Jenny Huck

American Lit

Journal 8

30 October 2006 

 

Jacobs – “Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl”

            The idea of audience plays out strongly in Jacobs’ “Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl.”  Our study of American literature has undergone a shift from writing whose intent was to present its readers with actual events comprised of real people to the writing of fiction.  Jacobs invented a character in order to tell her story without actually admitting what she had done.  Writers like
Columbus were essentially writing fiction in the way that they misconstrued the facts (making the natives appear extremely susceptible to conversion, the honesty of
Columbus’ men in not stealing from the natives) in order to convince their audience, in
Columbus’ case the king of
Spain, of the need to return to
America.  I find this ironic that, when
Columbus was writing in 1492 he set out to make his journal appear to be based purely on fact; this “factual” writing has instead produced one of the biggest myths of our culture.  Jacobs wrote her life story under the guise of fiction in order to protect herself from the scorn she would have received by “expos[ing] her own sexual history and reveal[ing] herself an unwed mother” (2030) on such a public stage.  We’ve gone from misrepresenting fact to make it appear factual to misrepresenting fact in order to shield the truth.  Essentially,
Columbus was doing the same thing that Jacobs did nearly 400 years later: both wrote for political purposes.  He misconstrued fact in order to convince his audience of the need to return to
America; Jacobs misconstrued her life story into fiction in order to convince her audience of the need for abolition while at the same time not airing her dirty laundry for the world to judge. 

            While reading “Incidents” it became increasingly evident to me that the purpose of this writing was to “involve [free white women] in political action against the institution of chattel slavery and ideology of white racism” (2030).  By speaking directly to the audience, affectionately calling us “reader,” Jacobs invites us into her innermost thoughts.  She reveals to us those times in her life that she “would gladly forget” (2038) if she could.  By employing the same technique that Brontë uses in Jane Eyre, (one of the “popular fictions of the period” (2030) that Jacobs models her work after), we feel that because she is entrusting her secrets to us, we should in turn trust her.  Because she speaks directly to us, we begin to empathize with her because we like her, we trust her, we want the best for her. The audience, primarily consisting of free white women in the process of fighting for suffrage of women and slaves, is already susceptible to hearing the cries of injustice against slaves.  As Jacobs points out, “human nature is the same in all” (2039).  In this passage she is referring to the “tender feeling [that] crept into [her] heart” (2039) upon the attentions of a white man; however, it is the same when related to the emotions that Jacobs’ writing evokes in her audience.  We all want to believe her because of the injustice she suffers at the hands of the oppressor. 

            In this way Jacobs’ narrative works much in the same way that Rowlandson’s did.  Both wrote to an audience that was ripe for convincing. By describing the injustice she suffered at the hands of the “merciless heathen” (444) natives, Rowlandson created a myth that haunts us to this day.  Jacobs also contributes to the mythology of the history of slavery in
America; unfortunately, the injustice she suffered at the hands of her slaveholder was true. 

            The tone Jacobs employed in “Perilous Passage in the Slave Girl’s Life” was almost overdone.  While the narrative voice guides the reader through the story, at this point I didn’t see Linda Brent as a courageous woman but rather as someone weak, crying out for our pity at the injustice she suffered.  She knew that her actions were taken with “deliberate calculation” (2038), but she still blames slavery: “All my prospects had been blighted by slavery” (2038).  Her voice becomes whiny and pathetic in these sections in which she talks directly to the reader.  Jacobs proves that Linda Brent was a strong woman.  She lived in a “very small garret, never occupied by anything but rats and mice” (2047) in order to remain out of the clutches of Dr. Flint.  She outsmarted Dr. Flint not only by escaping from him but actually living right under his nose, but she also found a means to escape from concubinage. I longed for her to use language that would elevate her to the heroic status she had earned for herself.

            Instead she uses the word “poor” to describe herself, her situation, and her children throughout the narrative.  In defense of her fornication with a white man she says: “I was a poor slave girl, only fifteen years old” (2038).  Her use of stock gestures throughout the narrative also belittles the powerful message she could have portrayed.  She confesses her sin to her grandmother: she “knelt before her, and told her the things that had poisoned [her] life” (2040);  she “knelt by the graves of [her] parents, and thanked God [. . .] that they had not lived to witness [her] trials” (2044).  I longed for the strong voice of Hutchinson and Bradstreet. She is begging for her readers to feel sorry for her. 

