I'm not sure I would agree with Katherine Eggert's bracketing, and implicitly undermining, her brilliant reading as "deconstructive." Instead, it seems to me she is engaging in the purpose of literary criticism: guiding the reader to patterns clearly present, yet somehow, hidden to all except her perceptive eye. 

As for "cynical," well, the pattern of exclusion is there (and I'd add our friend, the dwarf, the one who carries everyone's baggage and probably speaks like Keith Moon as the Bellboy in Quadrophrenia, to those left out of the New Jerusalem). It's not "cynical" to note it; it's responsible. 

pch

On Sat, Jul 21, 2018 at 1:35 PM, Katherine Eggert <[log in to unmask]> wrote:

Back to Tom and Andrew on Contemplation, eternity, and knowledge:

 

Both for Tom, who says that for Spenser (or at least for FQ), “time and our mortal life in all its vagaries in this vale of tears is defeated, if only we keep our eyes on the pre- and post-existing goal; so too is a deconstructive reading of the text defeated that finds no fixed points of reference to hang an ultimate meaning on to ,” and for Andrew, who says that “In the long run, Redcrosse will find as Nature shows us in the Two Cantos of Mutabilitie that his arming and loving will at length, dilated, reveal a pillar of eternity on which to stay himself,” I’m going to offer the counter-reading that reading backward from the Mutability cantos to the Mount of Contemplation only reinforces how the “ultimate meaning” of those heavenly spaces might reflect Redcrosse’s, or the narrator’s, or the reader’s self-interests, ones that may be conflicted or that may – just may -- evince a great deal of bad faith (in the Sartrean sense, as well as the Christian sense).

 

Re: those two last stanzas of Mutabilitie, I’ve argued elsewhere (with the considerable aid of Harry Berger’s and Elizabeth Bellamy’s wonderful readings of these stanzas as well as Susanne Wofford’s sense of “figural compulsion” in FQ) that “the pillours of Eternity, / That is contrayr to Mutabilitie” offer a kind of escape hatch to which the poem is continually drawn but which the poem also continually views skeptically: an escape hatch from authoritative women, from pesky change, and from pesky change associated with authoritative women. Overlaying these two stanzas onto the view from the Mount of Contemplation convinces me even more that something of the same dynamic is part of what’s going on for Redcrosse. I never noticed before, because it’s not unexpected, that there’s only one gendered entity in the Mutability Cantos’ eternity, the “Him that is the God of Sabbaoth sight.” But seeing so now makes me also see that there don’t seem to be any ladies in the new Jerusalem. One could easily protest that this is a vision of the Christian community in which there is no male and female, but there seems to be some effort in the verse to include the male and exclude the female. Angels wend there “As commonly as frend does with his friend,” a gendered pronoun Spenser could have easily avoided by adding another syllable somewhere else in the line. Saint George, the knight of “more than manly” force, will eventually dwell there, but where’s Saint Margaret? And the saints in that city will be “more dear vnto their God, then younglings to their dam” – no dams here, just father God. No wonder Cleopolis, with its queen, is decidedly second best (as good as it is). And no wonder Redcrosse, even as he accepts Contemplation’s instruction that he “ne maist  . . . yitt / Foregoe that royal maides bequeathed care,” responds not with a vision of marrying Una in the future but rather leaving her: “Then shall I soon, (quoth he) so God me grace, / Abett that virgins cause disconsolate, / And shortly back returne vnto this place.” “Abet,” of course, is a disconcertingly vague verb here: support that virgin in her cause? Or be an aid and abetter in the cause of her disconsolation? By the time we get to the end of Book 1, what he’s done is both kill the dragon and leave Una to mourn, so both senses of abetting her cause disconsolate are true.

 

In other words, that “pre- and post-existing goal” of a life past time to which Tom refers is a goal for some and not for all. Unlike the poem itself, it’s an object for gentlemen but perhaps not for other noble persons. Yes, I know this is a deconstructive and probably terribly cynical reading – cynicism I might abandon if I had the good fortune to  hang out far more often with Tom and Andrew -- but it’s one that the poem offers me via Redcrosse’s setting up FQ’s persistent paradigm of a knight itching to leave his lady love, as soon as marriage is an option, to go on to higher things. Higher things for whom? Whose pillar of eternity?

