Taylor and Bradstreet: Spiritual vs. Social Humility

 

In Albert Bierstadt’s painting “The Landing of Columbus,” one of the most striking juxtapositions is the contrast between the kneeling sailor and the kneeling natives. The sailor has the posture of a football player who has just scored a touchdown, clearly kneeling to give thanks to God for the safe passage over the sea. The natives, on the other hand, are bowing to Columbus and his little army. A similar juxtaposition occurs in the poetry of Edward Taylor and Anne Bradstreet, suggesting that while both poets might be characterized as exceedingly humble in their verses, Taylor’s spiritual humility more closely resembles Bierstadt’s kneeling sailor, while Bradstreet’s self-effacement is much more akin to the kneeling natives, who are showing social humility.

To examine these contrasts more specifically, we might turn to Taylor’s “Prologue” from Preparatory Meditations and use it to make sense of Bradstreet’s “The Prologue,” which prefaced her collection The Tenth Muse. Taylor begins, as a good Calvinist should, by expressing his unworthiness as a vessel of divine sovereignty. “Lord,” he writes, “Can a Crumb of Dust the Earth outweigh, / Outmatch all mountains, nay the Chrystall Sky?” (lines 1-2). By the third stanza, we see that Taylor is speaking of himself, as he claims, “I am this Crumb of Dust which is design’d / To make my Pen unto thy Praise alone” (lines 13-14). Such spiritual humility springs from the Calvinist’s belief that after the fall from grace in Eden, human nature is completely and utterly corrupt without the intervention of irresistible grace. Taylor, as a poet, has thus been “design’d” by Providence, crafted by grace to be a vessel of praise.

Bradstreet seems to begin her prefatory poem similarly, since her emphasis is also on self-effacement. Epic struggles such as war and epic themes such as history, she claims, are “too superior things” for her “mean pen” (line 3). Thus, she resolves not to “dim their worth” with her “obscure lines” (line 6). The major difference here is that Bradstreet is not apologizing for her poetic defects to God, but (like the kneeling natives in Bierstadt’s painting) is instead apologizing to men, particularly male poets who might find her poetic vocation to threaten their own. “Men still have precedency and still excel,” she writes, as if consoling an irate male counterpart. “Men can do best, and women know it well… / Yet grant some small acknowledgment of ours” (lines 38, 40, 42). Conspicuously absent from Bradstreet’s “Prologue” is any mention of God, and while one could argue that within the patriarchal structure of Puritan society Bradstreet would be assumed to be worshiping God by honoring her husband (as the Church ought to honor Christ), her humility is obviously social rather than spiritual.

The parallels continue in each poet’s admission of unworthiness as a literary artist. Taylor apologizes for his “dull Phancy,” which he would “gladly grinde / Unto an Edge on Zions Pretious Stone” in order to sharpen his poetic consciousness (lines 15-16). Similarly, Bradstreet frets that her “foolish, broken, blemish’d Muse” constitutes a “main defect” in her art, which cannot be remedied, since “nature made it so irreparable” (lines 15-16, 18). However, the primary contrast here is the referent of each poem. Taylor’s poem is addressed to God and is designed to serve a meditative purpose, essentially functioning as a prayer, whereas Bradstreet’s poem addresses men, hence the distinction between spiritual and social humility. Perhaps more importantly, Bradstreet substitutes talk of Christian faith with allusions to Greek mythology. While she does not claim to oppose Christianity (a position that would have been socially devastating to her), she surprisingly appeals to Greek tradition as evidence that women have a place in the poetic tradition. The presence of the nine Muses in mythology, she argues, reflects the Greeks’ respect for women and suggests that the Puritan social order has not been the only model for gender relations in history.

One might think of other mythological figures, such as the Lakota deity Wohpe, as additional alternatives to the Puritan denigration of women. Wohpe brought the ceremony of the pipe to the Lakota, serving as an authoritative figure within their own mythical tradition, as Bradstreet now stands out in American history as a prophetic and progressive voice. A major irony in this comparison of Bradstreet’s humility and Taylor’s is that Taylor seems to believe that in order to assume the proper state of humility, he must adopt a groveling posture that would otherwise have been expected of women. His prayer concludes as follows:

Thy Crumb of Dust breaths two words from its breast,

That thou wilt guide its pen to write aright

To Prove thou art, and that thou art the best

And shew thy Properties to shine most bright.

