effects upon an individual’s decision-making process--the author attempts to explain the various aspects of his data that were inconsistent with each individual theory. This ideology agrees with the functional theory of stratification. The evidence provided supports the model and validates the author’s argument, and is indeed in my mind convincing. The chapter provides a basic explanation for the cause of IEO, it does not merely identify the problem, and is therefore more complete and constructive than some of the other works cited here.
Cloward, Richard A. (1961).“Socioeconomic position and Academic Underachievement.” In William M. Cave and Mark A. Chesler, ed., Sociology of Education: An Anthology of Issues and Problems (pp. 134-48). New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc.
The author aspires to display an association between socioeconomic status and scholastic achievement; he uses archival data to support his argument. He begins his thesis by identifying two levels of underachievers: one who underachieves in contrast to the social ideology, and those who underachieve with the “unspoken support” of their society; those in the latter group largely constitute the lower class. Secondly, he explores the origins of the career mentality--high academic achievement at both secondary and post-secondary levels, leading to white-collar jobs--stressing it’s revolvement around middle-class values, which consequently excludes the lower class. He then states that students from the lower class perform poorly in school due to socialization: their parents do not expose them to intellectual matters necessary for academic success. The author’s ideology is consistent with the functional theory of social stratification, however it does contain elements of the conflict theory. I particularly favored this article as it focused upon people as individuals instead of collective classes. It was therefore more personal and convincing.
Hey, Stephen C., John A. Vonk, and Gary Willoughby. (1981). “A Theory of Academic Achievement.” In Blaine E. Mercer and Stephen C. Hey, ed., People in Schools: A Reader
of Learning and Teaching (pp. 97-118). Cambridge, Massachusetts: Schenkman Publishing, Inc.
The authors wish to prove that academic achievement is greatly influenced by socioeconomic status. They use archival data to support their thesis. The concept of the self plays a key role in determining academic success. Students are evaluated by authorities who ascribe certain prejudices to them; these evaluations negatively affect the student’s self image. Teachers subscribe to such prejudices because of their socioeconomic background, and that “success” in teaching revolves around changing behavior patterns in the students, a change most easily accomplished in middle-class students. Additionally, student tracking (assigning students to the various curricula) and ability grouping (classification of students into competency groups) influences self-image and consequently academic performance; such mechanisms greatly favor children from higher socioeconomic classes. This thesis is somewhat convincing--the supporting evidence is valid--yet it seems incomplete. It needs a more in-depth analysis of how self-image affects academic achievement (for example, it does not account for individuals of the low-class who have a bad self-image yet perform adequately in school: they seem motivated to transcend their socioeconomic status).
Martin, Wilfred B.W., and Allan J. Macdonell. (1982). “Educational Opportunities: Socioeconomic Variables.” Canadian Education: A Sociological Analysis. Scarborough, Ontario: Prentice-Hall Canada Inc.
In this section, the authors attempt to determine the extent to which socioeconomic variables influence academic opportunity and expectation. In order to accomplish this, they refer to the sociological literature (archival data) to provide evidence. The authors argue that there is indeed a strong correlation between the two. Most of the studies cited provide data showing that people from lower income families strive for less and consequently underachieve in their academic and career goals than their peers from the higher economic classes; this is frequently taken to the extreme point of ending their scholastic careers prematurely. Such a view is consistent with the functionalist theory of social stratification. While the argument is valid and the evidence complete and convincing, I would have preferred a more in-depth study. Perhaps personal interviews or a case study might have complemented the conclusiveness of the article.
Rist, Ray C. “Student Social Class and Teacher Expectations: The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy in Ghetto Education.” (1970). In Blaine E. Mercer and Stephen C. Hey, ed., People In Schools: A Reader of Learning and Teaching (pp. 75-96). Cambridge, Massachusetts: Schenkman Publishing Company, Inc.
The author provides a case study in an attempt to prove that students from low socioeconomic class perform poorly in school compared to their peers from the middle- and high-classes. Focusing initially on the teacher, the author demonstrates the prejudice of the educational system against students from the low class: they do not receive the amount of attention from the teacher as do their higher class peers. In response to this: the low-class students began to teach themselves; the higher class students internalized the ideology of the teacher and directed their derision upon the low-class students; and the low-class students ultimately began to show hostility towards each other. Ultimately, children from the low-class performed poorly, and continued to do so, because their success is not reinforced, and they lacked self-esteem and motivation concerning academics. Due to the personal nature of the evidence, I can relate to the issue presented; it is another study focusing upon individuals. It is quite effective in proving its point.
