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Ideology and structure in Robinson Crusoe : Dafoe's resolution of the trade-morality conflict Foster, James O. 1973

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IDEOLOGY AND STRUCTURE IN ROBINSON CRUSOE: DEFOE'S RESOLUTION OF THE TRADE-MORALITY CONFLICT by JAMES 0. FOSTER B.A., Willamette University, 1970 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF / MASTER OF ARTS in the Department o of ENGLISH We accept this thesis as conforming to the required standard THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA April, 1973 In presenting this thesis in partial fulfilment of the requirements for an advanced degree at the University of British Columbia, I agree that the Library shall make it freely available for reference and study. I further agree that permission for extensive copying of this thesis for scholarly purposes may be granted by the Head of my Department or by his representatives. It is understood that copying or publication of this thesis for financial gain shall not be allowed without my written permission. Depa rtment The University of British Columbia Vancouver 8, Canada ABSTRACT It has been said that Defoe's writings embody an unresolvable sp l i t between a Puritan morality and an essentially capitalist economic interest. Defoe is either a Puritan, in some cases, writing works with heavy moral and religious overtones; or he is a capitalist, dis-regarding the virtues of a Puritan morality in the pursuit of economic gain. This s p l i t between trade and religion becomes a central c r i t i c a l issue in his f i r s t novel, Robinson Crusoe. There are sections of the novel in which Crusoe meditates upon religion, virtue, God's providence, his own place in the divine scheme, or in which he reflects on his past l i f e of sin and adventure. There are other sections in the book in which the excitement of the narrative is generated through a focus on an action-economics pattern. Thus, the reader becomes involved in Crusoe's various survival projects, his explorations of the island wilderness, even in his early trading ventures. The latter, of course, are antithetical to the religious point of view maintained throughout the novel. The s p l i t in Crusoe's character, and the concomitant s p l i t in the structure of his "autobiography," can be resolved by looking at Defoe's ideological background as i t relates to the themes and structure of Robinson Crusoe. Defoe's religion is a form of Puritanism; he comes from a Presbyterian household. Therefore, his ideas on economics tend to be moralistic and conservative; he is a mercantilist, not a capitalist. In Crusoe, the main character's " c a p i t a l i s t i c " i i schemes for getting quickly ahead in the world are justly punished by Providence. Providence, in this sense, is the hand of God operating as a force for moral and economic order in human affairs. Through a careful structuring of his narrative, Defoe indicates his own moral and thematic intentions. There is a religious pattern in Robinson Crusoe which manifests i t s e l f through spiritual emblemism (i.e., events can be read for their spiritual significance), traces of allegory, the actions of Providence in Crusoe's l i f e , Crusoe's own series of moral reflections, and a structure based on the conventional patterns of the seventeenth century spiritual autobiography. In the latter, the conversion scene is always the central dramatic event, and in Crusoe, the conversion stands squarely at the center of the novel; i t is the scene central to Crusoe's own development as he evolves from a "capitalist" to a moral and religious man. In a l l , the religious pattern gives the reader a perspective on Crusoe's economics; rather than being a capitalist and disrupting the status quo, Crusoe learns to create order and s t a b i l i t y on.his island through an application of the principles of reason and faith. Thus, the religious and economic patterns work together throughout the novel; they are not antithetical. One other basic pattern in Robinson Crusoe is that of Crusoe's growth to moral wisdom and rational knowledge. Crusoe evolves through three stages, from an early "brute" stage (Crusoe as capitalist), through reason, and finally to faith. Again, Defoe's intention is to show that reason and faith should operate to control impulsive behavior and action. Thus, this pattern blends with the religious pattern in the book, but i t also indicates Defoe's knowledge of the seventeenth-century natural law philosophers. Basing himself firmly on philosophical i i i definitions of man and nature Cas found in Grotius, Hobbes, and especially Locke), Defoe structures his text in order to show Crusoe's growth into faith and rationality. The result i s , of course, that Crusoe becomes an example of the "good" eighteenth-century' Englishman, able to control his actions through reason and morality, and thus he becomes a force for moral order and social stability throughout the last part of the book. Robinson Crusoe, then, can be seen as a text structured to indicate a resolution of the conflict between trade and morality. Defoe reduces and simplifies a complex ideology—made up of elements of Puritanism, conservative economic theory, natural law philosophy— for purposes of fi c t i o n a l presentation. It is this model, reduced and simplified, that the reader must understand in order to fu l l y comprehend Defoe's moral and economic intentions in Robinson Crusoe and, f i n a l l y , to see the book as i t resolves the trade-morality conflict. iv TABLE OF CONTENTS CHAPTER , Page I. Introduction 1 II. Religion and Economics in Robinson Crusoe 17 1. Introduction 17 2. The Religious Theme 21 3. The Economic Theme 49 4. Structure 75 III. Philosophy and Knowledge in Robinson Crusoe 82 1. Introduction 82 2. The State of Nature and the Early Growth of Robinson Crusoe 86 3. Possessive Individualism and the Pattern of Growth in Robinson Crusoe 112 4. Structure and Dialectics 130 IV. Conclusion: Theme and Technique 145 NOTES 156 BIBLIOGRAPHY 166 CHAPTER I Introduction Daniel Defoe's f i r s t novel, Robinson Crusoe, was published in April, 1719, and attained an immediate and widespread popularity. The book went through seven editions before i t s author's death in 1731, and has gone through perhaps two hundred more editions since then. Defoe himself wrote two sequels to The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, The  Farther Adventures of Robinson Crusoe which appeared several months after the f i r s t volume, and in 1720, Serious Reflections during the  Life and Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. Neither of these sequels, however, achieved the popularity of the f i r s t book, and they have since gone largely unnoticed apart from the occasional c r i t i c who w i l l find examples in them to bolster his interpretation of the s t i l l popular Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. The differences between the two later books, however, provide an interesting departure for our own interpretation of Robinson Crusoe (Part I ) , since they indicate a schizophrenic sp l i t in Crusoe's character that w i l l lead us into one of the central c r i t i c a l issues in Defoe studies. In the second volume of Crusoe's adventures, narrative emphasis is placed on an economic and adventure pattern; Crusoe leaves a secure position in England to travel throughout the world, trading and observing the general state of mankind. The third volume presents, 2 as the t i t l e indicates, a pattern of meditation and reflection; after a long l i f e of adventure and travel, Crusoe presents his findings and theories on man, morality, and religion. Thus, there would appear to be a s p l i t in Crusoe's character; one Crusoe is the active participant in an economic world, the other is a passive meditator who is characterized by tranquil and oftentimes "melancholy" thoughts. Although this difference between the two characterizations may not at f i r s t seem drastic—may in fact appear to be negligible—the implications i t carries for the rest of Defoe's f i c t i o n , and for his writing in general, are far-reaching indeed. Throughout the canon of Defoe's work there appears to be a continual shifting of interest between trade and religious morality. Certain writings of Defoe's are fraught with an almost Puritan morality, from articles in his Review condemning the English stage and players as lewd and immoral to his larger moralizing pieces such as Religious Courtship and The Family Instructor. At the same time, Defoe can note in the closing pages of his Review that "Writing on Trade was the Whore I really doated upon.""'" The problem is that certain trading interests are bound to conflict with a moral vision, and this two-fold interest of Defoe's in trade and morality leads, as some c r i t i c s have pointed out, to certain paradoxes in his writings. In fact, this "paradox school" of Defoe c r i t i c s sees what amounts to a diametric opposition in Defoe's own mind between economics and religion. Thus, Rudolf Stamm, one c r i t i c of this school, argues that Defoe's entire l i f e is a compromise between trade and religion, and finds him to be a pseudo-Puritan; that i s , Defoe, in both his 3 actions and his writings, attempts to fool himself into believing he is Puritan. Thus Defoe's novels are more interesting for their 2 secular themes, since the moral viewpoint is merely a put-on. Hans Anderson, in "The Paradox of Trade and Morality in Defoe," argues that Defoe is able to resolve the conflict between public virtue and private vice by compartmentalizing his trading concerns in one part of his mind and isolating that from the more Puritan, moral compartment. Defoe is able to hold to firm Christian moral commitments while he can argue, apparently immorally, for certain trading projects which his Puritan nature should naturally condemn. Anderson notes that Defoe, in certain writings, could condone slavery as economically beneficial, yet in other pieces react to i t from a humanitarian and moral point of view, precisely because 3 of this compartmentalizing process which characterized his thought. Both these theories—of Defoe as compromiser and Defoe as schizophrenic—have been refuted by Maximillian Novak in his two major c r i t i c a l works on Defoe: Defoe and the Nature of Man and Economics and the Fiction of Daniel Defoe. Briefly, Novak argues that a doctrine of necessity is central to Defoe's economic thought. Defoe could condemn the economic vice, but in many instances, the vices themselves were necessary for human survival. In speaking of Defoe's fi c t i o n a l characters, for example, Novak states: None of them f a l l into necessity through vice; therefore they cannot be charged with guilt for their early crimes. But these acts shade into innumerable social sins. It is usually of these later and more flagrant breaches of morality that Defoe allowed his characters to be punished, not for crimes committed in accordance with the laws of nature.4 4 Necessity breeds the vice, and Novak suggests that this doctrine is subsumed under the law of nature presented in seventeenth century philosophy. In Economics and the Fiction of Daniel Defoe, Novak argues that Defoe is not a bourgeois c a p i t a l i s t — n o t therefore a person sunk in economic vice—but rather he is a Puritan and a conservative (i.e., mercantilist) in matters of trade.^ Thus Defoe is enough of a realist to understand that man is driven by necessity or self-preservation into' vice, but he is also perhaps id e a l i s t i c enough to believe that man can eventually come to control his vices, perhaps even to eradicate them. Defoe, then, is not a pseudo-Puritan, as Stamm believes, nor i s he a schizophrenic, as Anderson postulates. One question in this c r i t i c a l dialectic has only been touched upon, however, and that is the problem of resolving the trade-morality paradox with direct reference to Defoe's f i c t i o n , and more precisely to Robinson Crusoe. Crusoe's possible trade-morality schizophrenia presents a peculiar problem, since i f there is such a paradox operative throughout the novel, then this book—along with i t s main character—is s p l i t irrevocably and irrecoverably down the middle. Defoe's novel—which we w i l l assume contains some sort of aesthetic or structural pattern—is fragmented, the pattern destroyed, as the trade theme effectively cancels out the moral vision and the morality blankets the trade. Perhaps I am overstating the case, but the point is an important one. It is important because, in the last twenty years or so, several theories have been advanced which attempt to justify or explain the structure and meaning of Robinson 5 Crusoe. Maximillian Novak, for example, sees Defoe's book as a tract supporting mercantilism and i l l u s t r a t i n g certain theories of economics and labor. To Ian Watt, in his The Rise of the Novel, Crusoe embodies the new economic i n d i v i d u a l i s t — a man sprung forth from the womb of the Calvinist church and taught a doctrine of ethical and economic individualism.^ Arnold Kettle claims Robinson Crusoe as proof of his theory of the novel's inception during the g bourgeois revolution at the end of the seventeenth century. The problem i s : these economic interpretations contradict one another. To Novak, Defoe is a conservative—a mercantilist—and thus there is an economic moral to Robinson Crusoe; don't be a capitalist. To Watt and Kettle, Defoe is bourgeois and a capitalist, and Crusoe is therefore a laissez-faire individualist. In this case, there is really no moral to the story, rather i t simply illustrates the economic temper of the times. If these contradictions aren't enough, there is another group of c r i t i c s who argue that Crusoe is a novel only marginally about economics. To George Starr, J. Paul Hunter, and Edwin Benjamin, Robinson Crusoe is really a book about Puritanism, embodying an essentially religious vision of l i f e . Thus, Starr argues that the structure and meaning of Defoe's novel parallel the con-ventional patterns and themes of the seventeenth century spiritual 9 autobiographies, while Hunter and Benjamin attempt to prove that Robinson Crusoe is really a religious allegory, patterned after works like Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. If, therefore, one reads a l l of these c r i t i c s on Robinson Crusoe and considers their opinions to be a l l of equal validity, then there would seem to be a s p l i t in 6 the structure and theme of the novel; i t is a tract on economics or i t is a book which embodies a religious and moral vision. Our problem here is how to put these two views of the novel together; to see the book, in other words, as a single, significantly structured unit which incorporates both the religious theme and the economic. One major weakness in the majority of these various inter-pretations of Robinson Crusoe i s that each of them tends to under-cut or ignore one theme while advancing the other to a position of ultimate and absolute importance—a position which w i l l usually not be supported through a close examination of a l l of the elements of the text. The objective of this paper w i l l be to show that Defoe is writing a novel which in fact integrates the two themes of religion and economics—morality and trade—into a pattern which then illustrates a cohesion of moral vision and material gain. Rather than seeing the book as exhibiting a s p l i t between a fundamentally secular, economic theme, and a moral, religious one, the two themes work together through-out the text. The thesis, then, is simply this: there i s no paradox between religion and economics in Robinson Crusoe and a close reading of the whole of Part I of Crusoe's Adventures should prove this statement. In thus attempting to put the novel back together'—to show the fusion of trade and morality—our method must be roundabout; that i s , working from the general to the particular. In this case, we must f i r s t define the climate of opinion in which Defoe worked. The construction of this "ideological model" w i l l lead to a close reading of Robinson Crusoe, keeping in mind a l l the while that Defoe is 7 simplifying and reducing the major ideas in this model for the purposes of fi c t i o n a l presentation. Our focus w i l l f i r s t be on religion and economics in eighteenth-century England, and then on the philosophy of the period, and in each case, our purpose w i l l be to see how these ideas are exemplified and illustrated in the novel i t s e l f . We can then focus, in turn, on the religious, economic, and philosophical patterns in Robinson Crusoe, and thus we can see how these patterns work together to structure and create meaning in the book. Before we analyze the novel i t s e l f , we should perhaps look at the general historical and p o l i t i c a l background in England during the latter half of the seventeenth century, since Defoe himself is very much a product of this age, and the events which took place during the Restoration period undoubtedly had a great influence on his l i f e , philosophy, and writings. Defoe, i t is thought, was born in 1660.. This i s , of course, the year in which Charles II was restored to the English throne, and the year which consequently marked the end of Puritan rule in that country. The Puritans had maintained p o l i t i c a l control in England for eleven years after the C i v i l War, and with the death of Oliver Cromwell, o f f i c i a l l y "Lord Protector" of the Commonwealth, they discovered that they lacked the p o l i t i c a l cohesiveness so important to the smooth functioning of a government. As varied in p o l i t i c a l opinions as they were in religious beliefs, the Puritans came to realize that power and solidarity were maintained through the strong personality of Cromwell himself, and through the existence of a Puritan army loyal to the Lord Protector. When Cromwell died the Puritans could no longer maintain their government, and for p o l i t i c a l reasons—besides a general weariness among influential elements of the 8 population with Puritan rule—Charles II was called back to assume the kingship. With the p o l i t i c a l failure and subsequent loss of power by the Puritans, a new phase in the persecution of these dissenting religious groups began. A series of reactionary parliamentary acts, known collectively as the Clarendon Code, began with the passing of the Corporation Act of December, 1661. This f i r s t law, directed against what p o l i t i c a l and religious power the Puritans s t i l l retained, excluded from municipal bodies a l l people refusing to renounce the Covenant.,"'"''" to take the sacrament according to the rites of the Church of England, or to swear nonresistance to the monarchy. In 1662, another b i l l , the Act of Uniformity, required a l l preachers who did not conduct their services according to the new and revised Book of Common Prayer to quit their pulpits. The direct result of this act was to force nearly two thousand ministers to reject the Church of England and to become either itinerant preachers, sermon-izing wherever they could collect•a crowd, or to find new livelihoods. Dissenting congregations had to go underground also, and as a contem-porary, Oliver Heywood, remarked, "The Act of Uniformity struck a l l 12 nonconformists dead on St. Bartholomew's Day, August 24, 1662." And G.R. Cragg, in his Puritanism in the Period of the Great Persecution, points out: For the most part the ejected ministers were thrown upon the world without means of support. They could not con-tinue the work for which they had been trained, and the alternatives to which educated men would ^naturally turn were closed to them by the ingenuity with which the Act of Uniformity had been framed. Many were the expedients to which they were driven. A few had private means. Some possessed s k i l l s for which the community was glad to remunerate them. Many turned to secular callings until they could find some opportunity of exercising their ministry once more. 13 9 Many of these ejected ministers did return to preaching nonconformist doctrines. Others, however, took up more secular callings. The persecution of dissenting ministers spread gradually to a persecution of their congregations as well, and thus the Clarendon Code forced a l l nonconformists to do one of two things: they could either join the Anglican Church and again take part in an active and open p o l i t i c a l l i f e , or they could quit their p o l i t i c a l concerns and survive in society as best they could. There seems, then, to be a general movement among Puritans of this time to more economic concerns, and as Maurice Ashley notes, "One reason for the extraordinary success of the Nonconformists... in business was that they were thus diverted from the ordinary duties and pleasures of 14 citizenship." This movement into business resulted, as we shall later see, in slight shifts of emphasis in Puritan doctrine, especially regarding the place of trade and morality in the nonconformist view of human l i f e . These concepts are thus fundamental to our understanding of what Defoe is doing in Robinson Crusoe. Though many of the events of Defoe's early l i f e , and in fact a great deal of his later l i f e , are largely a matter of conjecture, one thing i s certain; his way of l i f e was influenced by the Clarendon Code and the persecution of dissenting groups. His parents, for example, had long been members of the congregation of Dr. Samuel Annesley. When the Act of Uniformity was passed, they followed Dr. Annesley into the Presbyterian Church. Thus, we assume that Defoe's background is nonconformist, and that he was taught basic Puritan doctrine as a child. There i s , however, only scattered evidence of this 10 background in his own writing. He does number the members of local dissenting groups in his Tour Thro' the Whole Island of Great Britain; there are moral passages, very Puritan in tone, in his Review; also, his most notorious piece of work, The Shortest Way with the Dissenters, i s an ironic attack on the conservative High-Church clergy, and consequently, a kind of defense of the dissenters. But in this case, biographical evidence is more helpful than literary corroborations. For example, Defoe was sent to the Reverend Charles Morton's dissenting academy at Newington Green in order to prepare himself for the Presbyterian ministry. Bonamy Dobree comments on his education, both under Annesley and under Morton: From Samuel Annesley, his f i r s t pastor—on whose death he wrote one of his most tedious poems—he derived not only a Calvinistic denial of grace, but a dislike of dogmatic insistence, of fierce p o l i t i c o -religious s t r i f e , which the later Defoe would at any rate find contrary to the interests of trade. But Charles Morton, later f i r s t Vice-President of Harvard, Master of Stoke Newington Academy where Defoe got his schooling, was a disciple of Wilkins, famous in the Royal Society, and he inculcated a firm belief in Baconian progress, making, i t would seem, no distinction between the two philosophies, divine and natural. He taught, nevertheless, that there existed an operative providence always at hand to help those strenuous to help themselves. From both, probably, Defoe derived that deep apprehension of the manifestations of supernatural