And then thy Works will shine as flowers on Stems

Or as in Jewellary Shops, do jems. (lines 25-30)

As lyrical as these lines are, with the priceless puns (“write aright”) and alliteration, Taylor unwittingly reveals the dark side of Puritan spirituality. By abasing themselves thus before God, Puritan men constructed a model that they then imposed on their wives, their children, and their servants, who were expected to show appropriate honor to the patriarchal head of the household. John Winthrop sums up the expected social order in his sermon on Christian charity, where he claims that the “variety and differance” among various members of society (which I am here comparing to the two genders and children) exists so that God might give “his guifts [sic] to man by man” (309). In the same manner, the male patriarch was expected to represent Christ and to imitate the dispensation of grace and blessing that Christ was thought to shower upon the Church, which was metaphorically associated in the social sense with women, children, and servants. That is, before God, all were equal and all constituted the female Church, the Bride of Christ. In the home, however, or in the public square, the male figure then took on Christ’s role as spiritual leader.

What emerges from this contrast of spiritual humility and social humility, then, is not ultimately a contrast so much as a causal relationship. The spiritual humility that Taylor represents becomes the model for the social humility that we find in Bradstreet. By abasing themselves before God, Puritan men were ironically reinforcing an extremely hierarchical social order that helps explain Bradstreet’s genuflection toward male poets like Taylor.

Making Sense of the Merrymount Debachle

Many of the disputes that the Puritans (including Bradford’s Separatists and Winthrop’s Congregationalists) had with dissenters are buried in court transcripts, as per Anne Hutchinson’s trial at Newton, or have been preserved in texts written by Puritan leaders, who naturally had their own interests in preserving history. If one begins with the assumption that the Puritan leaders were not only interested in defending themselves personally, but were also committed to interpreting history according to Calvinistic theology, then there is a clear basis for reading against the grain of historical documents.

But does this mean that a reader of American literature ought to believe the dissenting viewpoint without question? It is often fashionable to do this, perhaps because rebels are more appealing than those in power, and there is some satisfaction in tearing down figures of authority. However, it is crucial to investigate the claims of those whom the Puritans punished as aggressively as a reader may investigate the logic of the punishment itself.

What reasons, then, might a reader have to believe Thomas Morton over William Bradford, or vice versa, about the events of May 1, 1638?

Bradford’s account is prefaced by a string of slanderous claims about Morton’s character, styling him the “Lord of Misrule” and asserting that Morton sought to inaugurate a “School of Atheism” in his community at Merrymount (334). The bitter personal nature of such remarks, coupled with Bradford’s disapproval of the “dissolute life” (334) led by the inhabitants of Merrymount, cast doubt on the accuracy of the text, suggesting that Bradford’s ideological differences with Morton have begun to cloud his comprehension of the May Pole celebration. Morton explains that this was an “old English custome” affiliated with an Anglican holiday that has a long history (301). Naturally, Morton’s festivities and his association with the Church of England represented the sort of religious and social philosophies that Bradford had attempted to escape by coming to the New World. Morton’s presence in North America was thus a challenge to the utopian visions that Bradford and Winthrop cherished for their communities. In this light, Bradford’s motive for distorting the facts would be clear: to eliminate a rival colonists and purge the new colonies of the “corruption” that he was already facing among servants like Thomas Granger.

What motive would Morton have for slandering Bradford? Revenge might factor into the equation, since both accounts were written after Morton had already been overthrown and sent back to England. Morton points out that the “precise separatists” (301) misunderstood the symbolism of the May Pole, “not knowing that it was a Trophe erected at first in honor of Maja, the Lady of learning,” rather than a “whore,” as the Puritans ostensibly claimed (303). However, he is unable to resist a petty dig at Bradford, painting him and his colony as anti-intellectuals who see university education as “unnecessary learning” and do not realize that “learninge does inable mens mindes to converse with eliments of a higher nature than is to be found within the habitation of the Mole” (303). The exchange of insults like this discredits both figures to some degree.

Morton’s economic interests as a competing colonist also fuel his opposition to Bradford, since the primary disagreement between the two communities (Plymouth and Merrymount) hinges on the question of whether or not to sell guns and ammunition to the Native Americans. Morton would clearly benefit from this, and Bradford’s involvement in the Pequot War would have already placed his colony in jeopardy without the additional firepower added to the opposition.

So, both figures have a motive to distort the claims of the other. Whom to believe?

1) Morton does not deny Bradford’s most incendiary claims about a “dissolute” lifestyle. Rather, he argues that the Pilgrims were “troubling their braines more than reason would require about things that are indifferent” (303). Since some of Bradford’s chief complaints are drinking and dancing, seemingly harmless occupations by contemporary standards, Morton seems more reasonable on this count.