Boudon, Raymond. (1974). “Basic Mechanisms Generating Inequality of Educational Opportunity.” Education, Opportunity, and Social Inequality. New York: John Wiley & Sons.
This chapter attempts to provide a model for the creation of the inequality of educational opportunity (IEO) among social classes; the author uses survey data to address this issue. Initially, the author identifies several theories concerning IEO from the sociological literature: the “value theory” states that people in different socioeconomic classes differ in their values; alternately, the “social position theory” proposes that an individual’s social aspirations are related to their socioeconomic origins. He then provides data to support his own model for the basis of IEO. By introducing a two-step process by which IEO is generated--the primary effects of social stratification and its secondary effects upon an individual’s decision-making process--the author attempts to explain the various aspects of his data that were inconsistent with each individual theory. This ideology agrees with the functional theory of stratification. The evidence provided supports the model and validates the author’s argument, and is indeed in my mind convincing. The chapter provides a basic explanation for the cause of IEO, it does not merely identify the problem, and is therefore more complete and constructive than some of the other works cited here.
Cloward, Richard A. (1961).“Socioeconomic position and Academic Underachievement.” In William M. Cave and Mark A. Chesler, ed., Sociology of Education: An Anthology of Issues and Problems (pp. 134-48). New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc.
The author aspires to display an association between socioeconomic status and scholastic achievement; he uses archival data to support his argument. He begins his thesis by identifying two levels of underachievers: one who underachieves in contrast to the social ideology, and those who underachieve with the “unspoken support” of their society; those in the latter group largely constitute the lower class. Secondly, he explores the origins of the career mentality--high academic achievement at both secondary and post-secondary levels, leading to white-collar jobs--stressing it’s revolvement around middle-class values, which consequently excludes the lower class. He then states that students from the lower class perform poorly in school due to socialization: their parents do not expose them to intellectual matters necessary for academic success. The author’s ideology is consistent with the functional theory of social stratification, however it does contain elements of the conflict theory. I particularly favored this article as it focused upon people as individuals instead of collective classes. It was therefore more personal and convincing.
Hey, Stephen C., John A. Vonk, and Gary Willoughby. (1981). “A Theory of Academic Achievement.” In Blaine E. Mercer and Stephen C. Hey, ed., People in Schools: A Reader
of Learning and Teaching (pp. 97-118). Cambridge, Massachusetts: Schenkman Publishing, Inc.
The authors wish to prove that academic achievement is greatly influenced by socioeconomic status. They use archival data to support their thesis. The concept of the self plays a key role in determining academic success. Students are evaluated by authorities who ascribe certain prejudices to them; these evaluations negatively affect the student’s self image. Teachers subscribe to such prejudices because of their socioeconomic background, and that “success” in teaching revolves around changing behavior patterns in the students, a change most easily accomplished in middle-class students. Additionally, student tracking (assigning students to the various curricula) and ability grouping (classification of students into competency groups) influences self-image and consequently academic performance; such mechanisms greatly favor children from higher socioeconomic classes. This thesis is somewhat convincing--the supporting evidence is valid--yet it seems incomplete. It needs a more in-depth analysis of how self-image affects academic achievement (for example, it does not account for individuals of the low-class who have a bad self-image yet perform adequately in school: they seem motivated to transcend their socioeconomic status).
Martin, Wilfred B.W., and Allan J. Macdonell. (1982). “Educational Opportunities: Socioeconomic Variables.” Canadian Education: A Sociological Analysis. Scarborough, Ontario: Prentice-Hall Canada Inc.
In this section, the authors attempt to determine the extent to which socioeconomic variables influence academic opportunity and expectation. In order to accomplish this, they refer to the sociological literature (archival data) to provide evidence. The authors argue that there is indeed a strong correlation between the two. Most of the studies cited provide data showing that people from lower income families strive for less and consequently underachieve in their academic and career goals than their peers from the higher economic classes; this is frequently taken to the extreme point of ending their scholastic careers prematurely. Such a view is consistent with the functionalist theory of social stratification. While the argument is valid and the evidence complete and convincing, I would have preferred a more in-depth study. Perhaps personal interviews or a case study might have complemented the conclusiveness of the article.
