Jonathon Anderson“The bud disappears when the blossom
breaks through” It seems that most courses tend to
focus on one topic or point in time. So far at UHCL I’ve taken Literary Genres
and Perspectives (which focused on the elements of literary criticism),
Victorian Literature, and American Realism. At first glance, Early American
Literature seems like a similar undertaking, and considering the commentary
offered by some previous students on other approaches to “Early American” texts,
it may be similar for many professors (Rochelle Latouche’s
Evolution of American Literature,
Native Misconceptions,
Jillian Norris’s
Exploring the Unknown in American Literature).
Compared to a roster of readings that may span fifty or sixty years, the
audacity of proposing to start with a text written in 1492 at the exact moment
of the creation of an American literature (if we define American literature as
the intellectual meeting point between European culture and the preexisting
culture of the Americas) and then traverse roughly 300 years of social and
intellectual development is mindboggling even if we confine ourselves to a
limited geographical area. The only other courses I’ve ever
encountered with as large a chronological scope are Music History I and II
(ancient Greece to the Middle Ages and then the Renaissance to the Modern era)
and a Western World Literature course that started with Gilgamesh and ended with
the Renaissance. In both of these instances, the concept of the historical
period is used to organize the work of the hundreds (or even thousands) of
individual artists into more manageable groupings. As the “Periods”
webpage explains, by understanding the basic trends in aesthetic taste, the
patterns of intellectual thought, and cultural values at certain points in time,
we can more easily talk to each other about the idiosyncrasies of individual
artists as well as the sometimes elusive steps in the evolution of the arts and
culture up to and including the present day. However, this can threaten to be
counterproductive to efforts to see continuity in history. Once we learn the
“rules” for a period, we can make the mistake of only evaluating works by our
preconceived notion of what they should
be instead of using those “rules” as one among many tools that are helpful in
decoding the unique intellectual singularity that each artist represents. The
idea of periods of time during which only one script is possible can even make
historical development seem like a series of revolutions and counterrevolutions
as representatives of the Renaissance overthrow the Middle Ages or the Romantics
discard the Enlightenment. Upon closer investigation, though, historical
development reveals itself as less a cycle of upheaval and rejection and more an
evolution in which new ideas are transformations of previous ideas and new
translucent layers of meaning are applied like a fresh varnish. For the early 19th
century German thinker Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, reality is a continual
becoming or evolution.
"The bud disappears when the blossom breaks through,” says Hegel, “and we might
say that the former is refuted by the latter; in the same way when the fruit
comes, the blossom may be explained to be a false form of the plant's existence,
for the fruit appears as its true nature in place of the blossom” (7). Although
we might not accept completely the comparison (as I don’t), since we don’t tend
to think of each successive historical period as an improvement over the last,
it does clear the way for the useful concept of the bud, blossom, and fruit as
“moments of an organic unity, where they not merely do not contradict one
another, but where one is as necessary as the other; and this equal necessity of
all moments constitutes alone and thereby the life of the whole.”[1]
A very cool idea Dr. White uses to aid us in building our thumbnail-sketch
understanding of historical periods and how they overlap each other is the
inclusion of representative music, art, and architecture. A brief look at
Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony will show both how this can accelerate the learning
process and how ideas are adapted and transformed through time in Hegel’s
process of continual becoming. One of the most easily recognizable features of
Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony is the
opening:
Playing just the rhythm of the opening measures, many people will identify it as
Beethoven’s Symphony, but this musical gesture was also present in the work of
Beethoven’s precursors of the preceding Classical period,
Haydn
(Beethoven’s one-time mentor) and
Mozart
(Beethoven’s piano idol and popular inspiration) (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Symphony_No._5_(Beethoven)).
Beethoven adapted and transformed the music he grew up with, utilizing the
musical material in a way that layered a sense of Romantic intensity and drama
over his source material. Nearly one hundred years later, late Romantic composer
Gustav Mahler confronted the problem of the reputation of Beethoven’s Fifth
Symphony head-on in his Fifth Symphony, which reimagines Beethoven’s beginning
as a
Funeral March:
The first few measures of Mahler’s 5th Symphony, featuring solo trumpet. (Score
source: International Music Score Library Project)
The end of the introduction to the first movement.