e v i l seldom absent from the puritanical consciousness.15 Thus, puritanical and religious as his education was, Defoe was also taught the more practical disciplines of science, logic, and natural philosophy. John Moore conjectures that Defoe described his education in this passage from The Compleat English Gentleman: "He run through the whole course of philosophy, he perfectly compassed the study of geography, the use of maps and globes; he read a l l that Sir 11 Isaac Newton, Mr. Whitson, Mr. Halley had said in English upon the 16 nicest subjects in astronomy and the secrets of nature...." It should also be mentioned that the Puritan education stressed not only theology, but practicality, especially i f the student was considering the ministry as a vocation. William Haller, in his Rise of Puritanism, points to the long tradition of both religious and secular education in the nonconformist schools: Students were enveloped in an intensely religious atmosphere, they were instructed in rhetoric and oratory, in the Bible and the Greek and Latin classics, in moral and natural philosophy. In the course of time, history, the modern languages and literatures, mathematics and experimental science, f i n a l l y the social sciences, a l l found acceptance within this curriculum as the vestiges of scholasticism, followed by evangelism, faded away.17 And as Richard Bernard explains, in The Faithfull Shepheard, a broad education must be given a man preparing for the dissenting'ministry: "What Art or Science is there, which a Divine shall not stand in need of...?" And "Grammar, Rhetorick, Logicke, Physicks, Mathematicks, Metaphysicks, Ethicks, Politicks, Oeconomicks, History, and Military 18 Discipline," are some of the specific courses he names. The importance of this education to our understanding of Defoe cannot be underestimated. Morton definitely fostered the pragmatic and practical approach to experience and l i f e and grounded his students, 19 as James Sutherland indicates, in science, inquiry, and reasoning. Consequently, i t is safe to assume that Defoe was knowledgeable both in Puritan writings and in the secular natural philosophies. As Novak points out, the author of Robinson Crusoe was apparently familiar with the works of Dalby, Thomas, Sir William Petty, John As.gill, 12 and Nicholas Barbon, at least by the time he wrote his f i r s t important work on economics, Essay upon Projects. Defoe mentions Aristotle and Machiavelli in Considerations on the Present State of Affairs in Great Britain, he quotes Hobbes in The Storm, and he refers to Bacon in A General History of Discoveries and Improvements, in Useful 20 Arts and to Locke and Pufendorf in Jure Divino. Though perhaps one can doubt that Defoe read a l l of the works of these men, s t i l l i t i s safe to assume that he was at least familiar with their ideas. Con-sequently, one expects to find their influence in his writings. One assumption we w i l l make later is that the natural law philosophers— primarily Hobbes and Locke—form a part of that ideological model which influenced Defoe's outlook and that their ideas influenced both the theme and structure of Robinson Crusoe. Finally, Defoe himself re-enacted what had become a standard pattern in the lives of many Puritans; he turned from a ministerial vocation to go into business. Sutherland states that Defoe's father, James Foe, "must have realized that he [Daniel] was an adventurer: a respectable adventurer, no doubt, dealing for the most part with rather large ideas." And he saw his son become "a promoter, a 21 speculator, a man of many aff a i r s . " In turning to the world of economics and trade, Defoe was following the trend of his age; i.e., the nonconformist entered into the vocation of tradesman or merchant. Defoe, at any rate, seems to have entered the merchant profession wholeheartedly, for in the years that followed," he was a wholesale hosier, he imported wine, insured ships, dealt in real estate, owned a brickworks, and carried on trade in wool, oysters, cheese, and salt. 13 In fact, by the time legally-sanctioned persecution of the noncon-formists began fading out with the ascension of William and Mary to the English throne, Defoe had become a f a i r l y successful businessman and p o l i t i c a l pamphleteer. However, in 1692 he was declared bankrupt for fel7,000, and though he might have had some business success along the way, he was never entirely free of his creditors until his death. In specifically relating Robinson Crusoe to this rather sketchy historical and biographical background, one thing becomes apparent. Perhaps Defoe's turning from an intended career in the ministry to secular business persuits is directly related to Crusoe's leaving his father's home, and the law profession he was being trained for, and taking to the sea. At least this would explain Crusoe's reference to his story as being both "allegorical" and "historical" in the "Preface" to the later Serious Reflections. Defoe, as some c r i t i c s would point out, is perhaps writing loosely of his own l i f e in the Crusoe trilogy; that i s , perhaps some of the episodes could be taken as allegoric renderings of certain events in Defoe's own l i f e . This would be fine, but i t does not really t e l l us anything about the structures and themes to be found in the text as a whole. It is certainly one of the most useless points to pursue in Robinson Crusoe. Another implication i s that the book is structured according to the st r i c t principles of religious allegory. Thus, Crusoe defends the value of allegory, and incidently the value of his own Adventures, in drawing a contrast between the useful allegory and the useless romance. Crusoe states, again in the Serious Reflections, that "the telling or 14 writing a Parable, or an allusive allegorick history is quite a different Case, and is always Distinguisht from the other Jesting with Truth; that i t is design'd and effectually turn'd for instructive and upright ends, and has i t s Moral justly apply'd: Such as the historical Parables in the holy Scripture, such i s the Pilgrims Progress, and such, in a Word the Adventures of your fugitive Friend, 22 Robinson Crusoe." Defoe, in defending his book's reputation as truth (either l i t e r a l or figurative), builds his case for allegory. In putting forward this case, however, Defoe confuses his literary terms. A parable—"historical" or otherwise—is usually a shorter piece, a story, i l l u s t r a t i n g some moral lesson. A parable can be allegorical, though every element of the story does not necessarily have to conform to a definite and precise system of meaning. It w i l l be my contention, throughout this essay, that Defoe is not writing a s t r i c t allegory, that in fact the structure of Crusoe i s looser and perhaps more suggestive than that of an allegory. A looser form would also allow Defoe to weave into his work more of the thoughts of those writers who perhaps influenced him, making the work a far richer source of ideas and themes than i f he had attempted to produce a straight religious and Puritan allegory. In a l l , Defoe would have been more accurate in calling his f i r s t novel a parable rather than an allegory. A parable retains the moral thrust of allegory, but does not embody the s t r i c t structure of referents and meaning contained in the more rigid form. It also need not be an entirely religious work; i t can include a more secular wisdom as well as a religious vision. In this sense, Robinson Crusoe 15 could perhaps be called a parable, whether i t is a parable of economic man or of religious man or of both at once. In a larger view, nearly a l l of Defoe's fictional narratives, i f we are to believe the statements made in his prefaces, are parables, but nearly a l l f a l l considerably short of being allegorical. F i r s t , Defoe's stories are parables largely through their professed moral purpose. Defoe, masquerading as Crusoe in the "Preface" to the Serious Reflections, defines his aesthetic credo: "...the design of everything is said to be f i r s t in intention, and last in execution." ( I l l , ±x). Consequently, Defoe pays l i t t l e attention to a tight overall patterning of his f i c t i o n , yet he is always ready to point out the moral (i.e., intention). Thus, the "Preface" to Part I of Robinson Crusoe reads in part, "The story is told with modesty, with seriousness, and with a religious application of events to the uses to which wise men always apply them (viz.) to the instruction of others by this example, and.to justify and honor the wisdom of Providence in a l l variety of our circumstances, let them happen how they w i l l " ( I , i i ) . One must finally agree a^r ce with Maximillian Novak that Defoe oftentimes writes hastily, lets things "happen how they w i l l , " and shows better abil i t y at constructing scenes, paragraphs, and sections, than a well-integrated, structurally flawless narrative. "If he occasionally forgot what he said twenty pages back," concludes Novak, "he was fully 23 aware of individual words and paragraphs." On the other hand, i f Defoe does stress intention over execution (moral over technique or structure), there are s t i l l specific patterns which work throughout Robinson Crusoe—patterns which indicate a rather 16 complex structure of ideas in the novel. The purpose of this essay w i l l be to uncover this structure through, f i r s t , a look at the novel' ideological background, and second, by realizing Defoe's thematic intentions in Robinson Crusoe as these are indicated in the structure of the book. The primary objective is to indicate, through a close reading of the text as i t relates to a background of ideas and beliefs that there is no real paradox between economics and trade and Crusoe's essentially nonconformist morality. Rather, these two elements work together in the novel to indicate a more complete pattern of meaning in the book, and this pattern is only realized when the reader compre-hends the integration of religious (Puritan) and secular (economics, natural philosophy) modes of thought into the pattemof Crusoe's adventures. We w i l l begin by looking specifically at the religious an economic themes in Robinson Crusoe, indicating how they work together throughout the novel, and then go on to relate the pattemof Crusoe's growth into moral and intellectual knowledge to the philosophy of the period and indicate that this pattern of growth also works to resolve the trade-morality paradox. CHAPTER II Religion and Economics in Robinson Crusoe 1. Introduction In spite of the c r i t i c a l volumes and articles written on Defoe, a l l of which expose and explain c r i t i c a l problems and dilemmas within the canon of his works, there i s a general problem that has not yet received the attention i t merits. Suppose, as many c r i t i c s have, that one can read Robinson Crusoe as a Puritan allegory. Besides interpretative d i f f i c u l t i e s with the text i t s e l f , there would be serious problem in defining what exactly Puritanism i s . In fact, any precision is sadly lacking in defining what a Puritan believed as opposed to what, say, an Anglican did. The reasons for this difficulty are basically two: one religious, the other p o l i t i c a l . Originally, the sixteenth century "Puritan" had i t from John Calvin that a l l people were predestined to either suffer the torments of h e l l or live in eternal b l i s s in heaven. According to Calvin's doc-trine of hard determinism, man had l i t t l e or no choice in his fate: everything had already been decided. From birth a l l human beings were depraved, living, as a result of Adam's original sin, in' an essentially e v i l world and, consequently, subject to the many temptations of that world. This concept of original sin, 1'-• •-: was a universal Christian doctrine, the concept 18 of pre-destination was primarily Puritan. And the Puritans also dissented from Anglican doctrine, supposedly, in their doctrine of the elect. If one were a member of the elect—that i s , a member in good standing of the Puritan Church—then one stood a good chance of being "saved". These two doctrines, i t could be said, served to define Puritan religious ideology up until the time of the Puritan Revolution. Then, as the original and central groups of the Puritan Church began to splinter and form opposing factions within their own ranks, the core doctrines of predestination and the elect began to fade, in some groups, into a more "benevolistic" ideology. If, according to Puritan pamphleteers such as John Goodwin and Henry Parker, the seeds of grace resided in each individual, then i t was possible for anyone to achieve the state of grace even here in this sinful world. And, i f they were saved, the new converts certainly needn't burn in h e l l for an eternity. The conception of a fallen world remained, but predestination began to fade as a doctrine strongly advocated by the Puritan divines. Thus, at least one defining and fundamental doctrine of the early Puritan Church, could no longer specifically apply to the post-revolution Puritan churches. As for the doctrine of the elect, most religious disciplines in Europe—Roman Catholic or Anglican, Orthodox or Protestant—stressed the idea that members of their particular group, or sect, were saved while everyone else was damned. Also, Puritanism existed originally as a p o l i t i c a l movement within a larger p o l i t i c a l structure. The Dissenters existed from the sixteenth century as a splinter group within the Anglican Church, and 19 were attempting to p o l i t i c a l l y "purify" or reform i t . This conflict was largely one over church government, though during the Puritan Revolution i t became a matter of national government also. The Dissenters were opposed specifically to church government by prelates, but even here, the various sects within the so-called Puritan Church were in conflict with one another. Presbyterians, Independents, Baptists, Quakers, Brownists, Separatists, Muggletonians and so forth, a l l had their own ideas on the various p o l i t i c a l structures which should constitute the ruling system of the Anglican Church. Defoe's particular sect, the Presbyterians, did stress the doctrine of predestination but p o l i t i c a l l y were to the "right," closer to the central doctrines of the Anglican Church (though s t i l l dissenting from i t ) than any of the other Puritan sects."'" In fact, the Presbyterians weren't o f f i c i a l l y excluded from the Anglican Church unti l the Act of Uniformity passed in Parliament in 1662. Consequently, trying to formulate a series of precise statements on the p o l i t i c a l doctrines of Puritanism would be as d i f f i c u l t as trying to formulate a similar collection of statements on religious doctrine. In approaching Defoe's writings, then, this problem in definition becomes more than simply a biographical quandary. Defoe never actually reveals his "true" religion in his published writings, and i f we did not know that he came from a Presbyterian family, we would have some di f f i c u l t y in labelling him according to religious belief. Even in such autobiographical pieces as "An Appeal to Honour and Justice" (1715), or in such moralizing works as Religious Courtship 20 (1722) and The Family Instructor (1715, 1718), Defoe always assumes a broader and more generalized religious view. Consequently, in reading Defoe's fict i o n , one never finds clear statements of basic Puritan doctrine; rather, one finds broader, perhaps more "universal," religious themes (at least in the Protestant sense). George Starr summarizes this c r i t i c a l problem with Defoe and his religion in Defoe and Casuistry, where he points out that in researching the writings of both Anglicans and Puritans in the seventeenth century, "Not. only does agreement greatly outweigh d i s a g r e e m e n t b u t disagree-ment does not necessarily follow sectarian lines. One object in citing Anglican as well as Nonconformist divines is to suggest that Defoe's Puritanism (and for that matter post-Restoration Puritanism i t s e l f ) is a complex problem which calls for further exploration, not a settled h i s t o r i c a l fact on which interpretations of his l i f e and 2 works can profitably be based." Further, Starr remarks in his Defoe and Spiritual Autobiography, " i t becomes clear that the leading religious ideas in Defoe's fic t i o n were in fact commonplaces of the English Protestant tradition, not merely crotchets of his much-3 discussed Dissenting milieu." This brief sketch of the d i f f i c u l t i e s inherent in generating accurate definitions of Puritanism and Defoe's own religious ideology indicates the level on which Defoe's Robinson Crusoe should be approached. Rather than looking for parts of the text which might specifically point to something called a "Puritan theme," one should approach the novel from a point of generalization: that i s , from a broad view of the English Protestant ideology to a particular application 21 of the ideology to Robinson Crusoe. The argument, then, must be from the general to the particular—defining the ideology, then applying i t in a close c r i t i c a l analysis of Robinson Crusoe in order to show that what at f i r s t might seem a paradox between moral theory and economic fact is subsumed in a coherent philosophy held by the author. The primary objective of this chapter is to define a structural pattern in Robinson Crusoe which incorporates both the religious and economic themes into a pattern of interaction and development. The reason for this approach is simply that with this structural view of the novel at hand—an interpretation which indicates a balanced structure and an integration of themes—one can then move on to the larger idediogieal and thematic framework which this formalistic pattern indicates: that of the growing importance of the concept of individualism in the religious, social, and p o l i t i c a l thought of the day. Robinson  Crusoe, then, w i l l be analysed not as a book isolated from i t s historical period, but as i t was most lik e l y read and appreciated by the lit e r a t e , educated person who purchased a copy of the f i r s t edition in 1719. In this manner, the contemporary reader is made aware of the ideological background of the novel, for only in this way can one gain a broader c r i t i c a l understanding of Robinson Crusoe in particular, and of Defoe's work in general. |I. The Religious Theme Basic to both Anglican and Puritan religious belief i s a core of interrelated concepts which can be discussed under three general 22 categories: the importance of the individual as indicated in a form of "sub-" or "pre-literature" and a concomitant emblematic way of viewing reality, Providence, and the doctrine of the calling. First, as is indicated by both Puritan and Anglican writings of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the individual soul was the place wherein the divine light of grace could be cherished, and 4 this soul consequently became the battlefield between Satan and God. Perhaps, with the usual reservations, one can assume that this doctrine is more Puritan than Anglican in nature, for i t at least is a fundamental theme in Puritan literature, both imaginative and factual. John Bunyan, for example, stresses both this popular conception of the human soul and the importance of the individual looking inward into his soul in the scene at the Interpreter's House in Pilgrim's Progress. This scene resolves i t s e l f into an allegorical depiction of the battle between good and e v i l within the human heart: in the individual's heart burns the f i r e of grace onto which Satan, standing at one side, casts water, and Christ, standing on the other side, pours the "Oyl of his Grace." The individual person, Bunyan implies, should be v i t a l l y concerned with his own soul, should watch i t carefully, and should keep the divine f i r e well-fed.^ This basic idea of a religious introspection, here exemplified in Bunyan's allegory, becomes the impetus behind the writing of most of the spiritual autobiographies of the time, including, of course, Bunyan's own Grace Abounding. The intensely individualistic concern over the sp i r i t u a l welfare of the soul leads naturally, as William Haller would have i t in his Rise of Puritanism, to a form of literature termed spiritual autobiography. 2 3 Each properly religious man observes this spiritual warfare in his heart, and, as a consequence of his observations, writes a daily journal, usually beginning with his spiritual rebirth (since this event marks the beginning of his observations and reflections), and consisting almost entirely of his spiritual and metaphysical ruminations and struggles for that particular day. Because of the dynamic tendencies and missionary zeal of the early Puritans, these records were usually published (and especially i f the author is also an influential preacher) in order to instruct others in the workings of grace and in ways to overcome Satan's forces. Closely following these autobiographies, in both form and content, are "instruction" or "guide" books, which teach interested readers how to look into their souls and cure what diseased parts they find. Thus, in the seventeenth century, an entire literature of sp i r i t u a l instruction, is born, consisting of books written by such Puritan divines as William Perkins, William Ames, and Richard Baxter, and s p i l l i n g over into the works of Anglican bishops such as Hall, Sanderson, and Barlow'. And the t i t l e s of these works indicate their most fundamental themes: Christian Warfare, Doctrine of the Beginnings of Christ, Discourse about the State of  True Happiness, The New Birth, The Whole Armor of God, Seven Treatises, Containing Such Directions as is gathered out of the Holie Scriptures, leading and guiding to true happiness, both in this l i f e , and in the  l i f e to come, and may be called the practise of Christianitie. Profitable for a l l such as heartily desire the same: in which, more  particularly true Christians may learn how to leade a godly and  comfortable l i f e everyday (known popularly as Seven Treatises). 24 These biographies, autobiographies, and guide-books, bom and bred of the conversion experience and the doctrine of ideas inherited with that experience, influenced the religiously-based literature that followed in both form and content. In a formalistic sense, the narrative structure of this literature, because of an "emblematic" view of the world, tends to dissolve into a series of scenes and events, each of which could be interpreted for i t s spiritual significance. George Starr points out that this led naturally to the religious man seeing his l i f e as a series of religiously significant episodes.