Rist, Ray C. “Student Social Class and Teacher Expectations: The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy in Ghetto Education.” (1970). In Blaine E. Mercer and Stephen C. Hey, ed., People In Schools: A Reader of Learning and Teaching (pp. 75-96). Cambridge, Massachusetts: Schenkman Publishing Company, Inc.
The author provides a case study in an attempt to prove that students from low socioeconomic class perform poorly in school compared to their peers from the middle- and high-classes. Focusing initially on the teacher, the author demonstrates the prejudice of the educational system against students from the low class: they do not receive the amount of attention from the teacher as do their higher class peers. In response to this: the low-class students began to teach themselves; the higher class students internalized the ideology of the teacher and directed their derision upon the low-class students; and the low-class students ultimately began to show hostility towards each other. Ultimately, children from the low-class performed poorly, and continued to do so, because their success is not reinforced, and they lacked self-esteem and motivation concerning academics. Due to the personal nature of the evidence, I can relate to the issue presented; it is another study focusing upon individuals. It is quite effective in proving its point.
Friday, April 11, 1997
Aeneas as Hercules Reincarnate
In creating the Aeneid, Virgil attempted to fashion a universal hero for the Roman world akin to Hercules in Greek mythology. The hero of the epic, Aeneas, was to exemplify Roman imperialism and unite the populace behind the empire much as Hercules consolidated the disparate Greek city-states. Indeed in many respects he is in a sense a reincarnation of Hercules, adapted to suit the more modern ideals of Rome. As such he shares many physical and psychological qualities with the Greek hero; indeed both men become elevated beyond mortal status by their prowess. However, the two heroes contrast in several respects, reflecting the differences between the Greek and Roman civilizations. While both Hercules and Aeneas defended against threats to civilization, to the Romans, Aeneas was much more enlightened and therefore infinitely superior to the barbaric Greek. Such ideals of moral superiority figure greatly in the character of Aeneas.
The traditional concept of heroic individuals or actions had not changed significantly by the dawn of the imperial age when the Aeneid was written. Thus Aeneas was an archetypal hero for the Romans, one whose character was based on ancient conventions and was centered mainly upon his physical prowess. The most overt aspects of his personality, and those that most clearly demonstrate his congruence with Hercules, are his strength and agility. While these traits do not become manifest until the war in Italy in the final books of the poem, the delay causes them to become emphasized. His great strength and dexterity allow him to overcome many Latins in battle. Indeed, his skill and courage in combat quickly become his dominant features as the war progresses. He shares with Hercules the utmost self-assurance which elevated physical ability allows. He does not check himself in battle but rather relishes it: upon returning to his besieged encampment, “Aeneas was the first to charge against the levies of country-folk...and he was the first to strike Latins down.” (Virgil, p.260). Additionally, his physical stamina allows him to endure both the long travels before reaching Italy and the rigors of battle against the Italians. Yet such courage and ability are sometimes misguided; Aeneas’s personality includes one of Hercules’s principal vices. Several instances in the Aeneid document Aeneas’s tendency toward losing control to his impulses, seen notably when rage overpowers his sense of judgement. Such occurs when he encounters Helen in the streets of Troy while it is being sacked by the Greeks. His fury over the loss of his beloved city allows “madness [to master his] judgement and [gain] complete control” (Virgil, p.68), and nearly causes him to attack the defenseless woman. During the dual with Turnus at the end of the text, Aeneas shows no pity towards the defeated Italian; indeed as he notices his opponent wearing the girdle of his companion Pallas, his “fury [kindles, and he becomes] terrible in his rage” (Virgil, p.338). However, unlike Hercules who frequently wallows in self-blame, he does not show such qualities as self-accusation and quick penitence for his hasty actions. It is not until he encounters Dido in the underworld that Aeneas displays any grief over his abandonment of her and her consequent suicide; yet despite such sorrow he remains ignorant of his personal accountability for her death. Similarly, after losing his wife Creusa while fleeing from Troy, Aeneas lays the blame not on himself but upon “some unkind power [that] robbed [him] of his wits....[he then] upbraided every deity, and cursed the whole human race.” (Virgil, p.73). Yet, such adverse characteristics do not greatly impede Aeneas in his quest. Conversely, by overcoming them Aeneas’s positive traits are emphasized: only truly distinguished individuals can achieve greatness despite such flaws.