            It is true that I have “never knew what it was to be a slave; to be entirely unprotected by law or custom” (2039).  However, it is just that fact that Jacobs uses in her favor in order to speak to her audience, to convince them of her plight.  She uses the same technique that Rowlandson used to create an unjust myth of the picture of Native Americans.  While at times Jacobs’ writing is at times whiny and pleading, it may have contributed to the emancipation of slaves.  Her story helped to break through the barriers of slavery, to convince her audience that this story, written as fiction in order to protect her personal life, was the fact that slaves were facing daily.  She used the powers of persuasion for a better purpose than Columbus or Rowlandson.  However, it left me longing for a more powerful persona than she created in Linda Brent. 

Jenny Huck

American Lit

Journal 8

30 October 2006 

 

Jacobs – “Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl”

            The idea of audience plays out strongly in Jacobs’ “Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl.”  Our study of American literature has undergone a shift from writing whose intent was to present its readers with actual events comprised of real people to the writing of fiction.  Jacobs invented a character in order to tell her story without actually admitting what she had done.  Writers like
Columbus were essentially writing fiction in the way that they misconstrued the facts (making the natives appear extremely susceptible to conversion, the honesty of
Columbus’ men in not stealing from the natives) in order to convince their audience, in
Columbus’ case the king of
Spain, of the need to return to
America.  I find this ironic that, when
Columbus was writing in 1492 he set out to make his journal appear to be based purely on fact; this “factual” writing has instead produced one of the biggest myths of our culture.  Jacobs wrote her life story under the guise of fiction in order to protect herself from the scorn she would have received by “expos[ing] her own sexual history and reveal[ing] herself an unwed mother” (2030) on such a public stage.  We’ve gone from misrepresenting fact to make it appear factual to misrepresenting fact in order to shield the truth.  Essentially,
Columbus was doing the same thing that Jacobs did nearly 400 years later: both wrote for political purposes.  He misconstrued fact in order to convince his audience of the need to return to
America; Jacobs misconstrued her life story into fiction in order to convince her audience of the need for abolition while at the same time not airing her dirty laundry for the world to judge. 

            While reading “Incidents” it became increasingly evident to me that the purpose of this writing was to “involve [free white women] in political action against the institution of chattel slavery and ideology of white racism” (2030).  By speaking directly to the audience, affectionately calling us “reader,” Jacobs invites us into her innermost thoughts.  She reveals to us those times in her life that she “would gladly forget” (2038) if she could.  By employing the same technique that Brontë uses in Jane Eyre, (one of the “popular fictions of the period” (2030) that Jacobs models her work after), we feel that because she is entrusting her secrets to us, we should in turn trust her.  Because she speaks directly to us, we begin to empathize with her because we like her, we trust her, we want the best for her. The audience, primarily consisting of free white women in the process of fighting for suffrage of women and slaves, is already susceptible to hearing the cries of injustice against slaves.  As Jacobs points out, “human nature is the same in all” (2039).  In this passage she is referring to the “tender feeling [that] crept into [her] heart” (2039) upon the attentions of a white man; however, it is the same when related to the emotions that Jacobs’ writing evokes in her audience.  We all want to believe her because of the injustice she suffers at the hands of the oppressor. 

            In this way Jacobs’ narrative works much in the same way that Rowlandson’s did.  Both wrote to an audience that was ripe for convincing. By describing the injustice she suffered at the hands of the “merciless heathen” (444) natives, Rowlandson created a myth that haunts us to this day.  Jacobs also contributes to the mythology of the history of slavery in
America; unfortunately, the injustice she suffered at the hands of her slaveholder was true. 

            The tone Jacobs employed in “Perilous Passage in the Slave Girl’s Life” was almost overdone.  While the narrative voice guides the reader through the story, at this point I didn’t see Linda Brent as a courageous woman but rather as someone weak, crying out for our pity at the injustice she suffered.  She knew that her actions were taken with “deliberate calculation” (2038), but she still blames slavery: “All my prospects had been blighted by slavery” (2038).  Her voice becomes whiny and pathetic in these sections in which she talks directly to the reader.  Jacobs proves that Linda Brent was a strong woman.  She lived in a “very small garret, never occupied by anything but rats and mice” (2047) in order to remain out of the clutches of Dr. Flint.  She outsmarted Dr. Flint not only by escaping from him but actually living right under his nose, but she also found a means to escape from concubinage. I longed for her to use language that would elevate her to the heroic status she had earned for herself.