^ Thus, in the summary of the sp i r i t u a l tribulations of the day, the autobiographer or diarist looks particularly for signs of God's favor or disfavor. In other words, to the Puritan (and, of course, to the Anglican), second causes are without a doubt merely results of a First Cause, for every outward occurrence is a sign—an emblem— containing certain, innate sp i r i t u a l significance. This emblematic way of perceiving the world lays stress on the representational aspects of situations and objects in that world. An invisible hand of God— Providence—is always at work in this world, and the individual person is duty-bound to delve below mere appearance in order to read the spiritual realities manifested underneath. The anonymous author of Christian Conversation, in Six Dialogues, for example, states that " ' t i s obvious to every man in the least conversant with the Scriptures, that everywhere heavenly things are set forth by earthly representations; and that in great mercy and condescension to our capacities and g understandings, and as helps to our faith." And John Livingstone observes among Scottish Presbyterians in Ireland in the 1620s that 2 5 "some of them had attained such a dexterity of expressing religious purposes by the resemblance of worldly things, that being at feasts in common inns, where were ignorant profane persons, they would, among themselves, intertain s p i r i t u a l l discourse for ane long time; and the other professed, that although they spake good English, they 9 could not understand what they said." The purposes to which an author could apply this interesting g i f t of spiritual sight are either in an explanatory, autobiographical manner as is implied in the t i t l e of James Janeway's work, Invisibles, Realities, Demonstrated in the Holy Life and Triumphant Death of Mr. John Janeway, or in a more reflective manner as in Ralph Austen's The Spi r i t u a l l use of an Orchard, or Garden of Fruit Trees. In actual fact, though, the unifying formal structure of the spiritual autobiography is to be found elsewhere, in the conversion process of the human soul which gave rise to this emblematic vision, and in the various metaphors which were used and reused continually by the Puritan and Anglican authors. This standard pattern is an account of the writer's early, depraved l i f e — u s u a l l y , the more lurid in detail the bett e r — a provocation to repentance followed by a series of reflections, the conversion experience i t s e l f , and a sub-sequent account of a l i f e f i l l e d with religious reflections, backslidings, and so on, with a standard death-bed victory over the forces of e v i l . Once again, George Starr points out—this time with specific reference to Robinson Crusoe—that "Conversion i s clearly the pivotal phase in the sequence:... each stage not only precedes or follows conversion in point of time, but takes on significance wholly as a preparation or 26 obstacle to i t beforehand, or as a result or retrogression from i t once achieved. The emblematic vision of the Protestant divines led naturally into a metaphorical view of l i f e . Specifically, the standard metaphors which ordered the religious world vision of the seventeenth-century Protestant were the view of l i f e as a journey or pilgrimage, geo-graphical wandering as spiritual alienation from God, the wilderness and "lost soul" metaphor, and in fact, that overriding view of a l l objects and situations in the world as being vehicles for the conveyance of a spiritual meaning. This view of reality results, of course, in the allegorical interpretation of the l i f e of man in the world and naturally influenced an author like John Bunyan in the construction of works such as Pilgrim's Progress and The Life and Death  of Mr. Badman. The same metaphorical vision works throughout Robinson Crusoe, but a more complete understanding of that mechanism of God's responsible for controlling events and situations in this world is necessary before we turn specifically to Defoe's novel. The prevailing use of emblems and metaphors in the seventeenth and eighteenth century spiritual autobiographies, diaries, and sermons indicates a strong belief in the workings of Providence in this fallen world. Crusoe himself defines Providence in his Serious Reflections, the third and f i n a l work of Defoe's dealing with this "mariner of York." In a chapter entitled "Of Listening to the Voice of Providence," Crusoe states that this s p i r i t u a l manifestation consists of "that operation of the power, wisdom, justice, and goodness of God by which He influences, governs, and directs not only the means, but the events 27 of a l l things which concern us in this world" (III, 178). To Crusoe, the definite existence of a Providence actively causing events to take place in this world indicates that God exists, and in a rather circular piece of logic, this proof of God's existence leads to two further assumptions: 1. That this eternal God guides by His providence the whole world, which Hehas" created by His power. 2. That this Providence manifests a particular care over and concern in the governing and directing [of] man, the best and last created creature on earth. ( I l l , 178) That Providence which is responsible for the correct mechanical operation of the universe is also responsible for guiding the affairs of men in general. And, in particular, Providence plays a major role in the affairs of individual persons. Thus, the polemical purpose of Crusoe's chapter and the impetus behind the writing of spir i t u a l autobiographies, exempla, and guide books are one and the same: "By listening to the voice of Providence, I mean to study i t s meaning in every circumstance of l i f e , in every event; to learn to understand the end and design of Providence in everything that happens, what i s the design of Providence in i t respecting ourselves, and what our duty to do upon the particular occasion that offers" (III, 181-182). Providence, therefore, guides and directs those who pay heed to i t s voice—who, in fact, can discern the workings of a First Cause behind second causes. Many of Defoe's writings, from The  Storm (1704) to The Journal of the Plague Year (1722), illustrate the working of this s p i r i t u a l force behind the mask of events, for both the storm and the plague were sent as warnings to the English nation 28 to cease i t s wicked ways, and thus represent a c a l l to repentance. As Crusoe himself states in his Farther Adventures, "If we do not allow a visible Curse to pursue visible Crimes, how shall we reconcile the Events of Things with the Divine Justice?" (II, 181). Or, this at least i s one function of Providence; i t is God's visible warning to unrepentant sinners. And Crusoe, in this case, follows standard religious doctrine in assuming that the reason for the punishment can be read in the punishment i t s e l f . On the other hand, Providence maintains a "guide and direction" status by indicating what "calling" one should pursue. This indication occurs on two levels—one s p i r i t u a l and one mundane—which correspond to what sermonizers term a general calling and a particular calling. The general calling, as Robert Sanderson defines i t in XXXVI Sermons (1689), " i s that wherewith God calleth us...to the faith and obediance of the Gospel, and to the embracing of the Covenant of Grace." The particular calling " i s that wherewith God enableth us, and directeth us...on to some special course and condition of l i f e , wherein to employ ourselves, and to exercise the gifts he hath bestowed upon 11 us." Thus Charles and Catherine George, in their book on The Protestant Mind of the English Reformation, point out that "A man's proper calling is determined by the providence of God and is matched by the possession 12 of natural gifts appropriate to the tasks involved." Providence, then, acts to c a l l men f i r s t to the proper religion (in this case, Protestant Christianity) and second to a particular station in l i f e . The emphasis in the latter i s social and economic in nature: a person employs his own capacities and a b i l i t i e s as these have been given him by Providence in his occupation and consequently in the maintenance of 29 social and economic order. Or as William Perkins, a noted Puritan divine, asserts, "A vocation of calling i s a certaine kind of l i f e , ordained and imposed on man by God, for the common good." Perkins goes on to point out: Now a l l societies of men, are bodies...the common wealth also, and in these bodies there be several members, which are men walking in several callings and offices, the execution whereof, must tend to the happy and good estate of the rest; yea of a l l men every where, as much as possible i s . . . . Here then we must in generall know, that he abuseth his calling whosoever he be that against the end thereof, imployes i t for himselfe, seeking wholly his owne and not the common good. And that common saying, Every man for himselfe, and God for us a l l , is wicked, and is directed against the end of every calling, or honest kind of life.13 To refuse to accept one's particular calling, then, is both a sin against society and a sin against God. In fact, religious treatises throughout the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries are f i l l e d with examples of Adam's, Jonah's, Balaam's, and prodigal sons who, through pride in some cases and fear in others, sin against the social and religious order, sin against Providence, and therefore sin against God. And, working well with these favorite religious themes, Defoe sets out immediately in Robinson Crusoe to give the reader this moral perspective on his main character. The f i r s t pages of Robinson Crusoe set the moral and religious theme. Crusoe, born the son'of a retired middle-class merchant who had made his modest fortune "by merchandise," finds his head " f i l l e d very early with rambling thoughts," and terms this wanderlust a "fata l . . . propension of nature tending directly to the l i f e of misery which was to befall me" (I, 4). Thus, the reader, is immediately presented with a bui l t - i n moral outlook, for physical and emotional states, and 30 events themselves, are described and interpreted through the moral viewpoint of an older and wiser Crusoe. In fact, this narrative device—indicated through the consistent use of the past tense., a technique of foreshadowing, and continual didactic and moralizing intrusions—gives the text i t s e l f a "double perspective:" an event, for example, occurs both on a level of " r e a l i s t i c " adventure and on a possible moral and religious level. This double perspective is important as i t allows us to posit a shaping vision at work in Robinson Crusoe, selecting, modifying, and interpreting events, and thus indicating the possibility of a definite structure in a book considered by some to be a rather haphazard compendium of second-hand travel books and adventure stories. The pattern emerges almost immediately, brought into focus by a train of religious allusions and metaphors and by Crusoe's own method of describing and moralizing. The young Crusoe dreams of going to sea and making his own fortune. He is not content with the "middle station of l i f e " so assiduously recommended by his father, who warns his son that i f he does take "this foolish step" God would not bless him, and he "would have leisure hereafter to reflect upon having neglected his counsel when there might be none to assist me in my recovery" (I, 16). Crusoe calls his father's words "truly prophetic," and indeed they are. He ships out three different times, and on his f i r s t voyage he nearly drowns. He is successful on his second venture, realizing a considerable profit, but even in this case he only appears to be a successful trader-adventurer. His success i s , in one sense, merely a temptation— essentially an e v i l one at that—to further voyages, and on his third 31 venture he is captured by Moorish pirates. He manages to escape from the Moorish city, Salee, and through the aid of a Portuguese captain who eventually rescues him, finds both new l i f e and new wealth as a plantation owner in Brazil. But, his "fatal propension" drives him on to undertake a slaving expedition which ends in a shipwreck and his isolation on an.island. He has, then, twenty-eight years to reflect on his father's warning. In fact, throughout these early adventures we are constantly reminded of Crusoe's father's warning, and his statement impresses i t s e l f on Crusoe's mind with an almost god-like profundity. This would indicate, i f we follow the seventeenth century doctrine of religious correspondences, that for "father" we can substitute "God." The old merchant is described as "a wise and grave man" who gives his son' "his testimony to this [the middle station of l i f e ] as the just standard of true f e l i c i t y " (I, 4). " F e l i c i t y , " in.the eighteenth century religious context, defines the 14 state of the unfalien Adam, and Crusoe's father uses the word to refer to a kind of edenic middle-class existence. Perhaps, then, f e l i c i t y means both, for the old man's description of that middle states comes very close to not only a description of the virtuous l i f e of a Puritan, but also to an earthly paradise, emblematic of the original Eden. In this felicitous middle station, one finds "temperance, moderation, quietness, health, society, a l l agreeable diversions, and a l l desireable pleasures" (I, 3). The middle station is the middle way, and by resting content in that proper place, one is not tempted to the sin of hybris. Crusoe is so tempted, however, for he leaves his home "without God's blessing, or my father's," and he goes "against 32 the w i l l , nay the commands" of his father (I, 8). The meaning implicit in this recounting of a f a l l from grace i s made explicit later when, after spending several years in isolation on a desert i s l e , Crusoe calls his departure from home his "original sin:" I have been in a l l my circumstances a memento to those who are touched with the general plague of mankind, whence, for ought I know, one half of their miseries flow; I mean, that of not being satisfied with the station wherein God and Nature had placed them; for, not to look back upon my primitive condition and the excellent advice of my father, the opposition to which was, as I may c a l l i t , my original sin, my subsequent mistakes of the same kind had been the means of my coming into this miserable condition; for had that'Providence, which so happily had seated me at the Brazils as a planter, blessed me with confined desires, and I could have been contented to have gone on gradually, I might have been by this time, I mean in the time of my being in this island, one of the most considerable planters in the Brazils.... (I, 215) Crusoe's explicit reference to disobedience and original sin, hheralded by the phrase "the general plague of mankind," indicates that paternal disobedience means the same thing as disobedience of God. His l i f e i s , as he terms i t , a "memento": a reenactmenf of the almost archetypal pattern of the l i f e of a Protestant divine. Thus Crusoe himself becomes an everyman—a prodigal son—who lives a l i f e according to the pattern of sin, repentance, and grace. If we consider Crusoe's early disobedience as his original sin, then his f a l l from the "middle station" makes him an "old Adam" whose travels represent a spiritual exile from the edenic social existence propounded by his father. Quite simply, the "old Adam" i s , in one sense, the original Adam who inhabited the original paradise and who f e l l through the sin of pride. After his f a l l , the "old Adam" grew wild, or as Henry Parker, a Puritan pamphleteer, writes in his Observations upon some of his Majesties Late Answers and Expresses (1642), 33 man "grew so untame and u n c i v i l l a creature that the Law of God written in his breast was not sufficient to restrayne him from m i s c h i e f e . . . . D e f o e himself writes, in The Family Instructor, that "The effect of [Adam's] sin is a corrupt Taint which we a l l bring into the world with us, and which we find upon our Nature, by which we find a Natural Propensity in us to do E v i l , and no natural Inclination to do Good.. .."^ This "mischiefe" or "corrupt Taint" which resides in every human being makes everyone an "old Adam," and every human l i f e , then, is a reenactment of the story of the wayfaring prodigal son. Crusoe's own story is no exception to this rule. For example, during the f i r s t storm, in which he nearly drowns, Crusoe resolves to return home: "Now I saw plainly the goodness of his [Crusoe's father] observations about the middle station of l i f e , how easy, how comfortably he had lived a l l his days, and never had been exposed to tempests at sea or troubles on shore; and I resolved that I would, like a true repenting prodigal, go home to my father" (I, 9). Of course, this reference to the prodigal son is ironic in intention, for as soon as the storm abates, so does CCrusoe's resolution. But the prodigal son is mentioned several more times during Crusoe's narration of his early l i f e , buttressing that moralistic and religious perspective through which we view that l i f e and indicating both a formal pattern and a pattern of religious psychology which w i l l suffuse Defoe's novel. The l i f e pattern of the prodigal son is simply a ree^nactment of the disobedience, f a l l , and eventual redemption of the old Adam, and this can be seen as the pattern of Crusoe's own l i f e . Crusoe, then, exemplifies the typical psychology of the prodigal son and the old 34 Adam. At one point in his story, just after young Crusoe has been counting the profits from his several years as a plantation owner in Brazil, the older Crusoe intrudes once again with a didactic comment: Had I continued in the station I was in, I had room for a l l the happy things to have yet befallen me, for which my father so earnestly recommended a quiet, retired l i f e , and of which he had so sensibly described the middle of l i f e to be f u l l of; but other things attended me, and I was s t i l l to be the w i l f u l agent of a l l my own miseries; and particularly to increase my fault and double the reflections upon myself, which in my future sorrows I should have leisure to make; a l l these miscarriages were procured by my apparent obstinate adhering to my foolish inclination, in contradiction to the clearest views of doing myself good in a fair and plain pursuit of those prospects and those measures of l i f e which Nature and Providence concurred to present me with and to make my duty. As I had once done in my breaking away from my parents, so I would not be content now but I must go and leave the happy view I had of being a rich and thriving man in my new plantation only to pursue a rash and immoderate desire of rising faster than the nature of the thing admitted; and thus I cast myself down again into the deepest gulf of human misery that ever man f e l l into, or perhaps would be consistent with my l i f e and a state of health in the world. (I, 41-42) The reference here is to the slaving expedition Crusoe w i l l undertake which w i l l end in a shipwreck and his own isolation on the island. But Crusoe also articulates the basic theme of the book, a theme explained with reference to the psychology of the prodigal son as found in numbers of seventeenth century religious works: "a rash and immoderate desire of rising faster than the nature.of the thing admitted" is exactly the sinful frame of mind of the prodigal son which results in his wild and irrational pursuits. Just as Adam is evicted from Eden and forced to wander the earth, so the prodigal son, according to John Goodman in The Penitant Pardon'd (1694), "grows Male-content with his condition; and finding himself restrained, the proud waves of 35 his passion rage and swell against a l l that bounds and checks them.... He finds his condition not to his mind, and...he is tempted to run upon adventures....""'''' Thus, through his wilful and prideful dis-obedience of his father—his original sin—Crusoe tomes to represent both the fallen Adam and the prodigal son, and his geographical isolation and wandering becomes a metaphoric representation of spiritual isolation and erring. This latter theme goes back to Pilgrim's Progress at least, and further i f we" were to trace the life-as-pilgrimage and wilderness metaphors in older Protestant literature. The adventure pattern in Robinson Crusoe—the pattern of geographical t r a v e l s — becomes what amounts to a controlling religious metaphor through at least the early part of the book. And George Starr, in fact, finds i t a unifying pattern in a l l of Defoe's f i c t i o n : I have argued...that Robinson Crusoe uses wandering, fleeing, straying, and other images of anxious motion to indicate the hero's alienation from 'the true center of his being.' Through a kind of allusive shorthand, Defoe associates geographical remoteness with spiritual malaise (Adam unparadised, the Prodigal 'in a far country,' etc.). Crusoe is 'errant' at f i r s t in both body and soul; eventually, returning home and coming to rest indicate his achievement (however precarious or temporary) of spiritual soundness. The careers of a l l of Defoe's heroes and heroines can be charted spatially in the same way; centrifugal motion sooner or later gives way to centripetal motion, which culminates in motifs of return, reunion, and repose.18 Therefore, in Robinson Crusoe, the author's early references to the prodigal son (I; 9, 15) and to young Crusoe as another Jonah (I; 10, 16) flesh out the bare adventure pattern, giving the book a deeper spiritual significance that has also been indicated through the steady rhythm of moral comment delivered by the older Crusoe and through continual reference to the workings of Providence in Crusoe's l i f e . 