Similarly to Hercules, Aeneas is elevated beyond mortal status by such qualities and by his many remarkable exploits. Virgil presents Aeneas in a manner of respect and admiration, identifying him as “Father Aeneas” and “Aeneas the True” throughout the text, implying his importance to the future Rome. By referring to him as “the True”, Virgil emphasizes not only Aeneas’s loyalty to his homeland and his family, but also the necessity of his campaign to establish Rome. The various titles given to him by Virgil appear to elevate him to the status of a minor deity for the Roman people; truly such was Virgil’s intent. Indeed, though he initially needs divine guidance, Aeneas focuses his energies upon his objective. Quite literally his eyes remain fixed, thereby adding to the image of a determined icon with a single-minded pursuit: against the despair and pleas of Dido, he “held his eyes steady” (Virgil, p.107). Within the narrative itself, his significance is confirmed by the attention he receives from the gods and the respect granted to him by the mortals he encounters. To his fellow Trojans he is not merely another refugee from the fallen city but their king and inspiration; in his presence they feel no fear. As they journey with Aeneas, they do not question his authority or fear failure, but rather they delight in the certainty of his success in founding their new home. Before entreating Aeneas to follow his destiny outside ravaged Troy, the dream-spirit of Hector calls him the “light of the Dardan Land [and] Troy’s surest hope” (Virgil, p.59). To the gods he is a mortal destined for greatness; indeed his quest is so substantial that for his protection he receives armour and a shield crafted by Vulcan. He was one of the few mortals who was allowed to bend the established order and pass living into the underworld, a journey required to ensure his understanding of the importance of his destiny. Yet, in order to reach such an exalted state he had to endure the wrath of Juno and Venus. Such consideration by the queen of the gods is akin to her involvement in the life of Hercules. As she hated Hercules, so she despised the Trojan people and Aeneas in particular for his destined establishment of the Roman empire and continually attempted to impede his quest; yet even she could not overthrow the Fates. Even the gods were powerless to obstruct his inevitable greatness.
Clearly their championing of civilization gave both Aeneas and Hercules their heroic status. The majority of the stories concerning Hercules are centered upon his preservation of civilization against the evils of the wilderness. An account of this is presented in Book VIII of the Aeneid, in which Hercules liberated the people of King Evander from the monster Cacus. The light of civilization was spared from barbarism as Hercules slew the monster and “tore down the doors and the murky den was thrown open” (Virgil, p.209). He accomplished the same feats while enduring his twelve labors, the bulk of which involved killing or subduing beasts who threatened society. Aeneas realized a similar accomplishment: to found Rome he first had to subdue and integrate the native Italians. His chief opponent, Turnus, was the absolute embodiment of barbarism; in many ways he was comparable to the adversaries of Hercules. He was a young hero who became consumed by his own passions and fiery temperament. Indeed, his appearance reflected his personality:
His tall helmet was crowned by a triple plume and supported a Chimera
breathing Etna’s fires from its jaws; and ever louder it roared, and madder
grew the menace of its flames as grimmer grew the battle amid streaming
blood. (Virgil, p.199)
Turnus’s appearance reflects that of Cacus, who “belched [Vulcan’s] pitchy fires out of his mouth” (Virgil, p.207). By vanquishing Turnus, Aeneas brings the light of civilization into Italy; literally he had transported the hearth-fires from Troy among his possessions. The nature of their conflict is important as well. The fate of both the Trojans and the Italians falls upon the outcome of a single dual between Aeneas and Turnus; the personifications of society and barbarism collide violently. Yet while both heroes crusaded to spread civilization, the extent to which they themselves were civilized was vastly dissimilar. Hercules’s weapon of choice was a club, a primitive bludgeoning device that requires little skill to employ. Alternately, Aeneas wielded spears and more importantly a sword, armaments that can only be constructed in more advanced societies and require an equal sophistication in their handling. Furthermore, while Aeneas shares a predilection toward impulsiveness, such passions are largely within his control and are relatively innocuous, and are certainly not comparable to the explosive anger frequently demonstrated by Hercules. Additionally, Aeneas never indulged excessively in the pleasures of the flesh; he was not one to become drunk in a time of mourning. Indeed as a whole his attitude toward his objective was infinitely more solemn and dignified--he views his destined achievements as crucial and monumental, not as a “piece of work” (Euripides, 481)-- and thus the reader appreciates the importance of Aeneas’s enterprise. By presenting the founder of Rome in such a manner, Virgil actualizes his intended purpose of displaying Rome’s destined dominance as cultural and societal ruler among nations.