            Instead she uses the word “poor” to describe herself, her situation, and her children throughout the narrative.  In defense of her fornication with a white man she says: “I was a poor slave girl, only fifteen years old” (2038).  Her use of stock gestures throughout the narrative also belittles the powerful message she could have portrayed.  She confesses her sin to her grandmother: she “knelt before her, and told her the things that had poisoned [her] life” (2040);  she “knelt by the graves of [her] parents, and thanked God [. . .] that they had not lived to witness [her] trials” (2044).  I longed for the strong voice of Hutchinson and Bradstreet. She is begging for her readers to feel sorry for her. 

            It is true that I have “never knew what it was to be a slave; to be entirely unprotected by law or custom” (2039).  However, it is just that fact that Jacobs uses in her favor in order to speak to her audience, to convince them of her plight.  She uses the same technique that Rowlandson used to create an unjust myth of the picture of Native Americans.  While at times Jacobs’ writing is at times whiny and pleading, it may have contributed to the emancipation of slaves.  Her story helped to break through the barriers of slavery, to convince her audience that this story, written as fiction in order to protect her personal life, was the fact that slaves were facing daily.  She used the powers of persuasion for a better purpose than Columbus or Rowlandson.  However, it left me longing for a more powerful persona than she created in Linda Brent. 

Jenny Huck

American Lit

Journal 8

30 October 2006 

 

Jacobs – “Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl”

            The idea of audience plays out strongly in Jacobs’ “Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl.”  Our study of American literature has undergone a shift from writing whose intent was to present its readers with actual events comprised of real people to the writing of fiction.  Jacobs invented a character in order to tell her story without actually admitting what she had done.  Writers like
Columbus were essentially writing fiction in the way that they misconstrued the facts (making the natives appear extremely susceptible to conversion, the honesty of
Columbus’ men in not stealing from the natives) in order to convince their audience, in
Columbus’ case the king of
Spain, of the need to return to
America.  I find this ironic that, when
Columbus was writing in 1492 he set out to make his journal appear to be based purely on fact; this “factual” writing has instead produced one of the biggest myths of our culture.  Jacobs wrote her life story under the guise of fiction in order to protect herself from the scorn she would have received by “expos[ing] her own sexual history and reveal[ing] herself an unwed mother” (2030) on such a public stage.  We’ve gone from misrepresenting fact to make it appear factual to misrepresenting fact in order to shield the truth.  Essentially,
Columbus was doing the same thing that Jacobs did nearly 400 years later: both wrote for political purposes.  He misconstrued fact in order to convince his audience of the need to return to
America; Jacobs misconstrued her life story into fiction in order to convince her audience of the need for abolition while at the same time not airing her dirty laundry for the world to judge. 

            While reading “Incidents” it became increasingly evident to me that the purpose of this writing was to “involve [free white women] in political action against the institution of chattel slavery and ideology of white racism” (2030).  By speaking directly to the audience, affectionately calling us “reader,” Jacobs invites us into her innermost thoughts.  She reveals to us those times in her life that she “would gladly forget” (2038) if she could.  By employing the same technique that Brontë uses in Jane Eyre, (one of the “popular fictions of the period” (2030) that Jacobs models her work after), we feel that because she is entrusting her secrets to us, we should in turn trust her.  Because she speaks directly to us, we begin to empathize with her because we like her, we trust her, we want the best for her. The audience, primarily consisting of free white women in the process of fighting for suffrage of women and slaves, is already susceptible to hearing the cries of injustice against slaves.  As Jacobs points out, “human nature is the same in all” (2039).  In this passage she is referring to the “tender feeling [that] crept into [her] heart” (2039) upon the attentions of a white man; however, it is the same when related to the emotions that Jacobs’ writing evokes in her audience.  We all want to believe her because of the injustice she suffers at the hands of the oppressor. 