36 Crusoe's world, then, is an emblematic one, for many of the events described are seen through the "moral" frame as a direct result of the workings of Providence. And, this correlation between event and some kind of spiritual significance allows the reader to see a pattern of experience emerging in the book, for experience i t s e l f i s closely tied to Crusoe's own spiritual development even though the pattern of experience (i.e., wandering and adventure) seems, at f i r s t , merely counterpointed to the older Crusoe's knowledge of that experience. Crusoe's world is one in which Providence actively intervenes in the lives of individual men, and a world in which the individual must learn to read his own spiritual state in his perceptions of Providentially guided events. It is just this emblematic vision which Crusoe must be made aware of. First, Crusoe's wrong choice—his leaving home to set off on adventures—brings an immediate warning from heaven. A storm rises while Crusoe is on board ship. He fears death and, in his desperate state, believes that perhaps his repentance w i l l cause the storm to abate. F i l l e d , consequently, with "wise and sober thoughts," he vows to go home, and the storm does abate. However, he f a l l s in with bad companions and, "in that one night's wickedness," he "drowns" (negates) his repentance, reflections, and resolutions (I, 10). Crusoe belabors his sinfulness for another page, and the storm strikes again, this time sinking the ship. The crew is saved, and afterwards, on shore, the vessel's captain exhorts Crusoe to return to his father and not tempt Providence. Crusoe, according to the captain, "might see a visible hand of Heaven" against him: "You see what a taste Heaven has given you of what you are to expect i f you persist; perhaps this i s a l l 37 befallen us on your account, like Jonah in the ships of Tarshish" (I, 17). This emblematic way of interpreting events becomes a basic narrative pattern in Robinson Crusoe, consolidating the religious theme and the actual narrative structure of the book, and working in close conjunction with the metaphoric adventure pattern. On the simplest level of narration an event or sequence of events is narrated, then a religious signification is given to that event. This pattern i s , of course, part of that rhythm of moral comment, but takes on even greater structural significance when one realizes that i t does in fact suffuse the entire book. The perception of a First Cause behind second causes becomes, gradually, a part of the pattern of Crusoe's thought, and consequently a part of the pattern of the book, forming a religious superstructure of both form and content. For example, when Crusoe has been alone on his island for only a short while, the famous "miracle" of the corn occurs: It was a l i t t l e before the great rains, just now mentioned, that I threw this stuff [i.e., the corn] taking no notice of anything and not so much as remembering that I had thrown anything there, when about a month after or thereabout I saw some few stalks of something green shooting out of the ground, which I fancied might be some plant I had not seen; but I was surprised and perfectly astonished when after a l i t t l e r longer time I saw about ten or twelve ears come out which were perfect green barley of the same kind as our European, nay, as our English barley. It is impossible to express the astonishment and confusion of my thoughts on this occasion; I had hitherto acted upon no religious foundation at a l l ; indeed I had very few notions of religion in my head er had entertained any sense of anything that had befallen me otherwise than as a chance, or, as we lightly say, what pleases God; without so much as inquiring into the end of Providence in these things or His order in 38 governing events in the world. But after I saw barley grow there, in a climate which I know was not proper for corn, and especially that I knew not how i t came there, i t startled me strangely and I began to suggest that God had miraculously caused this grain to grow without any help of seed sown and that i t was so directed purely for my sustenance on that wild miserable place. (I, 86-87) The narrative pattern here is that of a described event, then an explication of that event with a view to i t s sp i r i t u a l significance. The corn grows, and at f i r s t we might be tempted to say purely by accident. But, in the f i c t i o n a l world of this novel, i t is Providence which causes the corn to grow. And so Crusoe t e l l s us. Again, even the most mundane happening achieves a sp i r i t u a l significance through that moral and religious framework which Crusoe the narrator is so concerned in emphasizing. This outlook, fundamental to an understanding of Robinson Crusoe, is that same vision which guided the Puritan and Anglican divines in their pilgrimage through l i f e . J. Paul Hunter, in The Reluctant Pilgrim, discusses this way of perceiving reality with specific reference to Puritan ideology, and points to a correlation between event or object, and idea as being central to the Puritan vision: "Contemporary events thus became emblems of concepts, and the contemporary world i t s e l f became emblematic of the sp i r i t u a l or conceptual world which was the ultimate 19 referent for a l l creation, the ultimate reality." However, man is not simply born with this a b i l i t y to read accurately the spiritual meanings in second causes, rather i t is a vision acquired slowly through learning and experience. Thus, although the older Crusoe goes to great lengths to articulate the emblematic structure of reality throughout his 39 book (such events as the rescue of Friday, Crusoe's rescue by an English ship, and even his own repentance are signalled by Providentially-sent "dream-visions"), the young Crusoe must learn slowly, and painfully at times, to read spiritual significance into events. The novel then, in one sense, traces Crusoe's spiritual education, and the episode of the grain becomes central to his religious development in that i t leads directly into his conversion experience, which, in turn, allows him to see the f u l l spiritual significance of the events of his l i f e . Crusoe's early repentances are superficial: he is blind to Providence, or at least prefers to ignore i t s warnings, and he is continually guilty of the sin of pride. The importance of the grain episode in the development of the religious theme through Robinson  Crusoe is that for the f i r s t time young Crusoe begins thinking seriously on Providence. And, i t is soon after this episode that he begins praying to God. To be sure, Crusoe s t i l l blunders on irreligiously while building his fortifications and storehouse. For example, he does set up a cross on his island, but then uses i t only as a calendar and even neglects to keep his Sundays, "for, omitting my mark from them on my post, I forgot which was which" (I, 80). Yet, at the same time, the eighteenth-century reader would be aware that Crusoe is approaching some kind of important religious experience, for events begin building slowly toward his conversion. He begins thinking of Providence when the grain sprouts, but he s t i l l does not turn to God. In fact, he merely blesses himself: he is proud that Providence is taking a hand in his l i f e , but he is not properly thankful. 40 From this point, nature begins acting up, indicating, again through a doctrine of correspondences, that Crusoe has further spiritual tribulations to endure. Earlier storms were interpreted as "God's visible warnings," and the earthquake and hurricane that Crusoe suffers through on his island are also linked to things divine in the terrifying dream-vision that Crusoe has a short time later: I thought that I was sittin g on the ground, on the outside of my wall, where I sat when the storm blew after the earthquake, and that I saw a man descend from a great black cloud, in a bright flame of f i r e , and light upon the ground. He was a l l over as bright as a flame, so that I could but just bear to look towards him; his countenance was most inexpressibly dreadful, impossible for words to describe; when he stepped upon the ground with his feet, I thought the earth trembled, just as i t had done before in the earthquake, and a l l the air looked, to my apprehension, as i f i t had been f i l l e d with flashes of f i r e . He was no sooner landed upon the earth but he moved forward towards me, with a long spear or weapon in his hand, to k i l l me; and when he came to a rising ground, at some distance, or I heard a voice so terrible, that i t i s impossible to express the terror of i t ; a l l that I can say I understood was this: 'Seeing these things have not brought thee to repentance, now thou shalt die.' At which words, I thought he l i f t e d up the spear that was in his hand, to k i l l me. (I, 97) This vision, with i t s interesting inclusion of the previous concrete experience of a very real storm and earthquake, influences Crusoe to a f i n a l and permanent repentance. He laments, upon waking, that he has been the most "hardened" and "wicked" of men, and that he has never properly feared and venerated God. At this point he realizes the pattern of his l i f e has been that of a sinner who has ignored a l l the signs of Providence: he sees that his l i f e has been a progression of one sin after another, beginning with his "rebellious behavior" against his father, and culminating in a punishment-through-41 exile on this "Island of Despair." With new insight into his condition, Crusoe has reached the center of his story, the pivotal point in his experience, and can now discern the pattern of his l i f e and the active intercession of Providence in the events of his l i f e . Crusoe's conversion leads to several pages of expostulations to God—much more convincing religious acts than the brief prayers he mumbles during various storms or his landing on the island—and, most important with reference to Crusoe's new vision, a recapitulation of the major events of his l i f e now interpreted as i f Providence were playing an active part: The growing up of the corn, as is hinted in my journal, had at f i r s t some l i t t l e influence upon me, and began to affect me with seriousness, as long as I thought i t had something miraculous in i t ; but as soon as ever that part of the thought was removed, a l l the impression which was raised from i t wore off also, as I have noted already. Even the earthquake, though nothing would be more terrible in i t s nature or more immediately directing to the invisible Power which alone directs such things, yet no sooner was the f i r s t fright over but impression i t had made went off also. I had no more sense of God or His judgments, much less of the present a f f l i c t i o n of my circumstances begin from His hand, then i f I had been in the most prosperous condition of l i f e . (T, 99-100) This awareness of a First Cause behind the events of his l i f e and the realization that these events were, in large part, efforts to get him to repent, helps to awaken Crusoe's conscience, and he begins seriously plumbing the depths of his own consciousness, reflecting on things divine. He reasons from postulates as basic as the existence of God, and he reconstructs, partially from memory and partially from experience, the spiritual cosmos of the Protestant religion: 42 Then, i f followed most naturally, It is God that has made i t a l l . Well, but then, i t came on strangely, i f God has made a l l these things, He guides and governs them a l l and a l l things that concern them; for the Power that could make a l l things must certainly have power to guide and direct them. If so, nothing can happen in the great circuit of His works either without His knowledge or appointment. (I, 102) From this point on Crusoe notes that events happen Providentially. If his physical illness (he is quite i l l at the time of his vision) is emblematic of his spiritual malais^ for he has reached his lowest physical and spiritual state, then when he goes to his chest for tobacco to cure his fever, he also finds a B i b l e — " a cure both for soul and body." He is Providentially directed to open his Bible to appropriate verses. H/s thoughts pn Providence quiet his fears of savages on the island. Providence, i t w i l l be pointed out, i s responsible for his acquisition of Friday, since through a dream he knows he w i l l suceed in obtaining a companion. And f i n a l l y , Crusoe t e l l s us A that Providence "had delivered me from so many unseen dangers and had kept me from those mischiefs which I could no way have been the agent in delivering myself from, because I had not the least notion of any such thing depending, or the least supposition of i t being possible" (I, 193). Finally, we are tempted to see the repentance scene as not only central to the development of a religious pattern, but also a scene from which different patterns resonate throughout the novel. On the level of characterization, for example, Crusoe's post-repentance religious reflections establish a certain consistency in his personality. Such a consistency has been with us since the 43 beginning of the book, but only in the moral frame imposed by the older Crusoe who is narrating. After the repentance, the moral and religious reflections become those of the younger Crusoe. In fact, Crusoe never ceases reflecting on God and Providence, so that not only is his character given consistency, but a unifying thematic concern (i.e., to point out the workings of Providence and thus to point didactically to a moral) becomes manifest throughout the book. Crusoe states at one point, "These thoughts took me up many hours, days, nay, I may say, weeks and months" (I, 174). And at another time, "I had terrible reflections upon my mind for many months" (I, 146). Crusoe, then, is granted an interiority by virtue of his repentance which he did not manifest through the earlier portions of the novel. On a level of action, Crusoe's repentance leads directly to a further and wider exploration of the island. Before, Crusoe was concerned primarily with isolating himself from his environment. He built a fort to protect himself from any beasts or savages he might encounter. He never wandered past his immediate part of the island. Now, however, the fu l l y repentant Crusoe comes out of his protective physical isolation to explore the island systematically. Faith has conquered fear, and again,,, the religious theme works to give an emblematic significance to the adventure story. When Crusoe explores his island, he discovers what amounts to an earthly paradise: At the end of this march I came to an opening, where the country seemed to descend to the west, and a l i t t l e spring of fresh water, which issued out of the side of the h i l l by me, run the other way, that i s , due east; and the country appeared so fresh, so green, so flourishing, everything being in a constant verdure, or flourish of spring, that i t looked like a planted garden. 44 I descended a l i t t l e on the side of that delicious vale, surveying i t with a secret kind of pleasure (though mixed with my other a f f l i c t i n g thoughts), to think that this was a l l my own, that I was King and lord of a l l this country indefeasibly and had a right of possession.... I saw here abundance of cocoa trees, orange, and lemon and citron trees.... (I, 110-111) This delightful picture of natura naturata leads Crusoe to thank God for his deliverance onto the island, and he wishes heartily he could stay for the rest of his l i f e . At this point, he catches himself and calls himself a hypocrite for thinking this when he would much rather be back in English society. But, on the other hand, this view of his island, and this train of thought, are a far cry from the "Island of Despair" of Crusoe's f i r s t months of isolation. Of course, the island i t s e l f has significance in the pattern of Crusoe's sp i r i t u a l development. If Crusoe's original sin i s in part his abandonment of the "middle station of l i f e " in disobedience of his father, and his period of spiritual erring is emblemized in his wanderings and misfortunes, then his physical isolation on the island reflects his spiritual isolation from God. The meaning implicit here, of course, i s that Crusoe being an everyman, a prodigal son, then his spir i t u a l condition is the same as that of every other human being. Only our mariner of York is doubly a f f l i c t e d : his spiritual sin results in spi r i t u a l isolation while his sin against the social order (the middle station) results in physical isolation. But, i f the island i s a place of isolation, then i t is also a place of purgation. The island occupies the center of Crusoe's narrative just as i t occupies the center of his spiritual l i f e : the years he spends on the island are those years in which he develops his religious belief 45 and his spiritual being. Just as the structural and thematic center of the Protestant sp i r i t u a l autobiography is that repentance scene which leads to the spiritual development of the writer, so i t is in Crusoe's narrative. And, pushing our correspondences a b i t further, i f the island is a place of spiritual purgation, then i t can also be emblematic of the wilderness of the fallen world. As archetype, the island is a place of repose, the garden of innocence, and i t s praises are sung throughout literature from Pindar's description of the land of the Hyperboreans in his second Olympian to Andrew Marvell's eulogy on the Bermudas. Crusoe's own "Happy Isle" comes close at times to this garden-island, but his paradise also contains i t s snakes. The "garden" he discovers on his exploratory journey inland is favored by nature, yet i t also contains lurking dangers. Crusoe dares not eat the grapes he finds there, for he might contract "the flux." They must be dried into raisins, but when he sets out one batch they are trampled in the night by what he assumes are "wild creatures" (I, 111-112). Finally, this edenic part of the i s l e i s near the side where the cannibals—or "natural men"—land and hold their "savage feasts." Thus, although Crusoe calls the place a "natural garden," i t is not as pleasant as i t f i r s t appears, and again we are tempted to say that this part of the island represents a mere earthly Eden—illusory and f u l l of snares for the repentant and unrepentant sinner alike. Because of the part played by Providence in the novel, because of Defoe's apparent care in working on both a level of adventure and a religious level, and because of the obvious structural and thematic basis of Robinson Crusoe in an earlier Protestant "subliterature," 46 we must agree with Nigel Dennis that "there was never a book in 20 which God's hand was busier." Providence is present as a part of the moral frame at the beginning of the novel, i t i s active during Crusoe's early adventures, i t intervenes a l l the time on the island, and i t is finally present when Crusoe is delivered from his isolation: Then I took my turn and embraced him [the captain of an English ship that has anchored at the island] as my deliverer, and we rejoiced together. I told him I looked upon him as a man sent from Heaven to deliver me, and that the whole transaction seemed to be a chain of wonders; that such things as these were the testimonies we had of a secret hand of Providence governing the world, and an evidence that the eyes of an i n f i n i t e Power could search into the remotest corner of the world, and send help to the miserable whenever He pleased. I forgot not to l i f t up my heart in thankfulness to Heaven; and what heart could forbear to bless Him, who had not only in a miraculous manner provided for one in such a wilderness and in such a desolate condition, but from whom every deliverance must always be acknowledged to proceed. (I, 302-03) Providence, an entity everpresent throughout this novel, helps link parts into a whole, and allows the reader to place emblematic meanings on several of Crusoe's adventures. Also, the structural pattern of original sin and the f a l l , followed by exile, isolation, a conversion and repentance, and a f i n a l deliverance from s i n — t h a t pattern of the sp i r i t u a l autobiography and " l i v e s " of the Puritan saints—helps to organize the narrative into a significantly structured unit. But, attthe same time, this unit reference which defines the Bunyan or*Edmund Spenser. lacks the precision of concrete allegory of the type written by John 47 Some cr i t i c s have argued that Robinson Crusoe is very much a spir i t u a l allegory worthy of comparison with The Pilgrim's Progress (though not, perhaps, The Faerie Queen). Edwin B. Benjamin, for example, states that Defoe found spi r i t u a l allegory to be the form most suited to his subject: Allegory seems to have been always congenial to the Puritan mind as a legitimate province in which the imagination might.exercise i t s e l f ; and although at times in the eighteenth century i t came to be looked down upon as a rather crude vehicle of literary expression, i t continued longer as a v i t a l tradition in the dissenting milieu in which Defoe's mind was molded than in more advanced intellectual and literary circles. Defoe can hardly have been unaffected by the forces that shaped Bunyan and that accounted for the popularity of his allegories. ^ In Benjamin's reading a l l of the fundamental allegorical elements of Crusoe's story are covered: Crusoe's father is God, and Crusoe's original sin is disobedience; Crusoe is expelled from Eden ("the middle station") and becomes a prodigal son, an exiled wanderer; in the allegorical wilderness of the island, he repents and duly notes his conversion in a Journal which he began originally for practical purposes but which now becomes a "Puritan" diary; and f i n a l l y , Crusoe, fully repentent, is delivered from his isolation and reenters society as a member of the "middle class." Benjamin's description is general, but both he and J. Paul Hunter, another defender of the allegorical approach to Rob ins on Crus oe, can be more specific. Benjamin points to a cluster of minor symbols surrounding the repentance scene, showing that the sprouting grain is "clearly...the seeds of grace s t i r r i n g in [Crusoe's] heart and sending forth their f i r s t tender sprouts." Crusoe, soon after, fashions his f i r s t earthenware pot, and Bejamin terms this pot the reborn Crusoe, stating that "dissenting circles were accustomed 48 to think and to express themselves in terms of 'chosen vessels' and 22 seeds of grace or doctrine." However, "dissenting circles" were not the only religious groups to think and perceive in an emblematic way. Catholics, as well as Protestants, were accustomed, as Lynn White points out, to see nature "as a symbolic system through which God speaks to men: the ant is a sermon to sluggards; rising flames are the symbols of the soul's aspiration." And White goes on to remark that "This view of 23 nature was essentially a r t i s t i c rather than s c i e n t i f i c . " In Defoe's day, seeds of a metaphysical insecurity had begun to sprout, as science and materialism began to share the center stage with older religious modes of perception. Even Hunter, in arguing his allegorical interpretation of Defoe's f i r s t novel, is forced to admit that in the early eighteenth century "contemporary events and the contemporary world... operated only suggestively on man's perception, for the old precise system of analogies was gone, but even this small guide toward certitude gladdened the hearts of men bewildered by the rapidity of 24 changes in their world." Just as there can be a difference between one's original intention to produce an allegory and the fact that the product ends up to be not quite what he had in mind, there can be a difference between allegory as a literary form and an emblematic way of perceiving reality. What we have been discussing in Robinson Crusoe i s the presence of a general ideological orientation to the world which controls, for the most part, both the form and the content of the novel. Even assuming, with Benjamin, that certain events and objects—the sprouting grain and the pot—are granted an allegorical significance, a large portion of the 49 narrative is s t i l l substantially "outside" of any kind of s p i r i t u a l , emblematic interpretation. And much of the delight countless readers have received from the novel since i t s f i r s t appearance in 1719 would remain unexplained. Defoe perhaps uses an existing literary form in a general way to unify and pattern his book, but an even more pervading formal unity can be apprehended by incorporating that other, economic, theme and pattern into our reading of Robinson Crusoe. Mr. Benjamin is led to remark that "side by side with Crusoe's physical conquest of nature is his struggle to conquer himself and to find 25 God." "Side by side" does not necessarily mean "in one and the same thing" or "at one and the same time". The truth is that the focus of Crusoe's narrative begins shifting back and forth between two poles—one religious and one economic—and the larger pattern of the novel can, in part, be described as the rhythm of this shifting and interacting of themes. Thus, the more purely "economic" schemes and projects which Crusoe undertakes are generally, though in some places perhaps definitely, connected with the