To Virgil’s readers, Aeneas was revered and was recognized for being of infinite importance, much as Hercules was to the Greeks. Indeed, Aeneas was modeled after Hercules, and thus they have many characteristics in common. Yet Virgil wanted to portray a more cultured, sophisticated, and ultimately civilized hero as befitting the Roman empire, and therefore Aeneas was conceived as such. While the Romans respected Hercules, he was perceived as being as inferior to Aeneas as the Greek city-states were to Rome. Truly, Aeneas was the personification of Roman imperialism.
Bibliography
Euripides, Alcestis. Trans. Richmond Lattimore. Greek Tragedies. Ed. David Greene and Richmond Lattimore. Vol. 3. Chicago, United States of America: University of Chicago Press, 1968. 261-311.
Hamilton, Edith. Mythology. Boston, United States of America: Little Brown and Company, 1942.
Virgil, The Aeneid. Trans. W.F. Jackson Knight. Harmondsworth, England: Penguin Books Ltd., 1972.
The traditional concept of heroic individuals or actions had not changed significantly by the dawn of the imperial age when the Aeneid was written. Thus Aeneas was an archetypal hero for the Romans, one whose character was based on ancient conventions and was centered mainly upon his physical prowess. The most overt aspects of his personality, and those that most clearly demonstrate his congruence with Hercules, are his strength and agility. While these traits do not become manifest until the war in Italy in the final books of the poem, the delay causes them to become emphasized. His great strength and dexterity allow him to overcome many Latins in battle. Indeed, his skill and courage in combat quickly become his dominant features as the war progresses. He shares with Hercules the utmost self-assurance which elevated physical ability allows. He does not check himself in battle but rather relishes it: upon returning to his besieged encampment, “Aeneas was the first to charge against the levies of country-folk...and he was the first to strike Latins down.” (Virgil, p.260). Additionally, his physical stamina allows him to endure both the long travels before reaching Italy and the rigors of battle against the Italians. Yet such courage and ability are sometimes misguided; Aeneas’s personality includes one of Hercules’s principal vices. Several instances in the Aeneid document Aeneas’s tendency toward losing control to his impulses, seen notably when rage overpowers his sense of judgement. Such occurs when he encounters Helen in the streets of Troy while it is being sacked by the Greeks. His fury over the loss of his beloved city allows “madness [to master his] judgement and [gain] complete control” (Virgil, p.68), and nearly causes him to attack the defenseless woman. During the dual with Turnus at the end of the text, Aeneas shows no pity towards the defeated Italian; indeed as he notices his opponent wearing the girdle of his companion Pallas, his “fury [kindles, and he becomes] terrible in his rage” (Virgil, p.338). However, unlike Hercules who frequently wallows in self-blame, he does not show such qualities as self-accusation and quick penitence for his hasty actions. It is not until he encounters Dido in the underworld that Aeneas displays any grief over his abandonment of her and her consequent suicide; yet despite such sorrow he remains ignorant of his personal accountability for her death. Similarly, after losing his wife Creusa while fleeing from Troy, Aeneas lays the blame not on himself but upon “some unkind power [that] robbed [him] of his wits....[he then] upbraided every deity, and cursed the whole human race.” (Virgil, p.73). Yet, such adverse characteristics do not greatly impede Aeneas in his quest. Conversely, by overcoming them Aeneas’s positive traits are emphasized: only truly distinguished individuals can achieve greatness despite such flaws.
Similarly to Hercules, Aeneas is elevated beyond mortal status by such qualities and by his many remarkable exploits. Virgil presents Aeneas in a manner of respect and admiration, identifying him as “Father Aeneas” and “Aeneas the True” throughout the text, implying his importance to the future Rome. By referring to him as “the True”, Virgil emphasizes not only Aeneas’s loyalty to his homeland and his family, but also the necessity of his campaign to establish Rome. The various titles given to him by Virgil appear to elevate him to the status of a minor deity for the Roman people; truly such was Virgil’s intent. Indeed, though he initially needs divine guidance, Aeneas focuses his energies upon his objective. Quite literally his eyes remain fixed, thereby adding to the image of a determined icon with a single-minded pursuit: against the despair and pleas of Dido, he “held his eyes steady” (Virgil, p.107). Within the narrative itself, his significance is confirmed by the attention he receives from the gods and the respect granted to him by the mortals he encounters. To his fellow Trojans he is not merely another refugee from the fallen city but their king and inspiration; in his presence they feel no fear. As they journey with Aeneas, they do not question his authority or fear failure, but rather they delight in the certainty of his success in founding their new home. Before entreating Aeneas to follow his destiny outside ravaged Troy, the dream-spirit of Hector calls him the “light of the Dardan Land [and] Troy’s surest hope” (Virgil, p.59). To the gods he is a mortal destined for greatness; indeed his quest is so substantial that for his protection he receives armour and a shield crafted by Vulcan. He was one of the few mortals who was allowed to bend the established order and pass living into the underworld, a journey required to ensure his understanding of the importance of his destiny. Yet, in order to reach such an exalted state he had to endure the wrath of Juno and Venus. Such consideration by the queen of the gods is akin to her involvement in the life of Hercules. As she hated Hercules, so she despised the Trojan people and Aeneas in particular for his destined establishment of the Roman empire and continually attempted to impede his quest; yet even she could not overthrow the Fates. Even the gods were powerless to obstruct his inevitable greatness.