 

I can only agree with Andrew’s point that different characters in FQ offer different apertures of knowledge to the encounterer/reader. Plenty of times, there isn’t much of an inroad into what that character might know. Those plenteous times, though, only highlight for me the surprisingly myriad times where there is at least a tiny chink, a brief invitation, into that character as knowing something of his/her/its own. The “as if” so often attached to characters’ appearance or deeds is one such chink. Acrasia sighs over Verdant “as if his case she rewd.” OK, perhaps she doesn’t really rue his case. But if not, what is she really thinking? Judith’s reading (not below, but elsewhere in the messages on this thread) of Redcrosse as speaking in a different register from Contemplation, and yet somehow learning something from him, is thus one I need to consider more carefully, since there is some way in which their conversation is really a conversation, and in which RCK has access to one of those apertures of knowledge in a way I haven’t adequately credited.

 

Katherine

 

Katherine Eggert

Vice Provost for Academic Planning and Assessment

Professor of English

University of Colorado Boulder

40 UCB

Boulder CO 80309-0040

 

 

From: Sidney-Spenser Discussion List <[log in to unmask]> On Behalf Of Margaret Christian
Sent: Friday, July 20, 2018 8:49 AM
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: :“Add faith vnto your force” (FQ 1.i.19.3)

 

Yes. Wonderful, Tom. And Bill. And everyone. Thanks.

 

Margaret Christian, Ph.D.
Associate Professor of English
Penn State Lehigh Valley
2809 Saucon Valley Road
Center Valley, PA 18034-8447

[log in to unmask]
(610) 285-5106

 

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From: "Herron, Thomas" <[log in to unmask]>
To: "Sidney-Spenser Discussion List" <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Friday, July 20, 2018 10:17:55 AM
Subject: Re: :“Add faith vnto your force” (FQ 1.i.19.3)

 

I'm glad high Contemplation (and his lowly anti-type Despaire) are brought in here, and so the paired visions of the New Jerusalem vs Cleopolis (the city of fame).  In the glass towers of the latter we are meant to see a reflection of the crystal towers of the former.  Is not the supreme allegorical level onto which we are meant to plot all these shifting signs in this quicksand of the poem, the anagogic, always there for the Christian believer/reader, no matter how confusing and disorienting in time and space all these images deliberately are?  Amid all the erroneous darkness, which we also bring upon ourselves, are signs pointing heavenwards at the constant truth of the Christian gospel (for a believing reader).  

 

Hence the importance of noting that the armor from St Paul is "there" as a foundation peeking out from the tunic in various ways from the beginning, whether or not RCK understands it (and I think he does, dimly, and then loses sight of it with dark Duessa because of his pride, and then sees it more strongly by the end of Bk I; as Andrew says, he sets the general pattern at the beginning, and this applies to the process of reading and understanding).  The basic battle plan of Christ's crucifixion and resurrection that RCK wears from the beginning where'er he erroneously goes has been established (even if Sp's blatant reminder, in the Letter, is posted at the end of the 1590 edition, and disappears altogether in the 1596 edition).  This is why the poem begins with RCK.  If RCK gets lost, within or without, he (like we) only need to look down at the red cross on his chest or in a mirror (or at the New Testament that he carries around in his pocket to give to Arthur), which, being a Christian, will comfort and remind him (and us) that he is the type of Christ in the allegory, headed on a mysterious (and violent) humbling journey towards the New Jerusalem where he will re-manifest himself; by reading his actions in this framework, we see the various allegorical levels (according the medieval Christian schema) working themselves out, including the historical-topical (Spenser's heroes try as they go to create an ideal-as-possible peaceful polity in our world). 