            In this way Jacobs’ narrative works much in the same way that Rowlandson’s did.  Both wrote to an audience that was ripe for convincing. By describing the injustice she suffered at the hands of the “merciless heathen” (444) natives, Rowlandson created a myth that haunts us to this day.  Jacobs also contributes to the mythology of the history of slavery in
America; unfortunately, the injustice she suffered at the hands of her slaveholder was true. 

            The tone Jacobs employed in “Perilous Passage in the Slave Girl’s Life” was almost overdone.  While the narrative voice guides the reader through the story, at this point I didn’t see Linda Brent as a courageous woman but rather as someone weak, crying out for our pity at the injustice she suffered.  She knew that her actions were taken with “deliberate calculation” (2038), but she still blames slavery: “All my prospects had been blighted by slavery” (2038).  Her voice becomes whiny and pathetic in these sections in which she talks directly to the reader.  Jacobs proves that Linda Brent was a strong woman.  She lived in a “very small garret, never occupied by anything but rats and mice” (2047) in order to remain out of the clutches of Dr. Flint.  She outsmarted Dr. Flint not only by escaping from him but actually living right under his nose, but she also found a means to escape from concubinage. I longed for her to use language that would elevate her to the heroic status she had earned for herself.

            Instead she uses the word “poor” to describe herself, her situation, and her children throughout the narrative.  In defense of her fornication with a white man she says: “I was a poor slave girl, only fifteen years old” (2038).  Her use of stock gestures throughout the narrative also belittles the powerful message she could have portrayed.  She confesses her sin to her grandmother: she “knelt before her, and told her the things that had poisoned [her] life” (2040);  she “knelt by the graves of [her] parents, and thanked God [. . .] that they had not lived to witness [her] trials” (2044).  I longed for the strong voice of Hutchinson and Bradstreet. She is begging for her readers to feel sorry for her. 

            It is true that I have “never knew what it was to be a slave; to be entirely unprotected by law or custom” (2039).  However, it is just that fact that Jacobs uses in her favor in order to speak to her audience, to convince them of her plight.  She uses the same technique that Rowlandson used to create an unjust myth of the picture of Native Americans.  While at times Jacobs’ writing is at times whiny and pleading, it may have contributed to the emancipation of slaves.  Her story helped to break through the barriers of slavery, to convince her audience that this story, written as fiction in order to protect her personal life, was the fact that slaves were facing daily.  She used the powers of persuasion for a better purpose than Columbus or Rowlandson.  However, it left me longing for a more powerful persona than she created in Linda Brent. 