religious theme and form of Defoe's novel. III. The Economic Theme When Crusoe is washed ashore "on the desert island, the f a i r l y pervasive allegorical pattern through which previous events can be interpreted becomes generalized and diffused: the reader is never allowed to forget that Providence is actively at work in this novel, and that Crusoe is a prodigal son being punished for moral transgressions, 50 but the strongly f e l t s p iritual theme with which the book begins is gradually counterpointed more and more to the practical and economic themes of the book. In other words, the assumption is this: at the beginning of the novel there exist two thematic patterns fused together—the secular and economic and the religious and allegorical. As the novel develops beyond the point where Crusoe is washed ashore, and particularly beyond the repentance scene, these two themes are counterpointed with one another; the two are s t i l l generally connected, and one does reflect on the other, but the possibility of reading the novel as a Protestant allegory f a l l s away as Defoe focuses the reader's attention on other aspects of island existence—i.e., more practical considerations generated by the basic problem of physical survival on a desert island. However, setting out the economic theme of Robinson Crusoe leads to several problems. Certainly, most "economic" c r i t i c s of the book would hold that Defoe focuses his reader's attention on Crusoe's practicality and his struggle for survival in order to il l u s t r a t e a way of perceiving the world practically and economically. Perhaps most would even go so far as to admit that Providence does manifest i t s e l f through Nature, but that is not important. Most of these c r i t i c s would stress the ultimate importance in Robinson Crusoe of the idea that Nature exists only to be exploited to the fullest extent possible. Religion and beauty are not important, economics are. Thus, as Ian Watt remarks, in The Rise of the Novel, "Wherever Crusoe looks his acres cry out so loud for improvement that he has no leisure to 2 6 observe that they also compose a landscape." Watt is correct, for 51 other of Defoe's writings support this view. In Caledonia: A  Poem in Honour of Scotland and the Scots Nation, Defoe exhorts the Scots to improve on their native resources through application and industry: 'Tis Blasphemy to say the Climat's curst, Nature w i l l ne're be f r u i t f u l t i l l she's forc't; Nature's a Virgin very Chast and Coy, To court her's nonsense: If you w i l l enjoy She must he ravisht; when she's forc't she's free, A perfect Prostitute to Industry. And: 27 For Beauty's best described by Usefulness. To ravish Nature is to exploit i t , at least to Defoe. This leads logically back to Watt who asserts that "Crusoe's island gives him the 28 complete laissez-faire which economic man needs to realise his aims." Thus, in Watt's interpretation, Crusoe lives completely the u t i l i t a r i a n and practical l i f e of the economic individualist. He is the rudimentary capitalist, eternally transforming the status quo, and, as Watt points out, religion takes a back seat to materialism. The problem in defining the economic theme comes when we turn to other c r i t i c s ' interpretations of this theme in Robinson Crusoe. Maximillian Novak, for example, agrees with Watt in his contention that Defoe's novel is primarily a work on economics, and that Crusoe himself is an "economic animal." In Novak's estimation, the novel i s a vehicle which allows Defoe to il l u s t r a t e three economic theories: "Cl) a theory of invention, (2) a theory of value, and (3) an economic theory of society." But, Novak is diametrically opposed, in his economic interpretation, to Watt in that "everything in Robinson 52 Crusoe related to the calling constitutes an attack upon economic 29 individualism." Was Defoe economically li b e r a l (a laissez-faire capitalist) or conservative (a mercantilist)? How in fact did the Puritans view economics, and did Defoe view them in the same way? More fundamentally, one could ask under what economic doctrine— l i b e r a l or conservative—did Defoe tackle the problem of reconciling trade and religious morality. More pertinent to this present essay would be the question of Crusoe's own economics. What kind of perspective does Defoe give us on Crusoe and his economic practices? This again leads us back to the economic viewpoint of Defoe himself. It i s far beyond the scope of this essay to even attempt complete answers to many of these questions, but, through a close look at Robinson  Crusoe i t s e l f , we can at least approach solutions to these problems. Novak does gives us a clue when he mentions the doctrine of the calling, for i t is this part of the Protestant ideology that allows us a perspective on Crusoe's early adventures while i t forms a bridge between secular and spiritual concerns. Thus, in order to see how, f i r s t , the economic and religious themes work in conjunction with one another throughout the novel, we must begin with a discussion of the calling as i t applies to the f i r s t part of Robinson Crusoe. Crusoe's sin, as we have already seen, is his disobedience of his father and his setting out in quest of adventure and economic advancement. In so doing, young Crusoe also commits a sin in a social sense, for by leaving his specific social and economic station, he transgresses against the social order. If we go back for a moment to Crusoe's conversation with the ship's captain—occurring just after 53 they have been pulled from the stormy sea—we find a clear statement of this theme: '"Young man,' says he, 'you ought never to go to sea any more; you ought to take this for a plain and visible token that you are not to be a seafaring man.' 'Why s i r , ' said I, 'will you go to sea no more?' 'That is another case,' said he, ' i t i s my calling and therefore my duty....'" (I, 16). The captain goes on to advise Crusoe to return to his father's house, since they can both plainly see that "the hand of Providence" is against Crusoe. In his speech the captain assumes that since Crusoe's calling is obviously not that of a seaman then he had best not try going to sea again, for the storm has been sent by Providence specifically to warn him against taking up that vocation. Or so thinks the captain. The eighteenth century reader knows, of course, that Crusoe has sinned against his father in a religious sense, and in so doing, has also committed a sin of pride in the secular sense: Providence is not just warning Crusoe to avoid the seaman's trade, but is acting to influence him to return to his proper social station. The proper social position is the "middle station in l i f e . " Crusoe's sin of pride, then, is s t i l l his desire to rise "faster than the nature of the things admitted," and this time in a socio-economic sense: Crusoe is the individual sinning against the status quo and consequently heing punished for i t . Again, this concept of controverting the social order is very fundamentally based in the Puritan doctrine of the calling: the economic boundaries set out in this doctrine are those which Crusoe transgresses. Since the calling has already been defined in i t s 54 secular and spiritual aspects, what remains is to define the calling with particular reference to the Puritan outlook on economics, as i t i s our contention that Defoe wants, and even expects, his reader to see Crusoe's actions from this viewpoint. In the section previously quoted from Perkins (page2l9'+), the Puritan divine attaches definite value to living an "honest kinde of l i f e , " and in fact summarizes the rather a l t r u i s t i c position of the early Puritans: a man's calling should be practised with a view to a common social good, rather than towards fulfillment of one's own selfi s h desires. Thus, the primary impetus behind the Puritan conception of the particular calling would be to maintain the status quo. This conflicts, however, with Ian Watt's arguments in that Watt, following the theory outlined by Max Weber in Die protestantische Ethik und der Geist des Kapitalismus, ties the rise of capitalism directly to the Puritan doctrine of the calling. And, in so arguing, Watt defines capitalism as a "dynamic tendency...whose aim is never merely to 30 maintain the status quo, but to transform i t incessantly." In actual fact, the Puritans had long maintained a more conservative outlook on economics. Richard Sibbes, for example, in The S p i r i t u a l l Man's Aime (1637), sets up what amounts to an opposition between religion and trade: Now being such a s k i l l i t must direct everything so farre as i t helps or hinders that...so a l l trades wee must t e l l them of their faults, as they are blemishes to Religion, for wee must not bee so in this or that trade, as that we forget we are Christians, and therefore we must heare meekly the word of God, when i t meets our particular callings.... 31 55 However, as William Haller rightly remarks, the Puritan "had no reason to fear the world or run away from i t . Rather he must go forth and 32 do the w i l l of God there." And the w i l l of God was for man to labor and be f r u i t f u l . Sibbes, though, is s t i l l assuming the correct Puritan position in that the individual must accept his calling in meekness and humility. Also, of course, connected to this humble acceptance of the w i l l of God is the belief that material well-being did not necessarily mean that God sanctioned that wealthy individual's particular calling, or that that person was blessed by God. "A rich man may be a good man, and a poore man may be wicked," states Thomas Adams (in 1629). "But Christ sanctified Riches as 33 well as Povertie...." One must remember that poverty is a traditional Christian virtue, and that the poor man has as much a chance of being numbered among the elect (to some Puritan ministers, even more of a chance) as a rich man. However, in the interim between these early Puritan writings and Defoe's Robinson Crusoe, a marked change had taken place in the structure of English society, followed by a subsequent change in Puritan "economic doctrine." Not only did the persecution of the Puritans push them more and more into the world of merchants and trade, but that business world i t s e l f was evolving out of the more traditional guild and mercantilist social structures into an open and competitive market society. As H.M. Robertson points out, in his Aspects of the Rise of Economic Individualism, the Puritans, faced with this new type of society, had to assimilate i t s ultimately individualist ideology into their own, and the Puritan churches had to find a place for this new, important class of hard-headed 56 businessmen in the ecclesiastical scheme of things. These churches (including, according to Robertson, the Anglican and Catholic churches), in accepting this new class, had "in some way to sanctify and find an otherworldly significance in their [the business class] solidity, diligence and honest respectability—characteristics which were really virtues despite their worldly origin-r-and to justify the aims 34 and methods of their trade." Thus, a Puritan minister like Richard Baxter, writing in 1678, makes what was to become a characteristic statement on the new Puritan economic outlook: Q_. It is a duty to desire and endeavour to get, and prosper, and grow rich by our labours; when Solomon saith, Labour not to be rich? Prov. xxiii,4. Answ. It is a sin to desire Riches as worldlings and sensualists do, for the provision and maintenance of fleshly lusts, and pride: But i t is no sin, but a duty, to labour not only for labour sake, formally resting in the act done, but for that honest increase and provision, which is the end of our labour; and therefore to choose a gainful calling rather than another, that we may be able to do good and relieve the poor.35 A Puritan can now choose "a gainful calling" and proceed to increase his possessions honestly. Also, altruism s t i l l makes up a part of this doctrine, but "relieving the poor" seems to take second place to an "honest increase and provision." And, later on in the seventeenth century, as Novak points out, "Among religious thinkers the ideal of charity began to fade.... The poverty that had once been regarded as a sign of salvation now developed into an almost certain indication of 36 damnation." Puritans, in fact, could now assume that worldly success was a mark of divine favor. Even Robinson Crusoe hints at this belief at the end of the f i r s t volume of his adventures, when he refers to the "latter end of Job" being "better than the beginning" (I, 318). 57 Job's prosperity i s a direct g i f t from God, a reward for not succumbing to temptation. By the beginning of the eighteenth century, then, a new economic c l a s s — a new kind of merchant with a new outlook—had emerged, and the Puritans had become very much a part of this group. Of course Watt is right to an extent: this new middle class did lean toward a concept of "economic individualism:" Capitalism brought a great increase of economic specialization; and this, combined with a less ri g i d and homogeneous social structure, and less absolutist and more democratic p o l i t i c a l system, enormously increased the individual's freedom of choice. For those fully exposed to the new economic order, the effective entity on which social arrangements were now based was no longer the family, nor the church, nor the guild, nor the township, nor any other collective unit, but the individual: he alone was primarily responsible for determining his own economic, social, p o l i t i c a l and religious roles."37 Watt's description of the new capitalist ethic should be somewhat tempered, however, when discussing the economic outlook of the Puritans, even after they had successfully assimilated.themselves into the rising economic society. It is true that the long-standing democratic tradition of individualism—set out originally in the "Liberty Tracts" composed during the Puritan Revolution and carried on in subsequent Leveller pamphlets—in Puritan ideology would make the transition into a secular individualism f a i r l y easy, and that the concept of the calling could be easily modified to assimilate new p o l i t i c a l and economic doctrines. However, Watt s t i l l exaggerates the whole-hearted acceptance, by Puritans, of the basic concerns of capitalism—i.e., to be eternally transforming the status quo. The Puritan "capitalist" is s t i l l concerned with the maintenance of a social 58 order. Or, perhaps i t would be more accurate to say that later Puritan writers, those of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, tend to assume a more reasoned, middle-of-the-road position—not necessarily conservative, but opposed to any radical changes in the fundamental, unifying concepts of the status quo. It would be of importance to note here that Defoe himself is cited by H.M. Robertson as an example of the conservative Puritan outlook, and that both Maximillian Novak and William Payne, the former arguing primarily from pamphlet evidence and the latter from Defoe's Review, come to the conclusion that Defoe was a mercantilist—a conservative, in other words, for the most part opposed to the laissez-faire school of economic 38 individualism. Payne does see elements of a laissez-faire attitude in Defoe, but concludes by labelling him a mercantilist: In his preoccupation with credit as a substitute for a bullion economy, his arguments for high wages, his disapproval of workhouses," his'belief in competition, expansion of trade, and the free movement of labor he foKshadowed the coming laissez faire philosophy. On the other hand, in his eagerness for a favorable balance of trade, his emphasis on the value of bullion and coin, his approval of chartered colonial companies, his insistence on the importance of colonial trade, and the need of fostering i t ; in his emphasis on a large population kept busily employed, in his contempt, even hatred, for speculation, he placed himself directly in the stream of mercantilist philosophy, and might well be called a "thorough-going mercantilist."39 Besides the evidence Novak and Payne cite in their arguments, one of Defoe's own f i r s t publications tends to support the conservative view of economics. In his Essay Upon Projects, written about twenty-two years before Robinson Crusoe, he condemns economic foolishness and the errors of "projecting" while he:praises practicality, level-headedness, and reason:• 59 Man is the worst of a l l God's Creatures to shift for himself; no other Animal i s ever starv'd to death; Nature without, has provided them both Food and Cloaths; and Nature within has plac'd an Instinct that never f a i l s to direct them to proper means for a supply; but Man must either Work or Starve, Slave or Dye; he has indeed Reason given him to direct them, and few who follow the Dictates of the Reason come to such unhappy Exigencies; but when by the Errors of Man's Youth he has.reduc'd himself to such a degree of Distress, as to be absolutely without Three things, Money, Friends, and Health, he Dies in a Ditch, or in some worse place, an Hospital.40 The "Errors .of Man's Youth" are, of course, illustrated in Robinson Crusoe. On the other hand, what the reasonable man should assume is that only through slow, progressive labor, diligence, and application, and through well-reasoned decision, w i l l one rise in the world to a place beneficial both to oneself and to society at large. This, in fact, is one of the most prevalent and long-lasting themes in a l l of Defoe's writings, for in one of his last works, The Complete English Tradesman, he returns to this same basic idea: "A Man that w i l l fee s t i l l , should never hope to rise; he that w i l l l i e in a Ditch and pray, may depend 41 upon i t he shall He in the Ditch and die." To Defoe, then, application and diligence did not mean ruthless competition in the chaotic world of stock-jobbing, speculating and "open-market" trading. Rather, the tradesman is a sort of spiritual father to both his peers and the lower classes. Again in The Complete English  Tradesman, Defoe sings praises to the merchant: He i s , in the f i r s t place, a kind of natural magistrate in the town where he lives; and a l l the l i t t l e causes, which in matters of trade are innumerable, and which often, for want of such a judge, go on to suits at law, and so ruin the people concerned in them by the expense, the delay, the wounds in substance, and the wounds in reputation, which they often bring with them: I say a l l these causes are brought before him; and he not only hears and determines them, but in many of them his determination shall be as effectual 60 among the contending tradesmen, and his vote as decisive, as that of any lord chancellor whatever. He is the general peacemaker of the country, the common arbitrator of a l l trading differences, family breaches, and private injuries; and, in general, he is the domestic judge, in trade especially; and by this he gains a general respect, an universal kind .of reverence, in a l l the families about him, and he has the blessings and prayers of poor and rich. Again; he is the trade-counsellor of the country where he lives. It must be confessed, in matters of commerce, lawyers make but very poor work, when they come to be consulted about the l i t t l e disputes which continually happen among tradesmen; and are so far from setting things to rights, that they generally, by their ignorance in the usage and customs of trade, make breaches wider rather than close them, and leave things worse than they find them. Thus he i s , in a word, a kind of common peacemaker, and is the father of the trading world in the orb or circle wherein he moves; his presence has a kind of peacemaking aspect in i t and he is more necessary than a magistrate, whether he is in office or not.