 

The poem is unfinished in structure, but it wasn't intended to be, as Hieatt and Reid and Wilson-Okamura and others remind us; the defeat of the tyrant (Spain/devil) and marriage between Gloriana and Arthur promised at the end of Book XII is one more iteration of the promised marriage of Christ and the church at the end of time, echoed also timelessly in the idea of marriage of RCK and Una (not consummated, but indicated).  The poem is always unfinished in that it is written in a mortal confusion of signs in our world, and Spenser proved this with an exclamation mark by dying too soon, but from the beginning stroke of the pen he indicated the eternal types he saw behind the poem's wandering.

 

So, as DLM writes, we should keep in mind that 

in considering the Redcrosse knight's relation to his armor, we do well to remember Aeneas at the close of Book 8, receiving his divine arms:

 

                  All these images on Vulcan's shield,

                  His mother's gift, were wonders to Aeneas.

                  Knowing nothing of the events themselves,

                  He felt joy in their pictures, taking up

                  Upon his shoulder all the destined acts

                  And fame of his descendants.

Yes, but this is a vision of the future.  Let's also remember Aeneas' adoration of his ancestors and the way he keep Troy as the ideal city in his mind as he moves forward.  The Aeneid uses the same proleptic + nostalgic narrative trickery as FQ:  as he moves forward, our hero is constantly reminded of the ideal past community he is going to try, through destiny, to reassert and reestablish in the future.  Virgil's Troy is Augustine's New Jerusalem.  There's no looking forward without simultaneously looking backward.  The text is like a soccer field, with two identical structures, i.e., goals, Eden and the New Jerusalem, fixed at either end of the green pitch, on which all the wandering, fighting, and efforts at individual and team (and nation) cooperation take place (at halftime, even, the sides switch direction, thus enforcing your sense that your defense, looking back, is identical to the purpose of your offense, looking forward) [the World Cup has distracted me].  

 

Spenser's idea was a Christian one.  Hence (from his POV) time and our mortal life in all its vagaries in this vale of tears is defeated, if only we keep our eyes on the pre- and post-existing goal; so too is a deconstructive reading of the text defeated that finds no fixed points of reference to hang an ultimate meaning on to but that only finds eternal shards of mirrors glancing at itself.

 

Regards, --Tom 

 

Thomas Herron
Department of English
East Carolina University
(252) 328-6413

Writer/Director, Centering Spenser:  A Digital Resource for Kilcolman Castle
http://core.ecu.edu/umc/Munster/

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From: Sidney-Spenser Discussion List <[log in to unmask]> on behalf of William Oram <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Thursday, July 19, 2018 9:35 PM
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: :“Add faith vnto your force” (FQ 1.i.19.3)

 

Back to the similar looks of Contemplation and Despaire.  

 

I love Andrew’s formulation of the different ways in which different characters mean in the poem  But in the case of Despaire and Contemplation I think that their relation to Redcrosse is similar: allegorically both are states of mind--his mind.  When he’s visiting Despaire, he feels despair and when he climbs Contemplation’s mountain he’s contemplative.  They’re more than that, of course—in the narrative they are characters, and indeed Contemplation even has a touch of personality: when he first sees them he’s crabby and irritated at being disturbed, not necessarily a characteristic of all contemplatives, though surely a common one.  The dialogues are in that very Renaissance way both external and internal—these are dramatized conversations that are simultaneously allegorically internal conversations.  On stage it’s Faustus’ good and bad angels or, much more complexly, Iago’s and perhaps Desdemona’s relation to Othello.  And Despaire at least is something more because he seems larger than just Redcrosse's despair--he's a voice inside all of us.

            But to return to the image of starvation. Despair’s starved body is an externalization of his inner state—a metaphor like Shakespeare #146, “why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth….”   But I think that Contemplation’s skeletal physique has to be read as literal and physical, not metaphorical: he's fasting so that is mind can partake of a spiritual repast (x.49).  So I’d see the similarity as insisting on underlying difference.  Bill

 

On Thu, Jul 19, 2018 at 8:28 PM, Peter Herman <[log in to unmask]> wrote:

Wait a minute. We just read how Una is the purest of the purest of the pure. If so, why is dragging along with her inessential baggage? Wouldn't the fact that she's taken the trouble to hire a dwarf to carry her luggage suggest that the luggage isn't necessarily inessential crap? And is there a touch of, well, class bias in this representation of a servant? 