Clearly their championing of civilization gave both Aeneas and Hercules their heroic status. The majority of the stories concerning Hercules are centered upon his preservation of civilization against the evils of the wilderness. An account of this is presented in Book VIII of the Aeneid, in which Hercules liberated the people of King Evander from the monster Cacus. The light of civilization was spared from barbarism as Hercules slew the monster and “tore down the doors and the murky den was thrown open” (Virgil, p.209). He accomplished the same feats while enduring his twelve labors, the bulk of which involved killing or subduing beasts who threatened society. Aeneas realized a similar accomplishment: to found Rome he first had to subdue and integrate the native Italians. His chief opponent, Turnus, was the absolute embodiment of barbarism; in many ways he was comparable to the adversaries of Hercules. He was a young hero who became consumed by his own passions and fiery temperament. Indeed, his appearance reflected his personality:
His tall helmet was crowned by a triple plume and supported a Chimera
breathing Etna’s fires from its jaws; and ever louder it roared, and madder
grew the menace of its flames as grimmer grew the battle amid streaming
blood. (Virgil, p.199)
Turnus’s appearance reflects that of Cacus, who “belched [Vulcan’s] pitchy fires out of his mouth” (Virgil, p.207). By vanquishing Turnus, Aeneas brings the light of civilization into Italy; literally he had transported the hearth-fires from Troy among his possessions. The nature of their conflict is important as well. The fate of both the Trojans and the Italians falls upon the outcome of a single dual between Aeneas and Turnus; the personifications of society and barbarism collide violently. Yet while both heroes crusaded to spread civilization, the extent to which they themselves were civilized was vastly dissimilar. Hercules’s weapon of choice was a club, a primitive bludgeoning device that requires little skill to employ. Alternately, Aeneas wielded spears and more importantly a sword, armaments that can only be constructed in more advanced societies and require an equal sophistication in their handling. Furthermore, while Aeneas shares a predilection toward impulsiveness, such passions are largely within his control and are relatively innocuous, and are certainly not comparable to the explosive anger frequently demonstrated by Hercules. Additionally, Aeneas never indulged excessively in the pleasures of the flesh; he was not one to become drunk in a time of mourning. Indeed as a whole his attitude toward his objective was infinitely more solemn and dignified--he views his destined achievements as crucial and monumental, not as a “piece of work” (Euripides, 481)-- and thus the reader appreciates the importance of Aeneas’s enterprise. By presenting the founder of Rome in such a manner, Virgil actualizes his intended purpose of displaying Rome’s destined dominance as cultural and societal ruler among nations.
To Virgil’s readers, Aeneas was revered and was recognized for being of infinite importance, much as Hercules was to the Greeks. Indeed, Aeneas was modeled after Hercules, and thus they have many characteristics in common. Yet Virgil wanted to portray a more cultured, sophisticated, and ultimately civilized hero as befitting the Roman empire, and therefore Aeneas was conceived as such. While the Romans respected Hercules, he was perceived as being as inferior to Aeneas as the Greek city-states were to Rome. Truly, Aeneas was the personification of Roman imperialism.
Bibliography
Euripides, Alcestis. Trans. Richmond Lattimore. Greek Tragedies. Ed. David Greene and Richmond Lattimore. Vol. 3. Chicago, United States of America: University of Chicago Press, 1968. 261-311.
Hamilton, Edith. Mythology. Boston, United States of America: Little Brown and Company, 1942.
Virgil, The Aeneid. Trans. W.F. Jackson Knight. Harmondsworth, England: Penguin Books Ltd., 1972.
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