Although the overall effect is broadly similar in all four cases, each composer
is simultaneously drawing on a continuous historical tradition and transforming
that tradition according to his aesthetic taste,
patterns of intellectual thought, and cultural values.
Similarly, we can see a nexus of traditions in Sor Juana’s “You Men.” The
earmarks of Renaissance style (especially Classical references) commingle with
an appeal to logic and reasoning that will become characteristic of the
Enlightenment in these stanzas:
Presumptuous beyond belief,
We would not be out of line also to
see a continuation of Christian medievalism (although again transformed) in the
overall moral conviction of her theme. Anne Bradstreet complicates conventional
domestic themes with evidence of Classical learning and a humanist perspective.
Although Jonathan Edwards’s famous
Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God
seems a complete break with any sense of Renaissance culture (except perhaps in
the demonstration and documentation of thorough knowledge of Scripture) and
looks forward to the Gothic atmosphere of Charles Brockden Brown’s
Edgar Huntly, Edwards’s
Note on Sarah Pierpont could easily
be interpreted as a link between an endearingly domestic poem like Bradstreet’s
“To my Dear and Loving Husband” and the early professions of love between
Charlotte and Montraville in Susanna Rowson’s
Charlotte Temple. We can even connect
Edwards to the Enlightenment through his
Personal Narrative, “Of the Rainbow,” and “Of Insects.” While the style of
the Personal Narrative seems a
wonderful anticipation of Romantic intimacy with nature and the self, the
interest in the carefully observed documentation of intellectual and social
development seems of a piece with Franklin’s sometimes funny and often ironic
Autobiography.
A look at the transition or
intermingling of Enlightenment and Romantic culture would be severely lacking if
we did not account for Thomas Paine, whose works are essentially a synthesis of
Enlightenment reasoning and Romantic individuality. In
Common Sense and
The Crisis, he builds arguments
logically that are calculated to appeal to the emotions, and he proclaims the
tenets of Deism in The Age of Reason
without concern for anyone else’s refutation or dissent.
It’s interesting to note that Anne Bradstreet had already arrived at one
of the most characteristic designations of the Deists for God around a hundred
years earlier in her “Verses upon the Burning of Our House,” writing “Thou
hast a house on high erect /
Fram'd by that mighty
Architect.”
The culmination of our semester was a pair of contrasting novels that exemplify
transitional traits. Both feature details that are familiar in the Gothic
tradition, which can be understood as the reciprocal or photographic negative to
the Enlightenment world of reason and order. In Rowson’s
Charlotte Temple, as Lauren Weatherly explains in “A Gothic America: the
Early Years,” the author’s project is to “‘scare’ young girls.” The story
documents our heroine’s journey further and further from the Enlightenment world
of safety, structure, and predictability to an inverted Gothic world of
suffering and chaos. I liked what Veronica Ramirez said about
Edgar Huntly being the “gateway”
between the Enlightenment and the Romantic eras (“Edgar Huntly: The
All-Encompassing Early American Novel”). Charles Brockden Brown, himself a
product of Enlightenment society, systematically robs his title character of all
the accoutrements of Enlightenment society as he subjects him to many of the
same horrors and uncertainties that we saw in Mary Rowlandson’s and Mary
Jemison’s captivity narratives.
By the end of the semester, we have traveled approximately 300 years through the
American wilderness. We’ve seen it transformed into the frontier, into
superstitious villages, into havens of intellectual hope, and again into the
wilderness of early modernity. We’ve seen new layers of meaning settle down on
top of the original struggles of the early settlers, as the experiences of each
succeeding generation enrich and redefine the culture where “one is as necessary
as the other; and this equal necessity of all [cultural] moments constitutes
alone and thereby the life of the whole.”
Works Cited Weiss, Frederick. “Introduction: The Philosophy of Hegel.” Hegel: The Essential Writings. Ed. J.N. Findlay. New York: Harper & Row, 1974. 1 – 18. Print.
[1]
Hegel’s argument here is a clear illustration of the thread of Romantic
optimism that believes the goal of historical evolution will necessarily
lead to superior artistic and social forms.
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