 

pch

 

On Thu, Jul 19, 2018 at 5:22 PM, Kathryn Walls <[log in to unmask]> wrote:

The dwarf is not necessarily “lassie”.  It is just that he “seems” so.  The point is that he lags behind Una because he is carrying her luggage, which I would interpret as the material items classified by the Elizabethan church as (inessential) “ornaments”, remnants of pre-Reformation worship, seen by some conducive to superstition and a hindrance to proper worship.

 

From: Sidney-Spenser Discussion List [mailto:SIDNEY-SPENSER@JISCMAIL.AC.UK] On Behalf Of Peter Herman
Sent: Friday, 20 July 2018 12:09 p.m.
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: :“Add faith vnto your force” (FQ 1.i.19.3)

 

Stunningly intelligent! 

 

But I have two questions for Andrew: why is the Dwarf lazy? True, I haven't read the poem in quite awhile, but I don't remember him doing (or not doing) anything that qualify him as lazy. Am I misremembering? 

 

And what was the nature of the argument between the two students? Enquiring minds want to know. 

 

pch

 

On Thu, Jul 19, 2018 at 4:40 PM, andrew zurcher <[log in to unmask]> wrote:

Dear Katherine,

I disagree. We ask different things of different figures in the poem, it seems to me; to ask the same thing of each of them would be to see each of them as moving in a similar or coherent space, where instead each figure in the poem seems to be moving, and meaning, in a slightly different signifying space. We learn this from the opening moments and movements of the poem, where Redcrosse, Una, and the dwarf appear to be moving together though at different speeds; here we come to understand that the narrator's description of their motion and their device (a collective term I want to coin to describe their 'accoutrements') signifies things about them, but in different ways. Una's speed indicates her modesty, the dwarf's his laziness; Redcrosse's speed tells us about his courage, but his simultaneous spurring and reining seem also to indicate that he doesn't know what he is doing. Redcrosse discovers later that he is not a faery, but a mortal human; Una remains more something like an allegorical abstraction, though not quite so much a personification as Contemplation, who in turn isn't as reduced a personification as, say, Lechery. Redcrosse's humanity makes him susceptible to change and development in a way that, perhaps, Guyon's faery status does not. Certainly, though, his interiority isn't as rich as that other armoured cipher, Britomart, who suffers from the agonies of love, the pains of regret, feels generosity and solicitude, sometimes expresses impatience and annoyance, and so on.

My point in drawing attention to this is to remark on the way that we ourselves experience ourselves in these different modes all the time, and treat others in ways that imply a whole range of constructions of the self from abstraction and personification all the way to the rich psychology and ethical character of a figure out of a James novel. But if we are ethical, we know when it is appropriate to strike these poses in ourselves, and impose postures on others too. I observed a very heated and ethically complicated exchange between two students at my door last year, which I asked them to unpack after they had resolved their differences; as we figured out what it was about the narrative, the rhetoric, the tone and posture, the assumptions, the expectations, etc., that had conditioned their complex somatic and social responses to one another, we realised with amazement that what had passed between them in the matter of a few seconds was an incredibly condensed set of ideas and understandings, rooted in really nuanced understandings of register, context, meaning, gesture, etc. I know this happens all the time. But it struck me that very often we act in ways that imply a kind of knowledge-readiness, a deep-tissue drenchedness in the meaning and force of a situation and its stakes, without being able to articulate to ourselves exactly what it is that we know, or what it is that we are doing. Could I give you the mathematics of the turn I execute on the ice? Asking those students to unpack their exchange to one another and to me was probably a bad idea, from a social perspective, because it exposed uncomfortable truths and emotional investments that they probably needed to keep buried in order to rub along with one another; it's no use taking my clothes off in cafés all the time, much as I value honesty. In a similar way, it seems to me that The Faerie Queene is partly engaged in asking us to ask ourselves when it is appropriate to ask questions about appearances and knowledge, and when it isn't. What conditions that appropriateness can be characterised in a range of ways -- ethics, ontology, metaphysics, psychology, rhetoric.