Journal #7 Paine – “The Age of Reason” My family has a rich tradition of Lutheranism. My ancestors were the founding fathers of the church that my family still attends today. St. Paul’s has been my family’s home church for a period spanning more than 130 years. I also attended a Lutheran school through 8th grade. I have grown up with the so-called superiority of not only Christianity, but more specifically the superiority of the Lutheran Church, Missouri Synod, pounded into my head. The region in northeast Iowa that I am from is also predominantly Lutheran, so not only are Lutheran values my family’s values, but my community’s values as well. I can imagine the outrage and disgust members of my church – my grandmother leading the pack – would feel upon reading Paine’s “The Age of Reason.” How shocking a ripple it must have then been on the minds of those reading it in Paine’s time, people who had grown up in the almost cult-like church and state controlled by Puritans. I can hardly wonder that it was viewed not only as an “attack on Christianity and an assertion of atheism” (958), but also as a “threat to Christianity and democracy” (958). The feelings evoked by Paine’s writing almost appear to be a pun on his name. “The Age of Reason” prompts one to examine their steadfast beliefs in God, religion, and man’s very existence. Paine provokes pain. Chapter II’s opening lines shock the reader to attention. He writes: “Every [. . .] religion has established itself by pretending some special mission from God, communicated to certain individuals” (971). After reading Winthrop’s writing, I can ascertain that he was speaking almost directly to him. Winthrop believed that he and the Puritans were God’s chosen people, set aside by God to erect the “Citty upon a Hill” (317). Looking back at history, I can see that the Puritans were indeed “pretending some special mission from God” (971). It was for this reason, this pretense of fulfilling God’s mission, which forced them to, in Jefferson’s words, “produce uniformity” (1008). This uniformity is what caused the oppression of countless people, from Anne Hutchinson to Martha Carrier and the other nameless victims who were not allowed to think with “reason and free inquiry” (1007). Had these people been allowed to think for themselves, our world would be a different place today. Paine goes on to claim that Christianity “sprung out of the tail of the heathen mythology” (972), basically asserting that Christianity is merely an extension of paganism. This must have outraged those ancestors of Winthrop who had been taught that they were God’s elite, God’s chosen, God’s favorites. Here Paine knocks down the lies they had erected America upon. Not only were the Puritans, or any other religious sect, better than others, but here Paine claims that they were no better than pagans. This Christian theory that so many put their faith in is actually “little more than the idolatry of the ancient mythologists, accommodated to the purposes of power and reverence” (972). How painful to be confronted with solid “reason and philosophy” (972) that sets up everything one believes in as a myth. The lines between Christianity – the elevated state -and paganism are so blurred as to be practically indistinguishable. Paine’s argument raises valid points. Christianity does historically appear to be an extension of ancient mythological practices. what we know of Christ is not autobiographical but is “altogether the work of other people” (973). Christianity’s “study of theology” does appear to be the “study of nothing” (975). Paine has clearly examined the Bible and Christian theology through an unbiased lens. I, however, cannot do that. I like to think that I am more open to the opinions of others than other members of my family are. College has allowed me to get away from the way things have always been and made me challenge my beliefs. However, my own Christian beliefs, almost 22 years in the making, raised red flags throughout my reading of “The Age of Reason.” I know that Jesus didn’t write a “line of what is called the New Testament” (972). I also did not see Jesus’ resurrection and ascension, the phenomena that every Christian believes but also “requires that the proof and evidence of it should be [. . .] universal” (973). Nobody professing to be Christian has seen any evidence of this – how do we know it happened? It must have been painful for the people of Paine’s time to read this, but more than 200 years has not made questioning one’s beliefs any easier. However, what I have learned from my experiences outside my church, my community, my family, are reflected in Paine’s statement “every person of learning is finally his own teacher” (974). Sitting in church next to my mom, my dad, my sister, seeing my grandma two rows ahead, and various aunts and uncles and cousins scattered throughout the church, I felt my faith renewed. My church has known more members of my family than I have, we share the common experience of being baptized at the same baptismal font, and one day I will finally rest with members of my family in the cemetery. While for many it is true that the “vehemence of the ideas has forbidden and deterred them from examining into the absurdity and profaneness of the story” (973), that is not the case for me. Paine’s argument is indeed founded in “reason and free inquiry” (1007). however, what is overlooked in this reason and free inquiry is faith. Questioning one’s faith, whether it be in God, in Buddha, or in nothing at all, is only strengthened by the painful act of self-examination that Paine’s writing encourages.