2) Weapons sales to natives are a more troubling matter. Bradford’s emotional outbursts about the “horribleness of this villainy” seem to undermine his credibility, since Morton was not openly allied with a neighboring tribe against the Plymouth colony (336). Furthermore, Bradford’s decision to take Morton by force on his own property in order to remove the threat of his personal corruption and financial negotiations from the area suggests far more aggressive behavior than Morton’s. However, Morton claims that the Puritans were jealous of the “prosperity and hope of the Plantation at Ma-re Mount,” which implies that he misunderstands the military predicament that Bradford had gotten himself into through the Pequot War (303). Clearly, he brought some of the hostility from Bradford upon himself. As Kenneth Hovey and Thomas Scanlan point out, New English Canaan was meant to be read as a “mock-heroic epic,” where caricatured names might reinforce the satirical themes of the narrative (295). Morton seems to have willfully provoked his neighbors, which reinforces some of Bradford’s claims about his arrogance. However, the fact that he did not explicitly attack them or openly threaten them with an opposing military alliance suggests that Morton’s sense of justice was more consistent than Bradford’s. If justice is any measure of credibility, one might conclude that Morton is the more reliable of the two.

Morton’s project at Merrymount is compelling by contemporary standards for several reasons. He offered servants a much more egalitarian living arrangement than Winthrop’s fixed caste system at Massachusetts Bay. His sympathy for Native Americans obviously positions him well for recognition as a progressive thinker for his time. He seems aware of the difference between metaphor and fact, as per his characterization of Miles Standish as “Captaine Shrimpe” (306); consequently, his purpose in the New World was significantly more modest than that of the Puritans, who frequently equated the metaphors of Old Testament stories with their own experience. This distinction made Morton much less dangerous. He sought economic freedom and social egalitarianism. He might be said to have been the first American capitalist, though he would likely have been horrified if he could have anticipated the rise of institutions like Enron and Wal-Mart that have bullied local economies and short-changed laborers.

Would it be too much of a stretch to hold Thomas Morton up as an American hero? Maybe his colonists wouldn’t have lasted too many winters on their party mountain, and maybe it would be embarrassing now to try explaining to children why dancing around a May Pole is more honorable than killing the “enemy” tribes, but many of the attributes that the U.S. now claims as a free-market democracy were much more evident at Morton’s Merrymount than they were at Massachusetts Bay or Plymouth.

Winthrop and the Beginning of the American Dream

One of the noteworthy contrasts between Puritan ideology and the polytheism that dominated much of the North American continent before the Arbella’s arrival at Massachusett’s Bay is Winthrop’s sense of urgency to create a difference between his band of believers and everyone else. He argues in “A Model of Christian Charity” that the biblical narrative “teacheth us to put a difference betweene Christians and others” (310), just as “the Israelites were to putt a difference betweene the brethren of such as were strangers though not of the Canaanites” (311). While indigenous tribes were often at war with one another and accepted similar distinctions between tribal identities, they were not unwilling to consider the spiritual beliefs of other traditions and even to combine those traditions with their own. Roger Williams observes in his Key into the Language of America that the Native Americans he encountered in the seventeenth century would “generally confesse that God made all: but then in speciall, although they deny not that English-mans God made English Men, and the Heavens and Earth there! yet their Gods made them and the Heaven, and Earth where they dwell” (356). The monotheism of the European Christians, on the other hand, impressed upon them the need to convert Native Americans to the one “true” faith, and their identification with the Israelites of the Hebrew Bible led them to view the natives as enemies standing in the way of Canaan, or the promised land. Whereas indigenous tribes developed sacred stories based on the landscape that they had inhabited for centuries, the Puritans were making their sacred story up as they went along. There is great irony in the fact that English settlers would claim Jewish history as their justification for settling in New England. In fact, the great sense of urgency that motivated the Puritans to tame the wilderness and purge it of the pagan tribes living there might be said to derive from their need to create a place for themselves in the world.

Winthrop’s sense of entitlement to the “promised land” of New England is similar to that of Catholic Spain, which viewed military prowess as an extension of divine favor, but the band of Puritans at Massachusetts Bay preserved only a tenuous loyalty to England and was more concerned with its own utopian project: the New Jerusalem, or the “Citty upon a Hill” that Winthrop describes at the end of his sermon (317). By claiming Jewish stories of conquest, the Puritans were also claiming spiritual status as a chosen people. The power of this view cannot be overstated, because it has led to a consistent pattern of Manifest Destiny in American history.