You elide this a little, I think, in your closing excerpts from Contemplation. He says, 'what need of armes, where peace doth ay remaine' -- he doesn't tell Redcrosse to give up arms and ladies, but to give them up when it is appropriate to do so -- the needlessness is conditioned by an adverbial clause ('where'). In the long run, Redcrosse will find as Nature shows us in the Two Cantos of Mutabilitie that his arming and loving will at length, dilated, reveal a pillar of eternity on which to stay himself. He will set down his arms in another time or place, in another signifying space, the space of ay but not the time of then. It seems significant to me that Contemplation changes Redcrosse's terms; Redcrosse says 'at last', demonstrating that he thinks a time will come (in time) when he will lay down his arms, but Contemplation says that that time of ay will be a 'where', a place of ever. We come and go from that space all the time in our lives.

Bye for now,

Andrew



On 19/07/2018 23:13, Katherine Eggert wrote:

This has been a wonderful discussion. 

 

It seems to me that much of what we're circling around comes down to, "what does Redcrosse know and how could he know it?" Does he know he's an allegorical character? Does he know that his armor isn't just armor? As Andrew asks, does he grok the grok? I would add, then, that when we ask those questions, we must ask the same questions of every character/entity from which/whom Redcrosse receives advice or accouterments. For example, does Una really know what she's doing, and can her knowledge always be relied upon as good? We really shouldn't assume so, which is Richard Halpern's brilliant point in "Una's Evil," his Hugh Maclean lecture for the Spenser Society luncheon some years ago (http://www.english.cam.ac.uk/spenseronline/static/pdfs/2010_Volume_40_Number_3.pdf). 

 

Another example would be Contemplation, who in his conversation with Redcrosse tells him pretty much that -- to quote the title of what used to be Slate.com's cooking column -- "you're doing it wrong." It's one of those conversations where the reply assigned belatedly to Contemplation by a "said he" almost comes across as Redcrosse's own answer to his question:

 

But deeds of armes must I at last be faine [asks RCK],

  And Ladies loue to leaue so dearely bought?

  What need of armes, where peace doth ay remaine,

  (Said he) and battailes none are to be fought?

As for loose loues they are vaine, and vanish into nought.

 

Right: here's true knowledge offered him. This whole fighting and loving thing -- even if it's fighting while wearing the armor of God, and even if it's loving the true faith -- has been a detour all along. Lesson learned: Redcrosse promptly resolves to kill the dragon as promised and then proceed on his true quest, his journey to the new Jerusalem. Or not learned. Arguably, Redcrosse's defeat of the dragon is just as misguided as his defeat of Error, in that he subsequently seems to have forgotten all about the new Jerusalem, and goes on once again to pursue "deeds of armes" and "Ladies Loue" -- first marriage to Una, and then, once he's abandoned her and left her to mourn, fealty to "his Faerie Queene."

 

Perhaps, though, Contemplation has it all wrong. Or perhaps the voice of Contemplation, seeming to come as it does out of Redcrosse's own mouth, is another instance of Redcrosse's self-serving error. "What need of armes . . . loose loues they are vaine": these sound like lines lifted from the rhetoric of Despaire. Is Redcrosse right to forget this advice, if it's bad to begin with?

 

Katherine

 

Katherine Eggert

Vice Provost for Academic Planning and Assessment

Professor of English
University of Colorado Boulder
40 UCB
Boulder, CO 80309-0040

 

 

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From: Sidney-Spenser Discussion List <[log in to unmask]> on behalf of David Miller <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Thursday, July 19, 2018 3:21 PM
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: :“Add faith vnto your force” (FQ 1.i.19.3)

 

Ne'er so well expressed.