Jenny Huck
American Lit
Dr. Dolezal
24 September 2006

Journal 6 – Rowlandson
Rowlandson creates an American myth out of her true history in her autobiography A Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson. The reader can not help but feel for the obvious plight of Rowlandson. She was subjected to horrible cruelties and atrocities, forced to not only witness but be a part of the massacre of her friends and family. She describes the Indians’ actions against them: “Thus were we butchered by those merciless Heathen, standing amazed, with the blood running down to our heels” (444). Those who survived were “taken alive and carried Captive” (445), starved, moved around, and subjected to cruelty – one cannot blame Rowlandson’s bias against the Native Americans. However, pushing beyond the events of her captivity one begins to discern the pieces of myth from the pieces of history in her narrative. Interestingly, it is this horrible episode in her life, this “one woman’s trauma-ridden experience of captivity [that] became an icon of a national ideology” (438). Rowlandson, in her attempt to write this narrative in order to be her “Memorandum of God’s dealing with her, that she might never forget, but remember the same [. . .] all the daies of her life” (444) has instead worked to create a myth of wild heathen Indians attacking innocent white settlers, a myth that lives on to this day.
Rowlandson’s narrative contains elements similar to the writings of Bradford and Williams. Like Bradford, who compares himself to Moses, Rowlandson refers over and over to Old Testament characters including Job, Jeremiah, and David. She equates herself to such men several times, making her circumstances fit into theirs. Upon crossing the river and not getting wet she compares herself to the Old Testament, quoting Isaiah 43:2, “When thou passeth through the waters I will be with thee, and through the Rivers they shall not overflow thee.” Rowlandson’s use of typology, although it may be credited to her extreme faith in God because of her restoration from the Indians, is reminiscent of Bradford’s use of the literary device, raising red flags about the reliability of this text.
In her descriptions of the atrocities they were subjected to at the hands of the Indians she writes: “So none can imagine, what it is to be captivated, and enslaved to such Atheistical, proud, wild, cruel, barbarous, brutish, diabolical Creatures as these, the worst of the Heathen” (442). She can’t help but have bias against the Indians; however, her bias helped to shape our cultural understanding of Native Americans. Indeed, although she claims she wrote this so she wouldn’t forget God’s grace, I can’t help but view it as a kind of Puritan propaganda. She describes her terrible misfortunes and goes on to say that despite all, “yet the Lord still shewed mercy to me, and upheld me; and as he wounded me with one hand, so he healed me with the other” (447). What better method to win people back to a declining “Congregationalist church membership”(439) than to record a tale of the savage treatment of a woman at the hands of heathens who was restored to freedom by God’s grace alone.
How ironic then that Rowlandson paints a picture, not only of the heathen actions of her captors, but also of their acts of kindness. One assured her that “none will hurt you”(451). At her greatest moment of suffering a Squaw “gave [her] some Ground-nuts; she gave [her] also something to lay under [her] head [. . . she] had a comfortable lodging that night” (453). Why aren’t the kind actions remembered in our savage Indian myths? Why don’t Sedgwick and Cooper craft this view of the Native Americans into their narratives? The answer lies in the myth Rowlandson inadvertently helps to create in her narrative. As sick as it may be, our culture has learned to embrace the “proud, wild, cruel, barbarous [. . .] Creatures” (442), easily looking past their kind actions for the excitement and allure of captivity at the hands of the mythological heathens.

Journal 4

Jenny Huck

American Lit
10 September 2006 

 

Journal #4: William Bradford

           
Reading is perhaps one of the most personal things one can endeavor to do, for no two people read one written work and derive the same meaning from it.  Each individual brings to the table his own experiences, his own beliefs, his own biases.  The reader’s  personal history becomes a contact zone with the written work; therefore, nothing can be read without bias.  While reading
Winthrop’s Modell of Christian Charity I couldn’t help but develop a sour taste towards him and his opinions.  This sour taste developed into bile as I came into contact with his hypocritical actions against Anne Hutchinson in her trial transcript.  While reading
Bradford’s Of Plymouth Plantation I attempted to arrive at a more unbiased response towards not only
Bradford but towards
Winthrop as well. 

            After making the claim that nothing can be read free of bias, so too can nothing be written free of bias.  Bradfield writes that after the religious discord had taken place in Europe, the “Lord’s free people joined themselves [. . .] into a church estate, in the fellowship of the gospel, to walk in all His ways made known, or to be made known unto them, according to THEIR BEST ENDEAVORS” (327). 
Hutchinson echoes this idea of personal interpretation in her reply to the Governor at her trial, saying to him: “Now if you do condemn me for speaking what in my conscience I know to be truth I must commit myself unto the Lord” (Ex. of Hutchinson 10).  Thus being said, how then can I find fault with their opinions simply because they interpret other written texts, in this case the Bible, different from me?  I do not condemn them for their ideas.  I condemn them for the blatant hypocrisy they display in their actions towards not only the Native Americans, but, as proven in the trial of Anne Hutchinson, the blatant hypocrisy they display in their actions towards themselves as well.

            Bradfield begins his history of Plymouth Plantation with a description of the Separatist Interpretation of the Reformation in
England.  Because of the “wars and oppositions [that] Satan hath raised, maintained, and continued” (326), Bradfield calls for the truth to “prevail and the Churches of God to revert to their ancient purity and recover their primitive order, liberty, and beauty” (326).  Here
Bradford’s statement echoes
Winthrop’s regarding “all men being thus (by divine providence) rancked into two sortes, riche and poore” (310).  Who determines what, in
Bradford’s words, the “ancient order” (326) is?  Further, who determines
Winthrop’s categories of the “riche and poore” (310)?  Does that honor belong to Bradford and Winthrop, or to the Church of England?  Does the Roman Catholic Church determine the truth?  Or more controversially, do the Native Americans determine the ancient purity? 

