Technology, Community, and Early America

I wanted to add some thoughts to those of you who are wondering, “Great, but how does all of this relate to sex and sin?” I hope that in part what is unfolding over the semester is a sense that the early national through antebellum periods were concerned about the bonds of citizenship: were men supposed to be in a kind of brotherhood of the nation? Is that what a democracy or a republic requires?

If so, then what happens as the country becomes more alienated, even as it grows closer in physical proximity? Do we become a nation of Coverdales–people longing for connection but unable to consummate human relationships for fear of physical and emotional intimacy? And if we are a nation of Coverdales, then how will our democracy survive?

The texts we have read (and will read) investigate these questions by looking at the bonds that connect us—bonds of kinship, bonds of sexual desire, bonds of same-sex affiliation. Many posit that there is something unhealthy or damaging about the heterosexual coupling (or the nuclear family more broadly) because coupling further isolates people and because it thwarts a larger sense of community (and often is devoid of physicality, sensuality, and intimacy, which are arguably also essential to a democracy). I think where these texts differ is on their views about what are the possible alternatives to the traditional heterosexual coupling.

So, the reason I have brought up all of these questions in relation to technology is because I want us to consider what we as twenty-first century Americans think of these issues and whether we believe that technology further alienates us and further thwarts the practice of good citizenship. In other words, does technology turn us even further into suggestible crackpots like in Wieland or further into ogling voyeurs like in The Blithedale? Or does technology, despite (or maybe because of) its non-physicality, bring us somehow closer together? In other words, can technology “queer” citizenship?

Andrew brings up some really interesting and thought-provoking models to consider in his post below this one. I hope you will read it and comment on it, as well as post your own thoughts.

Warnings of Wieland

Despite having technically finished Wieland in class, I have a few lingering questions/thoughts that I’d like to blog about instead of moving onto Blithedale Romance just yet.

After reading Tompkins essay arguing for reading Wieland as a federalist text, I was having difficulty in seeing whether Brown’s novel held any content that was applicable to life today, whether or not there was still something valuable in a text whose primary goal was to warn against the dangers of freedom immediately post-revolution (assuming the acceptance of Tompkins’ argument). Tompkins asks “the paramount question in America in the 1790’s was, can people get away with revolution?” To which, she answers for Brown saying “No, no no” (56).

If in fact Brown’s primary point is to warn early American’s against the dangers of freedom, is he proven wrong by the fact that America has survived its infantile stage to become one of the dominant powers in the world? My first, somewhat circular proposition is that we can’t with certainty say that America has survived its revolution without the absolute end of history in mind. My second, more direct approach is that Brown’s novel is still pertinent even if he was wrong about revolution.

Perhaps the most striking feature of the novel, and the entire course up to this point, is how eerily applicable the discussion of these ~200 year old texts are to current American affairs. As a class we haven’t really discussed it explicitly, but we have referred on multiple occasions to this odd mirror of sorts – a mirror that reflects the cultural legacy of America in current events. In a comment to the post “Shifting Identity and Its Meaning,” Andrew somewhat sarcastically pointed to George Bush’s use of religious language in justifying the War on Terror as a possible historical derivative of Wieland. Even today – people are easily “transformed from rational and human into a creature of nameless and fearful attributes” (Wieland 165), just as Wieland was.

The real legacy of Wieland then isn’t its warning against anarchy and chaos caused by revolution, but rather the precious equilibrium that America (both country and culture) rely on for its stability. Brown details a tension that is constant through time between the history that defines us, and simultaneously threatens to destroy us.

Perfection, Retrospection and Culture

Jane Tompkins put it well when she said that Wieland is a novel that is wildly fantastical but must be taken seriously. BB sets up am idyllic situation. Wieland’s main characters seem to be ‘perfect’ people living in a ‘perfect’ situation (or at least how perfect might have looked to Americans in the late 18th century). The analogy to America seems like quite the compliment at first, but as the happy foursome starts to become unwound.

The first American ideal to be attacked by BB is religion. And not necessarily the organized religions. Rather, he attacks the rising (albeit still minority) belief in the late 18th century that religion is something highly personal, not something that needs to be regulated through a church. I sort of glossed over this when I first saw it, but as I think over it again, challenging a major religious movement is not something to be done lightly. BB’s confrontation of the movement is even more scathing in the light that he did not try to present a reasoned attempt to persude those in this movement – but rather with pretty ridiculous symbol in the elder Wieland bursting into flames in his temple.

American independence, and to some extent competency, also appears to be questioned (as Tompkins discusses in the handout). In retrospect, BB comes off as bombastic when you take the analogy as far as  Tompkins does (America with independence = crazy and murderous simpletons). But that is in retrospect. Just like with the religion, it took some thought for the true weight of the uncertainty of a revolution would have meant.

I’m curious how this book was received in it’s time. Did everyone get the analogies and not think twice about how utterly strange it was? I doubt it, but the the reactions to a book that had such serious cultural critiques buried in such an outlandish tale would be interesting.