 

 

 

On Thu, Jul 19, 2018 at 4:44 PM, andrew zurcher <[log in to unmask]> wrote:

Hi Tom, and Judith,

Apologies for the slow reply. Much goes down in Cambridge.

As they might say in Vaes Dothrak, it is known that Spenser begins the first canto of the book with a careful distinction between what appears to be the case, and what may in fact be otherwise. The inscrutability of Redcrosse, younkering inside his dinty armour, presents a hermeneutical problem, and also by dint of its primary position in the first book creates a hermeneutic condition for reading the poem as a whole. I know this is not news, and that I am repeating well-worn saws, couth and kissed. All I am saying about the second stanza is that it seems to me to perpetuate this instability, this hermeneutic condition.

I do many things, as I guess we all do, for the sake of some principle or belief or accepted ideology, without querying the nature of that principle, belief, or ideology altogether closely. American kids don't know too much about patriotism, though they repeat the pledge of allegiance every morning. Redcrosse wears the right badge, and he scores the sign of the cross on his shield, but he may not know fully what that means. His cheer is too serious -- he's just not blithe enough, remarks the narrator, for someone who is sure of his hope. Maybe he talks the talk, maybe he walks the walk, but does he grok the grok? As for the phrase 'dead as liuing euer him ador'd': there is some perplexity here. Does he adore Christ in the knowledge that, having died, he now lives for ever? Or does he adore him ever because he knows that, dead, he lives again? Or does he adore him dead just as he had adored him living? Does he adore him living just as he had adored him dead? A lot depends on this, because the phrase can be construed to mean both (i) Redcrosse doesn't distinguish between Christ's death and his life, and treats these dead signs of his dead lord with just as much respect as he might have living signs of a living lord; and (ii) Redcrosse understands that Christ's death is a sign of his transcendence of death and his everlasting life. This distinction is of course another formulation of the distinction I was drawing earlier between the material and the psychological understanding of 'remembrance', which I think persists here. It turns out that the economies of grammar, the dynamics of the verse line, the ambiguity of condensed poetic expression, the hermeneutical perplexities of allegorical representation, all occasion the yawning open of a gap between dead things and live meanings, between actions/words and understandings, between lexis and intellexis, that occurs repeatedly in this first book -- e.g. when Una is worshipped by the satyrs, who make her 'th'Image of Idolatryes', and afterwards worship her ass.

Have a nice evening,

Andrew

On 19/07/2018 12:26, Herron, Thomas wrote:

Hello... such is my list silence... my reading has been questioned so I feel I ought to take up the challenge and can at least be relatively brief:  I support Judith's comment to Andrew:  the term "The remembrance" is used (i.2.2), as Andrew rightly points out, but it is closely followed by the lines that clearly indicate that RCK is wearing the armor "For" the "sweet sake" of Christ:  "For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore."  To me this indicates clear agency and credulity, ergo faith, in Christ on the part of RCK ("he" who is doing the wearing is doing it knowingly for the sake of the savior).   This is confirmed by the following line, "And dead as living ever him adored" (4):  RCK has belief in the fundamental doctrine that Christ ("him") is living despite his death, and this specifically evokes his religious "adore"-ation. 

 

Also, Bill writes that "Redcrosse doesn’t really recognize what he’s facing--hence the business of his not fearing the right thing."

 

What's the evidence that RCK doesn't understand that Error is Error, since Una tells him blatantly, "This is the wandering Wood, this Errours Den" (13.6)?  You can say that RCK takes the wrong approach in fighting Error (until he uses his sWord), but he presumably is not deaf; if not deaf, then his slow brain is at least processing what he has been told by his lady-love.  He is foolhardy, but he's given the right directions (i.e., tools, like his armor) to start with.  [To add to the interest here, Una is arguably teaching both him and us that he is fighting an allegorical concept, if his brain can spin fast enough to grasp that too.]

 

Regards, --Tom

 

 

 

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David Lee Miller
University of South Carolina
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leap heart / the wind will catch you --

 

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