^2 This panegyric describes not a real tradesman, but an ideal one—a model which every merchant should emulate. The model tradesman is a force for order in his society: he does not seek to destroy any competitor's business, rather he f a i r l y arbitrates disputes and is looked upon as an ideal social being. He has, in other words, quietly and contentedly assumed his social position and maintains that position for the good not only of himself, but for everyone else around him. He is not eternally transforming the status quo. The young Crusoe is in complete contrast to this figure of ease, st a b i l i t y , and reason. If a diligent application of oneself to one's calling should result in a steady rise in one's fortune coupled with one's acceptance of a specific social position, then the young Crusoe, in letting his rash desire to rise quickly control his actions, embarks on a series of foolish ventures which the Protestant moral cosmos must 61 naturally punish. Thus, Crusoe's sin is both religious and social: he disobeys his figurative spiritual father and becomes a prodigal, and he disobeys his l i t e r a l father and becomes a foolish projector of get-rich-quick schemes. Instead of rising slowly to his own economic and social position, he decides to rise quickly on his own, paying no heed to his father, to the ship's captain, or to his own religious background: But my i l l fate pushed me on now with an obstinacy that nothing could resist; and though I had several times loud calls from my reason and my more composed judg-ment to go home, yet I had no power to do i t . I know not what to c a l l this, nor w i l l I urge that i t is a secret overruling decree that hurries us on to be the rash instruments of our own destruction, even though i t be before us, and that we rush upon i t with our eyes open. (I, 15) And, a bit further, Crusoe calls his " i l l fate" "That e v i l influence which carried me f i r s t away from my father's house, that hurried me into the wild and indigested notion of raising my fortune, and that impressed those conceits so forcibly upon me as to make me deaf to a l l good advice and to the entreaties and even command of my father...." (I, 17-18). By thus moralizing on an economic basis, Crusoe is pointing to a significant connection between morals and trade. In the fictional world of this novel, the prodigal son must learn to be a rational economic creature just as he must gain that important commitment to a religious belief. Thus, the idea of the Bildungsroman underpins and connects both themes—economic and religious: Crusoe must learn proper respect for society and for his position in society just as he must learn proper respect for God. To see this connection clearly, let us 62 go again to the early sections of Robinson Crusoe. As I have already indicated, the didactic purpose of the f i r s t pages of Robinson Crusoe is to show that youthful sins result in terrible punishments. But, Crusoe is successful at least twice before he is shipwrecked on the island. His successes at this early stage, however, are qualified, and both cases serve to support the moral vision of the narrator. On his third voyage, Crusoe makes £ 300 through trading, a profit of something over 500% on his original investment of t, 40. However, this one successful venture, states Crusoe, " f i l l e d me with those aspiring thoughts which have since so completed my ruin." He sets himself up as "a Guinea trader" and on his next voyage is captured by Moorish pirates, becomes a slave in their city, Salee. And, as George Starr has pointed out, captivity in Salee, or in other of the Moorish pirate towns, had become emblematic in seventeenth-century travel literature, of a sojourn in Hell and 43 consequently as a punishment for a sinful l i f e . Thus, as in Colonel  Jack, Roxana, and Moll Flanders, Crusoe's overreaching results in disaster. He does eventually escape, and after drifting down the coast of Africa, he is picked up by an honest Portuguese captain who generously helps him become a plantation owner in Brazil. The plantation prospers, and Crusoe ironically discovers that he is fast approaching that "very middle station, or upper degree of low l i f e " which his father had praised as his proper calling: "...and I used often to say to myself, I could ha' done this as well in England among my friends as ha' gone 5,000 miles off to do i t among strangers and savages in a wilderness...." CI, 39). But this state i s not destined to last, for Crusoe longs for 63 more wealth and adventure: "And now increasing in business and wealth, my head began to be f u l l of projects and undertakings beyond my reach; such as are indeed often the ruin of the best heads in business" (I, 41). His next project is a slaving expedition which ends with the shipwreck, the death of a l l the crew save Crusoe, and his subsequent isolation on the island. Again, the reader is not surprised at the shipwreck, for Crusoe has carefully prefigured the incident. In fact, while he is s t i l l dis-cussing his Brazilian plantation l i f e , he gives the reason for this further punishment, and again, punishment results from a transgression of socio-economic boundaries: ....I lived just like a man cast away upon some desolate island that had nobody there but himself. But how just has i t been, and how should a l l men reflect, that when they compare their present conditions with others that are worse, Heaven may oblige them to make the exchange and be convinced of their former f e l i c i t y by their experience; I say, how just has i t been, that the truly solitary l i f e I reflected on in an island of mere desolation should be my lot, who had so often unjustly compared i t with the l i f e which I then led, in which had I continued, I had in a l l probability been exceeding prosperous and rich. (I, 39) Here the "felicitous state" is equated with simply staying put and rising slowly and reasonably. But Crusoe must be off to sea again on another foolish project. Thus, he i s , in the "pre-island" part of his Adventures, an "economic i n d i v i d u a l i s t " — a c a p i t a l i s t — o u t for personal gain. However, within.the moral framework of the novel the reader clearly perceives that each time Crusoe tries to overextend himself he is destined to f a l l . Providence w i l l not allow Crusoe to be guilty again of religious or_ economic hybris. The point of this novel 64 i s , then, that the good man (or "Puritan") must do his best to assimilate himself into the existing social and moral order, because in so doing, he is obeying God's w i l l . When, conversely, he attempts to overextend himself—to become a capitalist transforming the status quo—he is disobeying God's w i l l and must be punished. Of course when Crusoe is isolated on the island he is certainly s t i l l an economic individualist: he is l i t e r a l l y isolated from the society of men and concerned ("economically" speaking) with his own survival. It i s exactly because of this isolation that c r i t i c s interpret Defoe's thematic purpose as the recreation of an ideal economic Utopia modeled on the existing social and economic situation in England at that time. At least, both Watt and Novak argue for this interpretation. But Novak, at least, goes on to indicate a further moral interpretation: while on his island, Crusoe learns humility, and consequently carves out a place for himself in the natural order, becomes a projector but at this time, as Novak seems to indicate, with practicality and diligence as goals, not selfi s h economic gain. On the island, then, Crusoe's projecting goes hand in hand with his moral development, and again, the repentance scene is central to this interpretation of^the book. We have already seen that before Crusoe actually repents of his sings and begins his introspective, religious soul-searching, he keeps to his own immediate part of the island. Likewise, his economic projects tend to be short-term and based more on immediate needs. His f i r s t major project, for example, i s an attempt to salvage material from the ship: his "extremity" (he spent the night in a tree) arouses his "application," and he constructs a raft to carry back to the island a l l 65 that he can reclaim. In fact, Crusoe is methodical—more than previously, at any r a t e — i n what he does save, showing a practical turn of mind. He f i r s t removes provisions, including some corn, clothes and tools, then ammunition and arms. He even methodically l i s t s the "three encouragements" to his project: "1. A smooth, calm sea. 2. The tide rising and setting in to the shore. 3. What l i t t l e wind there was blew me towards the land...." (I, 56). Such careful considerations speak highly of Crusoe's practicality and diligence, and when he returns to his island in his Farther Adventures, i t i s just this attitude that the Spanish settlers praise the most. They t e l l Crusoe that they could do nothing but despair when shipwrecked, and they realize that this was definitely the wrong attitude. An old Spaniard remarks to Crusoe: ...that i t was not the Part of wise Men to give up them-selves to their Misery, but always to take Hold of the Helps which Reason offer'd, as well for present Support, as for future Deliverance. He told me that Grief was the most senseless insignificant Passion in the World; for that i t regarded only Things past, which were generally impossible to be recall'd, or to be remedy'd, but had no View to Things to come, and had no Share in any Thitfi'g that looked like Deliverance, but rather added to the A f f l i c t i o n , than propos'd a Remedy.... He ran on then in Remarks upon a l l the l i t t l e Improvements I had made in my Solitude; my unweary'd Application, as he call'd i t (II, 108) Crusoe's actions in the few months following the shipwreck indicate that he has taken the f i r s t step to becoming a balanced, integrated human being. From being a person of pure passion, a projector of foolish schemes, Crusoe has graduated to being a man of Reason: he has, in the language of Renaissance, moved up from the vegetative soul (Caliban, the natural man) to the rational soul. And this move up can, in fact, be taken as the f i r s t step in Crusoe's development 66 to a sp i r i t u a l rebirth., a step which is indicated primarily through an "economic" aspect of the novel. Before, Crusoe acted upon impulse, but in the extremity of his isolation he must use reason. . Impulse, in fact, has no further control over Crusoe's actions, for i t is now only through reason that he can possibly accept his situation and do the best he can in order to survive. Thus, Crusoe daily improves his fortifications and explores the immediate part of his island. He discovers goats on the island, and through close study of goat behavior and theorizing on goat optics, he finds he is able to k i l l them for food. He begins building a table and chair but finds he is a sorry workman, being merely a "natural mechanic." What is important is that Crusoe gradually begins, through reason, to order his projects, his routine, and f i n a l l y , his environment: "So I went to work; and here I must needs observe, that as reason is the substance and original of the mathematics, so by stating and squaring everything by reason and by making the most rational judgment of things, every man may be in time master of every mechanic art" (I, 77). And, a bit later, when he begins his Journal, he notes in an entry for November 4, "This morning I began to order my times of work, of going out with my gun, time of sleep, and time of diversion" (I, 79). He then l i s t s his daily activities and the times he has alloted for each. The Journal i t s e l f i s important since i t indicates Crusoe's desire for an orderly, daily record of what he has done, besides, the fact that i t allows him, for a while at any rate, to keep track of the date. Finally, as he sets his provisions in order, he takes "great pleasure...to see a l l my goods in such order and especially my stock of a l l necessaries so great" (I, 76). 6 7 Almost as soon as Crusoe lands on his island, he exhibits a "rage for order." After a brief period of despair and despondency, his practical nature gains control, so that by the time his repentance takes place, he has already secured himself f a i r l y well from danger and has exhibited a diligent application that w i l l allow him to survive for twenty-eight years on a desert island. Reason, then, has reduced the environment, for the most part, to an order that suits Crusoe's convenience; Crusoe is able to give shape and purpose to nature and has thus moved up from the passionate, almost brutish behavior (in a moral and religious sense) he displayed throughout his early adventures. But, faith is s t i l l needed before the earth w i l l yield to Crusoe the harvest that w i l l truly sustain him; i.e., faith w i l l give him that vision of Providence actively participating in his l i f e which w i l l quash his fears (those that Reason w i l l not eradicate) and w i l l result in Crusoe's spiritual conquest of himself—a victory which parallels his conquest of the natural environment. Actually, the shipwreck i t s e l f i s a kind of minor fulcrum in Crusoe's moral growth: impulse drops away as reason takes over. But the repentance scene i s the major fulcrum of the novel—the pivotal point in Crusoe's moral and intellectual growth—for he finds the faith that w i l l bolster his reason and which w i l l result in a change in his pattern of behavior and a change in his outlook towards his island environment. Fir s t , since the acquisition of faith means, to the Protestant, an acknowledgement of the existence of God and a realization that God cares for the particular, individual soul, then Crusoe knows that Providence has taken a special interest in him and is influencing the 6 8 events in his l i f e . In psychological terms, this new knowledge of Providence, coupled with a spiritual rebirth, allows Crusoe to overcome his fear of nature and consequently to expand both his discoveries and his projects. George Starr, in his discussion of Robinson Crusoe and i t s relation to spiritual autobiography, comments on just this aspect of Crusoe's behavior. At various points [after his repentance] he experiences 'frights' and 'consternations'; some of them are fully as harrowing as the 'strange surprizing adventures' that preceded his conversion and perhaps more so, since he had then been callous towards dangers and deliverances alike. Now, however, he becomes better able to confront new hazards, and to dispel their terrors, for he gains security from the conviction that he is an object of Providential care. In other words, i t is not that his belief shields him from further vicissitudes, but that such vicissitudes either f a i l to discompose him or else agitate him only when he forgets he is under divine protection.44 We have already seen that Crusoe begins to explore his entire island, but 'he now also considers himself as "lord and king" of his domain (I, 111). He builds a bower near the middle of the island, begins seriously keeping the Sabbath, and starts his large projects for mastering and taming the environment. He learns the seasons; plants barley; manufactures tables, chairs, baskets, and pots; discovers turtles; tames a goat. One could, of course, argue that given the amount of time Crusoe spends on his island, he would naturally evolve to this level of conquest and exploitation. However, Crusoe himself is careful to point out that his awareness of a beneficent Providence has calmed his fears: "...therefore I acquiesced in the dispositions of Providence, which I began now to own and to believe, ordered everything for the best; I say, I quieted my mind with this, and l e f t a f f l i c t i n g myself with fruitless wishes...." (I, 120). And, J. Paul 69 Hunter points directly to the overall significance of Crusoe's conversion when he remarks, "Emblematically, Crusoe has beaten the 45 sword of his vision into the ploughshare of his experience." However, these statements should be qualified. Upon repenting, Crusoe is not immediately transformed into a paragon of "economic" brill i a n c e : he is not, in other words, an allegorical stick figure either in an economic or a religious sgfi-se, but defines himself as much through his mistakes as through his successes. Crusoe learns slowly and painfully through experience, from his account of the number of clay pots he attempts before he produces one he can c a l l a functional success, to probably his best-known mistake, the manufacture of a periagua, which is a direct result of his newly acquired exploratory zeal. Hitting upon the idea of a canoe pleases Crusoe no end, and he immediately chooses a "vast tree" which he must hollow out. He spends thirty-four days cutting the tree down and hacking away i t s branches. It takes another month to hollow, shape and dub i t , and then--and only then—does he realize that he can never get i t to the water: "But a l l my devices to get i t into the water failed me; though they cost me i n f i n i t e labor, too. It lay about one hundred-yards from the water, and not more. But the f i r s t inconvenience was, i t was uphill towards the creek; well, to take away this discouragement, I resolved to dig into the surface of the earth, and so make a declivity...." (I, 141). However, he realizes that he cannot even move the heavy boat. He decides to build a canal but then realizes that that project would cost him ten to twelve years labor. At the dismal end of this venture Crusoe realizes he has allowed eagerness and "fancy" to prevail, and he sees "the fo l l y of beginning a work before we count the cost and before we judge rightly of our own 70 strength to go through with i t " (I, 141-142). But, in the f i n a l analysis, perhaps i t is Providence that watched over this project and saved Crusoe from committing a greater f o l l y , for after he reasons awhile on this latest project, he concludes that had he finished the canoe he would have embarked on "the maddest voyage and the most unlikely to be performed that ever was undertaken" (I, 141). The important point is that Providence helps Crusoe to help himself. In spite of his seeming stupidity, he learns from his mistakes, and necessity and a new-found s p i r i t of adventure (this time within the dictates of common sense and Christian faith) compel him on to new projects and new mistakes. If, on the other hand, we follow Novak's more secular approach to this novel, necessity alone gives birth to society by destroying sloth. And Novak points out that Crusoe's primary aim is to "recreate upon the microcosm of his island the standard of existence of Western c i v i l i z a t i o n in his day—to duplicate in the existence of one man a l l the useful products required by the human race for comfort and convenience." Therefore, the more properly economic themes of Robinson Crusoe are "That labor and invention create things of use and that the value of 46 things depends on their u t i l i t y . . . . " Defoe, Novak suggests, is t e l l i n g his readers that their concept of society is in fact based upon their society's theories of value and u t i l i t y : a given society tends to value things for their usefulness, and their value varies according to their u t i l i t y . This holds true for Western European c i v i l i z a t i o n just as i t holds true for the one-man society that Crusoe creates on his island. This idea, then, is the economic theme of the book. However, a careful reading of Defoe's novel w i l l show, as we indicated above, 71 that the religious theme functions just as much in the economic sphere of the book as i t does in the adventure sphere. If necessity compels Crusoe to take up his various projects, then Providence certainly gives him an added impetus. Thus i t is that the repentance scene is crucial to both the religious and the economic themes. But the economic theme also develops a pattern of i t s own, and this is one reason we cannot read Crusoe's account as a s t r i c t religious allegory. The economic pattern detaches i t s e l f from time to time from the religious theme to create its own narrative rhythm. The reader becomes aware of a kind of "rhythm of project" which is counterpointed to the more general spiritual and moral pattern. In general terms, this economic pattern evolves logically through (1) the realization of a problem, (2) projected solutions and a decision on a single course of action, (3) the solution of the problem which may, in turn, breed (4) new problems. For example, after Crusoe has constructed his shelter, he faces a general problem: since he cannot live forever on the ship's stores, how can he obtain food? This basic problem breeds several solutions: raise barley, harvest grapes, k i l l goats, and so on. However, the barley must be planted at a certain time, otherwise the crop w i l l f a i l (as i t does once). The project then involves a study of the climate and the seasons, so the barley can be planted accordingly. Then, of course, one must reap, thresh, grind, and store the grain. Each phase requires new projects, creating, in effect, a web of economic schemes. The same pattern develops with the grapes and the goats. Proceeding through reason from phase to phase of his projects, creating new projects along 72 the way, and eventually achieving an ordered and patterned l i f e on the i s l a n d — a l l of these create that sense of excitement in the reader. And f i n a l l y , Crusoe manages to create that status quo-—an economic stability—which allows him ample security and gives him that sense of true accomplishment in which the reader shares. By the time Crusoe discovers the print of a man's foot on the beach (which throws him into great consternation by reviving his fears of cannibals), he has a large and prospering goat herd, fields of planted grain, considerable grape harvests, and two "plantations," as he calls them. He is a competent carpenter, farmer, baker, potter and jack-of-all trades, and he is continually employed in just keeping his projects going. At about the same time that'Crusoe finishes developing his pattern of existence on his island, he discovers traces of the cannibal feasts on the side of the islandUqpposite to where he had originally washed ashore. If he had made this discovery before the time of his repentance, he undoubtedly would have been "taken quite affright," perhaps running to his "fortress" and cowering there for several days. However, at the same time that his routine becomes organized and he tames the natural environment, his moral character has developed and deepened. And just as his religious reflections have given his economic activity a new meaning, granting to his tasks and his products what amounts to a glow of sp i r i t u a l significance, so has his fear of the natural environment and a l l i t contains diminished considerably. Thus, when he discovers traces of the cannibals on this far side of the island, he shows absolutely no fear at a l l . Rather, a l l his "apprehensions were buried in the thought of such a pitch of inhuman, hel l i s h brutality, and the horror of the degeneracy of human 73 nature" (I, 182). He vomits, but more from disgust than from .fear, and then he gives thanks to God that he "was distinguished from such dreadful creatures" (I, 183). Crusoe does, on the other hand, exhibit a great amount of fear when he discovers more recent evidence of cannibals vi s i t i n g the i s l a n d — i . e . , the discovery of the footprint on the beach—but by that time, the reader is so aware of Crusoe's own religious nature that this reaction seems nothing more than a slight relapse. Indeed, Crusoe's immediate impulse is to destroy the order he has so carefully constructed. But again, i t is his religion that saves the economic basis of his existence. After reflecting once again on Providence, Crusoe is inspired to make certain small changes in his l i f e style. He takes " a l l the measures human prudence could suggest," and plans for new fortifications, devises a hidden pasture for his goats, and uses charcoal for his cooking fires so no flame w i l l be seen. While rearranging his environment he continually turns to his Bible for inspiration, meditates on Providence, and, in this manner, he presents—in the midst of his considerations on projects—his strongest statements on Providence and i t s actions in his l i f e : I then reflected that God, who was not only righteous but omnipotent, as He had thought f i t thus to punish and a f f l i c t me, so He was able to deliver me; that i f He did not think to do i t , 'twas my unquestioned duty to resign myself absolutely and entirely to His w i l l ; and on the other hand, i t was my duty also to ;hope in Him, pray to Him, and quietly to attend the dictates and directions of His daily providence. (I, }:74) Because of these reflections, Crusoe is able to "rise cheerfully" and go about turning his new schemes into r e a l i t i e s . Religion masters fear, reasons overcomes impulse, and economic optimism triumphs. The moral, 74 according to Crusoe, i s : . . . ' t i s never too late to be wise; and I cannot but advise a l l considering men, whose lives are attended with such extraordinary incidents as mine, or even though not so extraordinary, not to slight such secret intimations of Providence, let them come from what invisible intelligence they w i l l , that I shall not discuss and perhaps not account for; but certainly they are a proof of the converse of spirits and the secret communi-cation between those embodied and those unembodied; and such a proof as can never be withstood. (I, 194) Thus religion comes to Crusoe's aid, allowing him the presence of mind—the wisdom—needed to effect his more purely economic projects. Though Crusoe begins in sin, he "grows up" on his island, and the Puritan ideology which he internalizes—which gives him this faith and wisdom—sanctions his projects. Even though the economic pattern at timer achieves a kind of independence from the religious theme, Crusoe is always anxious to point the reader back to a moral and religious perspective. Thus, Crusoe's endeavors have meaning not only on a mundane level, but on a spi r i t u a l level as well. For as Martin Greif remarks, Defoe's hero "is enabled through the gi f t of divine grace to contribute 47 to his own physical survival on the island." So, even i f Ian Watt, in proving his economic interpretation of Robinson Crusoe, points out that Friday is the "advent of new manpower," and that relations between Friday and Crusoe are completely " u t i l i t a r i a n , " the reader is s t i l l aware of the importance of a Christian ideology throughout this 48 section of the book. . Crusoe's rescue of Friday i s foretold in a dream—a "secret intimation" of Providence. In fact, after this dream, Crusoe decides his next project w i l l be to obtain