Shifting Identity and Its Meaning

What I found interesting was that identity constantly shifts in this novel.  Brown takes, what one considers to be, a concrete attribute and morphs it into something fluid.  Carwin, in particular, is a man of shifting identity and features.   He was “an adherent to the Roman faith, yet was an Englishman by birth, and, perhaps, a Protestant by education [and] he had adopted Spain for his country (64).”  He so aptly donned characteristics of specific cultures only to throw them off and take on a seemingly contradictory identity, all the while arguing that these cultures had “more resemblances than differences (67).”  Even Clara encounters this multifaceted personality and cannot reconcile her initial clown like impression of him with the educated man she later interacts with by saying: “I could not deny my homage to the intelligence expressed in it, but was wholly uncertain, whether he were an object to be dreaded or adored, and whether his powers had been exerted to evil or good (65).”

Yet, Carwin is not the only character that exhibits a changing identity.  Wieland becomes a fanatical, unbalanced, emotional man when he earlier valued qualities of logic, education, and reasonableness.  Clara’s identity changes through no choice of her own.  Her character, virtue, and honor are blackened and ruined.  This wonderful and esteemed woman becomes “stigmatized with the names of wanton and profligate (96).   Locations undergo similar transformations.  The temple, Clara’s home, and the entire Wieland estate are changed in nature and identity.  We see the temple, for example, built as a religious haven, then marred by an unexplained accident, renovated to a space of enlightenment and enjoyment, and then as a location for more unexplained happenings.  Almost everything the reader encounters is changed and transformed.

We, like the characters, cannot trust our intuitions or senses.  We cannot truly know what someone or something’s identity is.  If we cannot know that identity, then, how are we to know that thing?  It is a mess, to say the least.  Not only are we made to experience the characters’ perspectives, but as a reader we are left with a sense of uncertainty and hesitancy.  Clara says, “my mind seemed to be split into separate parts, and these parts to have entered into furious and implacable contention (129).”  I, at least and to a lesser extent, was also left with unending questions and doubts.  More than one interpretation seemed fitting and only led me to more undefined thoughts.  The more I tried to nail Wieland the down, the less I was able to.  What does this illustration of shifting identity mean?  What was Brown saying?  It could have been a statement about truth; what is truth and how do we know it?  He could have been illustrating the ambivalent nature of things. How does one rectify a dissonance between things “believed by him that utters them; believed too not without evidence, which, though fallacious, is not unplausible (108)?”

Perhaps, he was interested in exploring the question of identity as an American writer.  This genre or field of literature was yet unexplored.  American culture was shifting and changing, constantly in flux.  Maybe Brown was exploring the ability of identity to change, to take on many aspects at once, and/or to assume multiple influences that may seem to contradict.  In a way, America was doing exactly that, taking on multiple peoples of varying beliefs, backgrounds, and cultures.  The parallel between the country’s changing population and landscape is an interesting line of thought since Brown’s novel was a forerunner in American literature, after all.  I’d love to hear any opinions on the matter.

Thinking about Wieland

I wanted to recap some of our discussion yesterday, which I thought brought up many interesting points about this confusing and weird novel.

We talked about Carwin’s function: is he merely a chaotic force, overturning order and bringing destruction, or is he a kind of revolutionary, who works outside of set structures and systems to undermine them? What does he undermine exactly in the novel, anyway?

Why is Clara the narrator of this story, and why does her story have to keep getting interrupted by men telling their versions of the same story? Isn’t it interesting that the plot of this novel keeps getting retold? In other words, we hear about the same events throughout, but told from different perspectives.

Why is women’s virtue so important? Are the men in this novel hypocrites for so valuing virtue and then acting as they do? (In other words, are any of them as virtuous as Clara? Or does the novel try to lead us to the conclusion that the whole category of virtue doesn’t really exist?)

I have to say that every time I read this novel, Wieland’s story unsettles me. Clearly, one of Brockden Brown’s main interests is the thin line between sanity and insanity. How far are any of us from Wieland’s behavior? How does anyone know how they would react if they thought God were actually talking to them? How do you say “no” to God’s voice anyway? We live in one of the most religious nations in the world. It was when Brockden Brown was alive, and it is now. What do you make of our sense that we have a close relationship to the divine?

Thoughts on Wieland?

I was a bit surprised to come here today and find that no one had written any responses to what has transpired in Wieland.  I’m interested to hear your responses in class and encourage you to post further thoughts here too.

Introduction

I’m Andrew Dornon, a sophomore/junior and English major and Spanish minor.  I’m the Snark editor for the Megaphone and a translator of dissident Cuban blogs.  Therefore, being left with very few applicable skills after SU, I will probably pursue the life of a perpetual student.  Within the field of literature, I am most interested in its possibe uses for subversion and how literary theory can be applied to an even  wider variety of texts than it already has been, such as video games, tattoos and tobacco advertisments.

As far as Wieland is concerned, along with apparently everyone else in the class, I have been pleasantly surprised.  The novel is certainly an intriguing textual artifact, as well as a fairly enjoyable one.  It is involved in the debate between the Enlightment/religion and natural/supernatural that raged then and continues to rage today.  Perhaps more interestingly, Brown doesn’t seem to really take a stance on it.  Although it might appear that all of the “supernatural” occurrences which befall the youngest Wielands can be attributed to Carwin, their father’s death cannot be explained in any rational way.  Also at work within the text are strange underminings of the prevailing sexual mores, as well as the desecration of the father’s temple, which I can’t help but read as Oedipal.  While creepy Freudian relationships are fun, perhaps even more fun is the exciting Wieland cover below.

Clarification on the Reading

You do not need to read the critical introduction for Wieland.  I believe the text starts on page 2.