What evidence did the Puritans feel they had to justify such a claim?

After discussing the divinely ordained hierarchies of wealth and poverty, Winthrop moves through a series of familiar New Testament themes concerning love. Comparing the community on board the Arbella to a body, Winthrop invokes some of the most beautiful language of 1 Cornithians, namely, his paraphrase 1 Cor. 12:26, which claims that “[i]f one member suffers, all suffer with it; if one be in honour, all rejoyce with it” (312). Winthrop’s subsequent shift to Adam’s fall from grace seems logical, since it allows him to explain that Christ came to reinstitute love between humanity and God. The Holy Spirit also “gathers together the scattered bones of perfect old man Adam and knitts them into one body againe in Christ whereby a man is become againe a liveing soule” (313). This is brilliant storytelling on Winthrop’s part, showcasing his ability to coordinate the themes of the New Testament into a metaphor for the group of religious refugees on board his ship. It is inspirational speaking at its finest.

However, the radical thrust of Winthrop’s message appears later in the sermon, as he begins to build toward his climactic vision of the “Citty upon the Hill.” This is where the logic falls apart, as far as the claim to literal identification with ancient Israel, but the story that Winthrop is telling most certainly does not fall apart, as he is able to make the metaphor of the promised land seem like an obvious outgrowth of the Puritan mission. Winthrop concludes that “…for the worke wee have in hand, it is by a mutuall consent through a speciall overruleing providence, and a more then an ordinary approbation of the Churches of Christ to seeke out a place of Cohabitation and Consorteshipp under a due forme of Government both civill and ecclesiasticall” (315). He is speaking of a theocracy here, in the conflation of civil and ecclesiastical government. This is a radical departure from Christ’s stark division between the kingdom of God and the kingdom of man, a division that St. Augustine pursues at great length in The City of God. Winthrop’s synthesis of civic and spiritual goals has continued to plague American politics, despite its contradiction of Christ’s teaching in Matthew 22:17 and 21, where he suggests that Christians should not refuse to pay tribute to Caesar, nor shirk their taxes, despite the ideological conflicts between the then-secular Roman government and the small band of Christ’s followers.

More troubling than this sleight of hand is Winthrop’s explicit claim to a “speciall overruleing providence.” This claim underpins his association of Puritan society with ancient Israel, yet it is unclear how this special providence came to be. Did God speak to Winthrop out of a burning bush, as he did to Moses? Was Winthrop struck blind in the street, as Paul was on the road to Damascus, with the voice of God iterating a proclamation of special providence? No evidence of such an event exists in Winthrop’s biography, except for his gradual disillusionment with political and economic corruption in England. Readers must conclude that Winthrop considered himself something akin to a prophet; otherwise, there would be no basis for him to claim a providence that was not shared by all Christians the world over.

By the time Winthrop reaches his conclusion, the logical contradiction has become hardwired into his message, allowing him to conclude: 

When God gives a speciall Commission he lookes to have it stricktly observed in every Article….Thus stands the cause betweene God and us, wee are entered into Covenant with him for this worke, wee have taken out a Commission, the Lord hath given us leave to drawe our owne Articles wee have professed to entreprise these Accions upon these and these ends, wee have hereupon besought him of favour and blessing. (316)

In the Hebrew tradition, Moses did not decide that he would enter into a covenantal relationship with God–such an arrangement was envisioned by God and proposed to Moses through direct revelation. Notice the subtle subversion of the phrase “the Lord hath given us leave to draw our own Articles.” Where and when did God give Winthrop this liberty to write up his own covenant?

The Puritans were not blind to this tenuous claim to divine favor. In fact, most of their memoirs are riddled with anxiety about whether or not they have experienced enough providence to justify their own salvation. Some, like Michael Wigglesworth, will be tormented by fears of having been irreparably damned. Others, like Mary Rowlandson, will spin off of Winthrop’s term “speciall providence” and coin phrases like “strange Providence” that allow them to interpret even captivity among the Native Americans as a sign of God’s favor.

The power of the myth outlined in “A Model of Christian Charity” and extended throughout the rest of the Puritan literature is that it allowed the new English settlers to construe anything that happened to them as evidence that they had been sent into the wilderness of the New World with a mandate from God to claim promised land as the fulfullment of their most idealistic dreams. The leap from the dream to the proposed reality begins here in Winthrop’s sermon.