a servant, but when he actually makes the rescue he is "called plainly by Providence to save this poor Creature's l i f e " (I, 224). Certainly the advent of 75 Friday on the island i s of great u t i l i t a r i a n value to Crusoe, but i t also allows him to practice his Christianity: he converts Friday and in so doing strengthens the impact of his own conversion. Crusoe is able to extend his own ethical being and thus give the l i e to a solely economic interpretation of the book by proving that his own sp i r i t u a l i t y is not merely "mechanical," or the author's afterthought to improve the novel's sales among the moral element of the English population. This religious theme is an i n t r i n s i c part of the narrative structure and thematic patterning of the book i t s e l f , and an important part of Defoe's original moral intention in writing Robinson Crusoe. i&v. Structure It is possible to discuss the structure of Robinson Crusoe on three levels: the level of paratactic structure which is analogous to the pattern of the picaresque and adventure stories; the formalistic pattern of two interacting themes; and a structure somewhat analogous to that of the Bildungsroman wherein the reader sees the education and growth of the main character's mind. To be sure, these structural levels are not completely isolated from one another. They are connected f i r s t through the controlling consciousness of the narrator, second through the type of "double vision" discussed earlier, and third through the main character's spiritual growth. It is because of the latter that Crusoe is able to articulate the patterns of emblematic reference which structure the book on the second and third levels. Thus, these structural patterns are models which w i l l indicate the existence of 76 a certain logic of construction in Crusoe's story. This present section w i l l attempt to describe briefly these levels, beginning with the simplest, the paratactic structure. The last l e v e l — t h a t based on the way Crusoe himself perceives r e a l i t y — i s the most complex since i t involves both a pattern of ideas and an epistemology which merit further exploration in the next chapter. Therefore, this last level w i l l be described here simply as a basic structural pattern and only insofar as i t relates to the other patterns in the book. A paratactic pattern i s that in which a given text is dissolved into a series of discrete episodes. The narrative, in fact, tends toward fragmentation rather than integration. Thus, this type of structure is basic to adventure and picaresque stories wherein the account usually proceeds scene by scene with l i t t l e or no direct causal relationship between two successive "scenes" or "adventures." Such a pattern i s unified only through the existence of a main character who "travels" through these scenes and around whom (though not always) the action centers. In Robinson Crusoe, the narrative is thus fragmented on at least two levels. F i r s t , the reader follows the hero through scene after scene and, indeed, i f he reads Robinson Crusoe as merely an adventure narrative, he can see l i t t l e causal or thematic connection between the scenes except that they are narrated sequentially by a single, central character. Second, the novel breaks up into three large chunks: Crusoe's series of early adventures, his island sojourn, and his later travels between the time of his deliverance and his return to England. Again, outside of the fact that these sequences are narrated by Crusoe, there seems, on this level of pure adventure, to be very l i t t l e i n t r i n s i c connection between the sections, 77 and i f we were reading Robinson Crusoe as a simple adventure story, then this would be our fi n a l word on structure. However, i t is obvious from our discussion of Defoe's novel thus far that Crusoe's adventures .are meant to be read emblematically. In other words, the adventures are given a significance which transcends the paratactic level of structure, so that the form of the book i s , in part, this further signification of the event, situation, and even object, which transcends the mundane pattern of adventure. The fact that most of the adventures can be described as economic in one way or another, and also as significant in a religious sense, leads to the postulate that a truer way of describing the structure of Robinson  Crusoe would be to see these two themes as interacting with one another through the narrative. With specific reference to Defoe's novel, let us define this concept of an interaction of themes as two themes running alongside each other, reflecting upon one another, and crossing at different points in the narrative. We have already seen, for example, that the economic and religious themes are fused together in the opening pages of the novel: Crusoe's original sin and subsequent punishments can be read on both religious and socio-economic levels. These two themes divide during the island section of the narrative, but in this case division is not opposition, rather i t is a counterpointing and reflecting. The narrative focus shifts from economics to religion and then back again. This shifting results, as we have seen, in the two themes interacting with one another, thus achieving a pattern of interaction. Crusoe's economic projects are punctuated by his reflections on God's beneficence, and, in parallel fashion, religion influences economics 78 just as economics reflect back on religion. Crusoe feels that he owes his economic success—his progress in transforming a wild and natural environment to his own uses—to that Providence which bolsters his faith and courage and allows him to discover his own i n i t i a t i v e . Crusoe carefully points this out many times in his narrative: "I frequently sat down to my meat with thankfulness and admired the hand of God's providence, which had thus spread my table in the wilderness" (I, 143). And, "These reflections made me very sensible of the goodness of Providence to me and very thankful for my present condition, with a l l i t s hardships and misfortunes" (I, 144). It is because of God's w i l l that Crusoe comes to the island, and through God's w i l l he eventually gains control over his situation, realizing, as A.D. McKillop puts i t , "within natural limits and with comparative innocence 49 man's desire for domination." Thus, Crusoe's achievement comes about partly through hisoown in i t i a t i v e (although i t s development is influenced by Providence, i t i s s t i l l primarily Crusoe's own) and partly through a curious confluence of events which strongly indicate a Providential hand at work. Through faith Crusoe gains i n i t i a t i v e , purpose, and significance, and with the help of Providence he achieves economic success and eventually deliverance from his island. Trade and morality, then, are not necessarily opposed to one another in Robinson Crusoe. Rather, Crusoe must learn to control his inclinations to adventure and trade by realizing and internalizing an essentially Christian morality. This morality, Defoe implies, w i l l allow Crusoe to live comfortably and at ease in the world. 79 Coming to a realization of Christian morality involves, of course, a learning process, and this, in turn, suggests the f i n a l level of unification in structure. Each structural level discussed so far has been inadequate in one way or another. First, the paratactic level does not take into account the pattern of emblematic signification and the "archetypal" reenactment of the prodigal son story. The concept of an interaction between two themes moves us one step closer to this reading of the novel, but i t does not take fully enough into account the controlling and growing consciousness of Crusoe himself. S t i l l , this pattern of interaction does suggest this growth, for as Martin Price asserts: Defoe achieves the most fundamental dramatization of his industry. The forming of the pot has been likened to the forming of a soul, and the analogy can be accepted without overemphasis. The book relates Crusoe's mastery of nature to his mastery of self; the outward island and the inward jungle are, to some extent, counterparts, yet at a level of symbolism that needs no insistence and is more readily sensed than identified.50 The ordering of Crusoe's "inward jungle" operates, generally, as a pattern of growth through the novel. As Crusoe proceeds from impulses and passion (notethe number of references to."wild" and "foolish" "notions" in the pre-island part of his adventures) through reason (diligent application) to faith, he gradually masters his environment. His control of his passions makes him not only a complete man, but also a leader of men. He proves successful in both recapturing a ship on which the crew has mutinied and in leading a party of men through the Pyrenees where he displays such a cool head in actions against large pack of hungry wolves that he is made "captain" of the 80 group. This battle with the wolves serves to bring out those qualities which Crusoe has developed while on the island: his abil i t y toOdeal with the natural environment in a rational way, his courage due to his acquisition of faith, and fin a l l y his qualities of leadership. Crusoe, by the end of his story, has internalized those qualities of being which Defoe assigns to the "complete tradesman." Crusoe has learned to control his impulsive behavior and to be a "natural magistrate" among men. Thus, Robinson Crusoe i s a significant structural unit, patterned generally along the lines of a spiritual autobiography with i t s conventional sin-exile-redemption-grace structure, each element of which conforms to a stage in Crusoe's moral growth. At the end of his story Crusoe assimilates himself back into society, assuming the very "middle station of l i f e " ' which he brote^away from in the beginning. The structure of the novel, then, is well balanced in three parts—each part significant in the pattern of spiritual growth. The early adventures show Crusoe sinning and in exile; the central portion of the narrative—Crusoe on his island—develops the theme of spi r i t u a l growth and contains what I have termed the major fulcrum of the novel, the repentance scene; the f i n a l portion of the novel shows a new Crusoe emerging from the island experience, a Crusoe who is the complete antithesis to the young man who f i r s t set out on his "foolish adventures." Finally, through the system of emblemism, the events, situations, objects, and even characters described in this novel a l l work to drive the theme home. There i s , in other words, a more or less complete integration of a l l the narrative elements in Robinson Crusoe. 81 But structure i t s e l f i s perhaps only a metaphor for a larger ideological vision. At least this is what our study so far would seem to indicate. Defoe is articulating a Protestant vision of reality and experience, and this vision of reality makes up the structure of the novel. At the center of Defoe's own imaginative vision, as i t is projected in Robinson Crusoe, is a conception of human experience as an economic and moral struggle defined very much within the context of an eighteenth—century middle class ideology. It is.not enough to say, with Robert Donovan, that "The world of Defoe's imagination is a projection of economic society," and that "the practical choices 51 thrust upon his characters are dictated by economic necessities." These choices are also dictated by a moral framework which conditions that economic outlook. Crusoe himself, then, is emblematic of his society in a more metaphysical sense, for we have hinted at a deeper epistemology and doctrine of ideas which form the theoretical and ideological basis to Robinson Crusoe. Any f i n a l unification of trade and morality can be achieved only when we see Robinson Crusoe as embodying in concrete (though fictional) experience the abstract eighteenth century concepts of man and society. This relationship i s what the next chapter w i l l explore. CHAPTER III Philosophy and Knowledge in Robinson Crusoe 1. Introduction In the eleventh century, A.D., an Arab philosopher, Ibn Tufail, wrote a book entitled Hayy ibn Yakzan after the name.: of i t s main character. This f i c t i o n a l narrative traces the l i f e of Yakz"an through a series of seven-year cycles as he grows and matures on an isolated desert island. Ernst Behler has recently discussed this work, and claims that these cycles perform two functions: f i r s t , they give a definite over-all structural rhythm to the book; second, this rhythm indicates the growth of the main character's mind through four stages— "the discovery of the science of l i f e , " "the discovery of the higher world," "the discoveryof ecstasy," and "the discovery of mankind." Behler also indicates that the plan of Tufail's work is very roughly analogous to the plan of Robinson Crusoe, though differences in particular themes and intentions are apparent. 1 If, however, we follow the pattern of Yakzan's mental and spiritual development, we can see certain general analogies with the development of Robinson Crusoe's character. When Crusoe is shipwrecked on his island, he begins studying the science of existence; necessity leads him to evolve certain projects upon which his very survival depends, and this is the "discovery of the science of l i f e . " Crusoe has already lived the l i f e of a sinful creature—a "brutish" human—so this "science" 83 is the f i r s t step to a "higher vision." The dreams and eventual repentance of Crusoe, which bring him to a knowledge of Providential care and of the existence of God, could correspond to the discoveries of "a higher world" and of "ecstasy." In .a way, the coming of Friday to the island represents a "rediscovery" of mankind, since this section of Defoe's novel parallels the advent of another human, Abdal, on Yakzan's island. Just as Crusoe teaches Friday the fundamental tenets of the Christian religion, so Yakzan teaches Abdal the universal knowledge he has gained through his development of natural reason and contemplation. It is in this manner' that Yakzan reveals a concordance of reason and religion, just as Crusoe s o l i d i f i e s his own faith by reasoning out Christian doctrine with Friday. At this point, however, the correspondence between the two books breaks down. When Yakzan and Abdal return to c i v i l i z a t i o n with the intention of preaching truth to mankind, they realize, upon making that attempt, that they can never enlighten their fellows. Yakzan sees "that there are varying degrees of insight, that the majority of men have no access to his own vision, and that the words of their prophet already contain within themselves the highest possible measure of 2 truth, to which nothing can be added." Crusoe, however, successfully reintegrates himself into society, settling down in the middle station and enjoying his accumulated wealth. There are other differences between the two books. Yakzln i s supposedly a child of nature, since he drifted to the island in a basket while s t i l l an infant. Crusoe is large a product of the beliefs and conventions of his English society. Yakzan seems quite 84 content on his island, Crusoe is at f i r s t nearly always in some state of fear or despair. However, Behler indicates a fundamental theme for both books: "The depiction of a human consciousness developed in isolation may equally well serve to show the harmony of natural and revealed explanations of the world. It can bring proof, or at least an indication, that theological instruction need not conflict with nature and in this way strengthen the fundamental 3 agreement of both views." As Behler indicates, we can approach Defoe's f i r s t novel from the point of view that i t illustrates a general view of man and his relationships to nature, society, and even the cosmos. In this sense, Crusoe himself Is "emblematic" of a larger metaphysical and religious ideology. But, before we can approach this reading of Robinson Crusoe, we again need definitions. If Defoe's book indicates the harmonious relationship between religion and nature, or reason, then we need to define these terms in their eighteenth century context. Thus, phrases such as the "state of nature" and "natural law" become extremely important to a reading of Robinson Crusoe, and in fact, as Hans Aarsleff points out in referring to Locke's philosophy; "The problem of the state of nature i s essentially a question about the ..4 nature of man. Aarsleff's statement would indicate that concepts such as "reason" and "natural law" perhaps form a kind of "core ideology" which was used in the eighteenth century to define the individual and his relations with society, nature, and the universe. In this manner, "human consciousness" would come to be defined in the terms of reference 85 which, defined and delineated both the popular and metaphysical view of man in the early eighteenth century. Our assumption here, is this: Defoe's Robinson Crusoe i l l u s t r a t e s , or exemplifies, a "community of values" which had been systematized by the more "popular" (by popular I mean widely disseminated) philosophers of the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. These values come to be defined through Crusoe's intellectual and spiritual growth in the novel, and so we must look to the philosophy of the time to under-stand the quality of this growth.. More specifically, this possible ideological structure of Defoe's novel finds i t s parallel in the philosophy of John Locke. Locke, in his Essay concerning Human Understanding and Two Treatises  of Government, is concerned with codifying the bases to human thought, understanding, and action, as these were formulated through the seventeenth century. At least one of his concerns is to show how a stable, ordered society i s created. Thus, in: his Second Treatise  of Government, he reasons from an abstract state of nature wherein he can also define the nature of man. Defoe, of course, places his hero in a concrete state of nature (i.e., the desert island) and in this manner illustrates this theory of man. And where Locke reasons that through reflection and meditation i t is possible for man to gain knowledge of himself and his place in nature and society, so Crusoe follows this same general pattern of thought. Again, though some essentially Marxist c r i t i c s have indicated that Locke was defining a bourgeois and "capitalist" ethic, he is s t i l l , in actual fact, very much concerned with the possibilities of creating a stable and ordered social environment. 86 In order to show the parallels between the ideology illustrated in Robinson Crusoe and Locke's philosophy, our approach must again be from the general to the particular. Of f i r s t importance is the definition of the standard metaphysical concepts of the period, and following this, an application of these concepts to Robinson  Crusoe. Our major point, then, i s this: besides the specific adventure pattern, the religious and emblematic pattern, and the related economic pattern, at least part of the popularity of Robinson  Crusoe in the eighteenth century results from Defoe's a b i l i t y to present concretely (i.e., through example, and illustration) the rational basis of man's belief in God, in a natural order, and in a society that would function most successfully by incorporating into i t s structure the principles of right reason and religious morality. And, by thus il l u s t r a t i n g the rational and religious bases which should control the actions of a "good" social being, Defoe is able to reconcile that paradox between trade and morality which he has been accused of either simply glossing over or ignoring altogether. Iii.. The State of Nature and the Early Growth of Robinson Crusoe When Robinson Crusoe is carrying out his bread-making project, he reflects on the number of tasks he must perform and remarks on the d i f f i c u l t y of doing such things in a "meer State of Nature" (I, 130). Certainly, at least the more learned of Defoe's readers would he fully aware of the significance of this remark: poor Robinson Crusoe, isolated on a desert island and forced 87 to make do as best he can without the comfort and aid of human society, i s a paradigm of the natural man placed in a state of nature. To be sure, a concept of the natural man i s almost l i t e r a l l y as old as Adam. The Puritans, in fact, see natural man as the archetypal Adam figure—the man who f e l l from grace through sin, and must consequently live out his l i f e battling and subduing the environment around him. Likewise, the medieval and scholastic Christian philosophers held to approximately the same view while at the same time positing that both the law of nature and the law of reason (essentially the same thing) were operative in the natural, or fallen, man. To the scholastic, the laws of reason and nature were written on the heart of man by God. However, in the f i r s t half of the seventeenth century, when Descartes and the s c i e n t i f i c philosophers of the Paduan school began exploring and defining new methodologies in philosophy and science, they sparked dialectical arguments over the definitions of man which became, on the one hand, an intellectual revolt against the doctrines of the older scholastic philosophers, and on the other, one of the defining "motifs" of seventeenth century philosophy. We can begin with Hugo von Grotius, whose De Jure B e l l i ac Pacis was published in 1625, and who is the f i r s t to begin secularizing the concept of the law of nature. Grotius, to be sure, follows the scholastics in assuming that the law of nature is the same as the law of reason. But, he also writes, "The law of nature is a dictate of right reason, which points out that an act, according as i t is or is not in conformity with rational nature, has in i t a quality of moral 88 baseness or moral necessity; and that, in consequence, such an act is either forbidden or enjoined by the author of nature, God.""' Thus, instead of the law of nature being obligatory because i t is the w i l l of God, i t i s obligatory because i t i s grounded in reason. Human nature, then, becomes "the mother.of the law of nature". However, Grotius' mistake, according to later "natural law. philosophers," was to reject the concept of isolated'man as the basis of his investigation. Hobbes, Locke, and Pufendorf, a l l following the secularizing trend initiated in Grotius, define the abstract essence of man as complete solitude; in other words, a state of isolation and alienation from his fellows. Hobbes, in Leviathan (published in 1651), f i r s t draws his theoretical man outside of society: Hobbes' state of nature and his natural man are both logical, not his t o r i c a l , hypotheses. His picture of man in the state of nature i s , in this sense, clearly the abstract negation of man in ci v i l i z e d society: In such condition, there is no place for industry; because the fr u i t thereof is uncertain: and consequently no culture of the earth; no navigation, nor use of the commodities that may be imported by sea; no commodious building; no instruments of moving, and removing, such things as require much force; no knowledge of the face of the earth; no account to time; no arts; no letters; no society; and which i s worst of a l l , continual fear, and danger of violent death; and the l i f e of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.1 The state of nature, according to Hobbes, is a state of perpetual war—both of man against man and man against nature—where man is motivated by two primary emotions, fear and desire. And, i t would seem, Crusoe is describing himself in just this Hobbesian state of nature when he lands on his island: 89 I had a dreadful Deliverance: For I was wet, had no Clothes to shift me, neither did I see any Prospect before me, but that of perishing with Hunger, or being devour'd by wild Beasts; and that which was particularly a f f l i c t i n g to me was that 1 had no Weapon either to hunt and k i l l any Creature for my Sustenance, or to defend my self against any other Creature that might desire to k i l l me for theirs: In a Word, I had nothing about me but a Knife, a Tobacco-pipe, and a l i t t l e Tobacco in a Box, this was a l l my Provision, and threw me into terrible Agonies of Mind, that for a while I run about like a Mad-man; Night coming upon me, I began with a heavy Heart to consider what would be my Lot i f there were ravenous Beasts in that Country, seeing at Night they always come abroad for their Prey. (I, 50-51) Crusoe, like a "meer Brute," must spend the night in a tree. Samuel Pufendorf, born in the same year as Locke, describes his theoretical natural man as Hobbes does, and this description too, f i t s Robinson Crusoe perfectly: What a wretched Creature we should at least behold! A mute and an ignoble Animal, Master of no Powers or Capacities any farther than to pluck up the Herbs and Roots that grow about him; to gather the Fruits which he did not plant; to quench his Thirst at the f i r s t River, or Fountain or Ditch, that he finds out in his way; to creep into a Cave for Shelter from the Injuries of Weather, or to cover over his Body with Moss and Grass and Leaves; Thus would he pass a heavy Life in most tedious Idleness; would tremble at every Noise, and be scar'd at the approach of any of his Fellow Creatures, t i l l at last his miserable days were concluded by the Extremity of Hunger or Thirst, or by the Fury of a ravenous beast.8 The purpose of Hobbes' description of the state of nature as a state of war and fear is to build up a theory of absolute monarchy based firmly on laws which govern men's behavior in such a natural state. Thus, with Hobbes, and later with Pufendorf and Locke, natural law evolves into both a moral and a p o l i t i c a l doctrine based upon, and insisting on, the individual man's rights to self-defense and self-preservation. 