            The similarities between the Genesis creation story and “The Story of Poia” display the way that two groups of people have, “according to their best endeavors” (326), interpreted the fall of mankind.  But which one is the truth in its “ancient purity” (326)?  Whether one believes in Adam and Eve or Feather-woman and Falling Star, the forbidden fruit or the Great Turnip, the essence of both stories are the same.  Is the Garden of Eden the “primitive order” or is the Sky Country?  Perhaps the lesson one can learn from Genesis and “The Story of Poia” is that metaphor must be taken into account when reading oral narratives that have later been written down.  However, I do not believe that Bradford’s or Winthrop’s writings are metaphorical.  They specifically set down rules for living in the
New World and the manner in which they want to live in relation with the Native Americans.  Because they believe that their interpretation of the Bible is the primitive order of ancient purity and are so completely close-minded to any opinion that differs from their own, war erupted with the Native Americans.  Although
Winthrop wanted to live in “brotherly affeccion” (309) with everyone, he could not because he did not acknowledge the fact that somebody else’s truth may be the ultimate truth.  James 2:17 seems to speak directly to these men: “Suppose there are brothers and sisters who need clothes and don’t have enough to eat.  What good is there in your saying to them, “God bless you!  Keep warm and eat well” – if you don’t give them the necessities of life?  So it is with faith: if it is alone and includes no actions, then it is dead.”  Bradford and Winthrop failed to listen to their own advice – they have great aspirations but fail miserably when they are forced to act on them.  Bradford’s Of Plymouth Plantation, when read in conjunction with Winthrop’s works, has made me realize that I should not judge another’s opinions.  The hypocritical actions of these men judge themselves.               

Journal 3

Jenny Huck

American Lit

31 August 2006 

Journal #3 – The Journal of John Winthrop

            John Winthrop’s journal is fraught with contradiction.  The sermon is thought to have been delivered “some time before the colonists set foot on
America” (309). 
Winthrop, therefore, sets up a formula by which he and his followers are supposed to live by.  He takes his first rule directly from Matthew 5:43, commanding everyone to “love his neighbour as himself” (310).  As history has revealed,
Winthrop’s Puritans did everything but love their neighbors.  The model that
Winthrop prescribes seemed to fall on deaf ears as the Puritans failed desperately to adhere to any of the rules that
Winthrop establishes in the sermon.  The Puritans immigrated to
America in order to seek religious freedom and to practice the method of Christian charity that
Winthrop preached even before leaving the shores of
England.  Perhaps if
Winthrop’s followers had followed even one of his rules
America would today be the “most perfect of all bodies” (311) rather than a contact zone in which we still fail to love our neighbors.

           
Winthrop’s third reason hereof says: “That every man might have need of other, and from hence they might be all knit more nearly together in the Bond of brotherly affeccion [. . .] noe man is made more honourable then another” (309-10). 
Winthrop teaches his followers that all men are equal; indeed, our Constitution echoes
Winthrop’s sermon in its declaration that “all men are created equal.”  Here we are presented with two historical documents, crying out with the same message.  Why then was it so easy for the same men who declared this statement to completely contradict it?   Although the excerpt of Winthrop’s journal does not give the historical context of the time in which it was written, further research into the time proves that Winthrop and the Puritans did not “knit [themselves] more nearly in the Bond of brotherly affeccion” (309) with the Native Americans upon reaching America; rather, according to the class website, the Pequot War broke out in 1637, the time that Winthrop had just arrived in America and was practicing exactly the opposite of what he preached. 

           
Winthrop further writes that the “Lawe of nature could give noe rules for dealeing with enemies for all are to be considered freinds” (311).  How then can his hateful actions against the Indians be justified?  The contact zone that he helped to create set the tone for the future of
America.  Had he and his fellow colonizers realized that their fighting would be a constant legacy that
America would fall back on countless times throughout her history, perhaps they would have truly practiced
Winthrop’s Modell of Christian Charity.  If they truly would have entered into the “Bond of brotherly affeccion” (309) and united the “severall partes of this body [that were] considered apart” (311), we would not be a contact zone in which we bring each other down with our fighting from within. 

            John Winthrop establishes a perfect world that is clearly unattainable in his Modell of Christian Charity.  Perhaps the first error lies in his claim that all men are created equal.  As history has proven time and again, each man thinks he is superior over men different from him. 
Winthrop’s division of the “riche and poore” (310) may be true; however, who is to judge what man is rich and what man is poor?  Were the Indians poorer than the Puritans because their skin was a different color, or because they spoke a different language?  Were they poorer than the Puritans because of their heathen (in the eyes of the Puritans) ways?  Indeed, the Puritans must have appeared “poore” to the Indians. 
America has never become the “most perfect and best proportioned body in the world” (312) because we have never learned to unite the “things which are carved with disafeccion to eache other [. . . the things of a] contrary or different nature” (313).  If we had actually practiced the ideal that
Winthrop preached,
America would truly be the “most perfect and best proportioned body” (312).  How ironic that
Winthrop prescribes us a model that could never be fulfilled.   

Hello world!

Jenny Huck

American Lit

27 August 2006 

 

Journal #2 –
Columbus: Journal of the First Voyage to
America

            Myth is practically indistinguishable from truth in
Columbus’s Journal of the First Voyage to
America.  The word ‘journal’ suggests that
Columbus relays strictly facts within the parameters of his writing.  However, upon reading the journal with a cynical eye,
Columbus’s possible myths emerge.  Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, although written two centuries after
Columbus’s accidental stumbling upon
America, has an interesting tie to
Columbus’s journal of supposed facts.  Defoe, titling himself the “editor” of his novel, states that he “believes the thing to be a just history of fact; neither is there any appearance of fiction in it” (Defoe 7). Defoe sets up his novel under the guise of fact; ironically,
Columbus’s journal, whose intent is fact, may in fact be just as much of a cultural myth as is Robinson Crusoe.  Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe is a mere novel. 
Columbus’s discovery of
America, like Eve eating the forbidden fruit, dramatically changed the course of the world.  Reading Columbus’s journal with a cynical eye forces the reader to question the nature of truth in the works of literature that have molded and developed our culture, further forcing the reader to question if everything we have ever been taught is simply one big myth.

            From a young age American children are taught that in “1492
Columbus sailed the ocean blue.” 
Columbus is hailed as the great hero who discovered our great nation despite the true circumstances.  He writes of bartering with the Indians: “Everything which the Indians possessed they were ready to barter at a very low price; a large basket of cotton they would give for a leather thong, or other trifling thing which was offered them” (126).  This is just one example of many that have been discovered of the ways in which Columbus and his men acted far below the hero status we have applied to them in the myth that we have created surrounding
Columbus’s discovery of
America. 

           
Columbus’s journal is not solely responsible for the myth that we have built up around him; however, it in itself does contain hidden myths that are more difficult to discern from fact due to the format it is written in.  The purpose of
Columbus in discovering
America is clear: he devotes pages to the description of the goods of the islands that will bring him and his country wealth.  He records the words of the Admiral, who says, “This day I launched the ship, and made ready to depart in the name of God [. . .] in quest of gold and spices” (126). 
Columbus supplements the Admiral’s intentions when he records that he “abandoned the intention of staying here and sailing around the island in search of the king, as it would be a waste of time, and I perceive there are no gold mines to be found” (122).  Their greedy intentions clash with his description of the “natives” and their treatment of them. 
Columbus records that when the natives “took to flight [. . .] I ordered that nothing which they had left should be taken, not even the value of a pin” (121).  How ironic that both Columbus and the Admiral give orders that “nothing should be touched” (123) when most of this journal is devoted to descriptions of the possible items of value they can practically steal from the natives in exchange or mere baubles.

            Like the myth of
Columbus, Christian children are taught the story of the creation from Genesis.  I personally was taught the creation story so I accept it as the truth; however, to a non-Christian the story of Genesis, which claims that God “created the heavens and the earth” (Genesis 1:1) from a “formless and empty” (Genesis 1:2) void in seven days must appear to be a myth, a sort of metaphor for what actually happened.  Critically reading not only the Bible but
Columbus’s journal as well brings about startling realizations to the foundations of our culture.  If our core literature is a myth, what then do we stand for?  Just as Defoe wanted his readers to accept his fictional story as fact, we too have been led to accept
Columbus’s myth and the Genesis myth as fact.  But on a deeper level, our understanding of these myths allows us to see that they are not really fact.  Myth is a universal ceremony that all cultures embrace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Works Cited

Defoe, Daniel. Robinson Crusoe.

Bibra
Lake: Aladdin, 2001.