90 Of course, Locke's argument differs radically from Hobbes' in at least one way: If Hobbes reasons from the state of nature in order to indicate that the best possible government is an absolute monarchy, then Locke argues from the natural state in order to prove the best government i s essentially democratic. Certainly, Locke's popularity in the eighteenth century is in part explained through this fundamental purpose of his argument. As John Plamenatz states, "Locke's Treatise was popular becasuse i t suited the social aspirations and also the intellectual prejudices of classes growing in importance, classes l i v i n g on rents and profits and employing wage-labourers. It is a theory made up of old ingredients presented in a more secular and 9 modern, and therefore attractive form." Thus, when Locke argues from the state of nature in his Second  Treatise of Government, his purpose i s to prove that the existing form of government in England at that time (i.e., the period following the Glorious Revolution) is the best type of government. In making this argument, Locke incorporates the most common and acceptable ideas of ihe period on natural law and the state of nature, the use of reason and divine law, and the form of government, into a system both rational and desirable to a major portion of the society of early eighteenth-century England. Locke's philosophy, then, i s made up of the leading, and popular, ideas of the time, and before relating i t " t o Defoe's own very popular novel, we need to discuss i t s three basic concepts: the state of nature, the law of nature and the place of reason and divine law, and the concept of property. 91 First, Locke's view of the state of nature is a bit: more optimistic than Hobbes', especially with his apparent incorporation of Christian principles into this state. For one thing, Locke describes the state of nature in two ways; i t can be a state of-peace, or i t can be a state of war. It is a state of war i f any man "attempts to get another Man into his absolute p o w e r . B u t , the men who attempt to do t h i s — t h a t i s , encroach on the fundamental freedom of others without proper consent being given—are obviously f u l l of "Malice, Violence," and want only the "Mutual Destruction" of mankind. Man, in the state of nature, realizes the many benefits to be derived from main-taining peace with his fellows. This way of thinking i s possible because man is essentially a rational creature; he has "a knowledge of himself, which the beasts have not."''""'" Man, in the state of nature, is thus governed by a law of Nature...which obliges everyone: And Reason, which is that Law, teaches a l l Mankind, who w i l l but consult i t , that being a l l equal and independent, no one ought to harm another in his Life , Health, Liberty, or Possessions. For Men being a l l the Workmanship of one Omnipotent, and i n f i n i t e l y wise Maker; A l l the Servants of one Sovereign Master, sent into the World by his order and about his business, they are his Property, whose workmanship they are.... Man, then, i s created equal with his fellows, and "Every one," even in the state of nature, "is bound to preserve himself, and not to quit his Station w i l f u l l y . " In so obeying the dictates of natural law and reason, the individual helps to "preserve the rest of Mankind" (Locke's i t a l i c s ) . Those who transgress natural law declare themselves "to live by another Rule, than that of reason and common Equity, which is that measure God has set to the actions of Men for their mutual security ,,12 9 2 Even in a state of nature, then, man should assume his proper role in that universal order set and sanctioned by God for the benefit of humanity. In obeying the law of nature and the dictates of reason, man is also obeying divine law, and Locke grants to the natural state of man a Christian moral tone not found in the Hobbesian view. In his Essay Concerning Human Understanding. Locke states that man's duty i s , in effect, to discover the purpose for which God has placed him on earth, and what, in fact, his duty i s . This discovery leads to greater knowledge and self-awareness: Therefore, as God has set some things in broad daylight; as he has given us some certain knowledge, though limited to a few things in comparison, probably as a taste of what intellectual creatures are capable of to excite in us a desire and endeavour after a better state: so, in the greatest part of our concernments, he has afforded us only the twilight, as I may so say, of probability; suitable, I presume, to that state of mediocrity and probationership-he has been pleased to place us in here; wherein, to check our over-confidence and presumption, we might, by every day's experience, be made sensible of our short-sightedness and liableness to error; the sense whereof might be a constant admonition to us, to spend the days of this our pilgrimage with industry and care, in the search and following of that way which might lead us to a state of greater perfection. It being highly rational to think, even were revelation silent in the case, that, as men employ those talents God has given them here, they shall accordingly receive their rewards at the close of the day, when their sun shall set, and night shall put an end to their labours.13 Locke could here be describing the basic Christian outlook on l i f e as a pilgrimage wherein man is aided through both reason and revelation to come to a greater knowledge of himself, his place and duty in the world, and his Maker. Morality, then, in Locke's view, "is the proper science and business of mankind in general," and "Moral philosophy comprehends religion too, or a man's whole duty...." Reason can discover to us both natural law and divine law, since the two are 93 essentially the same, and this use of reason coupled, Locke hints, with revelation (a matter of faith) leads to the knowledge of one's position in a .sane and rational universe. Thus, we see the morality inherent in Locke's conception of human nature and his view of how man should rationally act. It is essentially the same morality that one finds in more properly "Puritan" works of the same period, The New Whole Duty of Man, containing the  Faith as well as Practice of a Christian and Richard Baxter's Christian Directory, both of which were extremely popular and influential writings in the period between 1670 and 1720. Both books describe the rational, happy man who becomes the model for the eighteenth century man, and both picture man as being moral because he is rational. And again, as John Plamenatz states, Locke "believed that men are moral because they are by nature rational, and can therefore discover, merely be reflecting on what is involved in being human, how they ought to behave.""'""' There is also another important part of Locke's philosophy which involves two central concepts which l i e at the core of his thought: individualism and property. When Locke follows Hobbes in defining the bases of human nature through a .removal of man from society and a concomitant placing of him in the state of nature, he, like Hobbes, emphasizes an essentially s o l i p s i s t i c view of man—a view which is also present and prevalent throughout the philosophical, p o l i t i c a l and economic writings of the seventeenth century. Hobbes bases his philosophy on an egocentric individualism: man, in the state of nature, is completely on his own. "Locke," says Ian Watt, "constructed the class system of p o l i t i c a l thought based on the 94 indefeasibility of individual rights, as against the more traditional ones of Church, Family, or King." 1^ Watt goes on to indicate that Locke's emphasis on individualism is fundamental to the epistemology of our modern period, and he is essentially correct in doing so. Basic to the Essay concerning Human Understanding is a concern with particular and individuating circumstances in constructing a theory of knowledge. In his concern for precise observation in the recording of human thought, Locke focusses on descriptions of inter-mediate processes in the individual human mind. His focus is on the inner man—an individual different from a l l others in that his patterns of thought are, through bits particular experience of the world, unique to him alone. Likewise, in his Two Treatises of Government, Locke presents his natural man as a creature "loose from a l l social discipline; he is autonomous and self-contained, and belongs to no social order, no community""'"^—except, one might'add, a natural community. And, of course, what is essential to the definition of man as a complete individual is the concept that each man "has a Property in his own Person." Locke continues: This no Body has any Right to but himself. The Labour of his Body, and the Work of his Hands, we may say, are properly his. Whatsoever then he removes out of the State of Nature hath provided, and l e f t i t in, he hath mixed his Labour with, and joyned to i t some-thing that is his own, and thereby makes i t his Property. We have moved here from the idea that man has a property in his person to the idea that he can extend his basic property into the state of nature by mixing his labor with i t . And again, Locke is articulating a set of values that had achieved almost the status of a tradition in the seventeenth century. 95 " A l l roads in our period have led to individualism," states historian Christopher H i l l in his discussion of the seventeenth 19 century. This of course includes the philosophic road, and Locke's epistemology i t s e l f is merely a continuation of the individualistic and introspective method used by Descartes earlier in the same century. Also, his theory of man and property goes back at least to the Puritan pamphleteers at the time of the c i v i l war. In 1646, Henry Overton, in his An Arrow against a l l Tyrants, stated what is essentially the same doctrine: To Every Individuall in nature is given an individual property by nature, not to be invaded or usurped by any: for every one as he is himselfe, so he hath a selfe propriety, else could he not be himselfe .and on this no second may presume to deprive any of,, without manifest violation and affront to the very principle of nature, and of the Rules of equity and justice between man and man; mine and thine cannot be, except this be; No man hath power over my rights and liberties, and I over no mans; I may but an Individuall, enjoy myselfe, and my selfe propriety, and may write my selfe no more than my selfe, or presume any further; i f I doe, I am an encroacher & an invader upon an other mans Right, to which I have no Right. For by naturall birth, a l l men-are equally and alike borne to like propriety, liberty and freedome, and as we are delivered of God by the hand of nature into this world, every one with a naturall, innate freedome and propriety (as i t were writ in the table of every mans heart, never to be obliterated) even so are we to l i v e , every one equally and alike to enjoy his Birth-right and priviledge; even a l l whereof God by nature hath made him ifree. Overton goes on to stress the sanctity of individual freedom and equality, and to define man as an egocentric creature: "Every man by nature being a King, Priest and Prophet in his owne naturall circuite and compasse, whereof no second may partake, but by deputation, commission, and free consent from him, whose naturall 20 right and freedome i t i s . Overton, then, argues that each man 96 is behaving rationally and reasonably, according to both the law of nature and moral law, when he seeks to preserve his essential freedom. Overton, of course, reflects the same fundamental individualism and i t s connection with a concept of property that is found in both Hobbes and Locke. This egocenfcricism i s so central to the Puritan religion that when William Haller stresses "spiritual equalitarianism" and individualism as basic to Puritanism, he i s also quick to connect this ideology to the "accelerating democratization of English 21 society" and to a basis in a common view of natural law. Also, C.B. MacPherson has written convincingly of the rise of individualism and i t s relation to property in p o l i t i c a l philosophy; H.M. Robertson has discussed i t with specific reference to the rise of the trading state; and both Christopher H i l l and Maurice Ashley have traced the important changes in economics as English society evolved from the essentially feudal system of guilds and royally chartered companies in the Renaissance to the mercantilist—in some cases l a i s s e z - f a i r e — 22 system and joint-stock companies of the late seventeenth century. Defoe, of course, with his interest in both trade and p o l i t i c s , was aware of, and v i t a l l y concerned with, questions on the concepts of property and individualism in the early eighteenth century. He f i l l e d the pages of his Review with his ideas on trade, p o l i t i c s , and morality, and produced a long series of pamphlets on the same subjects. His fi c t i o n can in fact be seen as a logical extension of these earlier articles and pamphlets; Defoe, in other words, uses a fict i o n a l form as a vehicle for conveying his ideas on man and society. At the same time, his novels are, or can be considered to be, aesthetic structures. 97 We would expect Defoe to consciously use rhetorical and structural devices to define and explore these individualistic and social themes in his f i c t i o n , and we would thus also expect the three-part division of The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe to.mean something in relation to the author's intentions. We have already seen that the three-part structure underpins and helps to express the book's Christian and economic themes. It remains to indicate how this division c l a r i f i e s and patterns the development of Crusoe's knowledge from his "brutish" beginning wherein he isolates himself from society to his willing reentry back into society at the end of the book. In this manner, the theme of individualism and the pattern of Crusoe's developing self-knowledge combine to form a more philosophical interpretation of the f i r s t volume of Crusoe's adventures. We have already seen that Crusoe, in his pre-island adventures, is very much a laissez-faire individualist. His economic schemes, his desire to rise faster than "the nature of the thing" allows, and his complete disregard for any prompting toward a balanced and normal l i f e , point to Crusoe as being a "Capitalist" in Watt's Marxist sense of the term (i.e., one who continually transforms the economic status quo). But at the same time, Defoe stresses that Crusoe is not a man of reason—not even a rational creature—for his passions rule his actions. He breaks his "vows and promises" to lead a better l i f e , his obstinacy wins over his reason and judgment, and whereas reason ought to guide him, his "wild and undigested notions of raising [his] fortune" come to control his thoughts and actions. Thus, as he points out with reference to the slaving expedition which ends with his isolation on the island, he i s "the wil f u l agent" of his own 98 miseries, and he entirely gives over to his "foolish inclination" by abandoning, and abusing, his prosperous plantation in Brazil. Finally, he notes that he obeys "blindly the dictates of [his] fancy rather than [his] reason" (I, 4 3 ) . His shipwreck on the island and his descent into the physical state of nature merely complete this picture of Crusoe as an animal: he i s , in other words, a brutish being controlled completely by his own passions. Thus, the moral tone of the books would indicate that Crusoe the capitalist, by opposing the dictates of Nature and Reason, i s breaking the Law of Nature by allowing himself to be controlled by animal instincts. He would, in fact, compare with the Hobbesian man who i s motivated in his actions by two emotions—fear and desire—and there might also be some resemblance to Locke's perpetrator of the state of war in nature. Crusoe's isolation on the island i s essentially no different than his isolation in society except that, now that he doesn't have human companionship, he misses i t . Crusoe's irrational behavior, his basis of action in instinct, his essentially brutish human na t u r e — a l l of his basic personality traits before he landed on his island—receive concrete embodiment in this physical isolation. On this island he i s , at f i r s t , the same Crusoe—alone, acting according to fear and desire, sunk into a state of nature. But i t soon becomes apparent that he is growing out of this state, leaving behind his animal instincts, and become a rational man. Defoe's use of a f i r s t person narrator who is recounting his early adventures contributes to the moral tone of these early parts of the book. We have already seen that the older Crusoe is able to give Christian and emblematic significance to his youthful exigencies 99 by referring the reader to parallels between his own story and those of the prodigal son, Jonah, and the f a l l of man. It undoubtedly is Defoe's a r t i s t i c intention to indicate a disparity between the moral tone implied through the intrusions of the older Crusoe and the actions of the young Crusoe which involve "rash and immoderate" desires and "wild and undigested" notions. The moral i s , of course, pointed out several times by the narrator. One instance of this i s Crusoe's earliest reflection on quitting the adventuring l i f e . This reflection occurs almost immediately after his f i r s t sea voyage ends in near disaster: As to going home, shame opposed the best motions that offered to my thoughts; and i t immediately occurred to me how I should be laughed at among the neighbours, and should be ashamed to see, not my father and mother only, but even every body else; from whence I have since often observed how incongruous and irrational the common temper of mankind i s , especially of youth, to that reason which ought to guide them in such cases, viz., that they are not ashamed to sin, and yet are ashamed to repent; not ashamed of the action for which they ought justly to be esteemed fools, but are ashamed of the returning, which only can make them be esteemed wise men. (I, 15-16) Here, the contrast between the young and foolish Crusoe and the moral tone of the older narrating Crusoe is made explicit through a juxtaposition of a "foolish" notion of shame and wiser observations,, after the second semi-colon, of the narrating voice. There are other such juxtapositions throughout this early part of the narrative, as the narrator both comments on his earlier sins and adumbrates the coming events. Thus, there are references to "something fatal in that propension of nature" (I, 2) and to the "miseries which Nature and the station of life...provided against" (I, 4). The implication throughout these early sections i s that Crusoe is a "fool" in his revolt against the middle station of 100 l i f e and against a natural order. Consequently, the major contrast in this part of the book is between Crusoe the ignorant young fool and Crusoe the man of moral awareness and self-knowledge. Crusoe's early actions spring from foolish inclinations, not from any principles of reason or faith, and both Defoe's style and technique indicate this obstinacy and bull-headedness in a -young Crusoe who lacks reason or judgment. It i s also important to note that Defoe, in structuring these early parts of his narrative, shows Crusoe as always gravitating back toward the middle station in l i f e which he had scorned at the beginning of his adventures. The older Crusoe notes that he once approached the middle station when his Brazilian plantation began to prosper, and again, on his island, he tries to achieve the same qualities of ease, s t a b i l i t y , and security by which his father had characterized this station. This tendency of Crusoe's to return to the middle station—whether he likes i t , or wants to, or n o t — would seem to indicate that this i s his true "natural" inclination, rather than his own foolish, and therefore "unnatural," inclination. Through his perhaps unnatural acts, the results of his following the promptings of a foolish inclination and desire, he continually isolates himself from the society of men. His selfish and egocentric drive to extend his material wealth and holdings results in a reversal of his fortunes and his isolation from human society. Finally, Crusoe is isolated from society not through any act of his own, but through the action of Providence. Crusoe is then sunk into the state of nature that, in one sense, represents the logical outcome of his previous actions; by following completely his irrational 101 passions and desires, Crusoe is the Hobbesian natural man, and thus his actions eventually lead him back from society into the state of nature. On his island, in complete isolation from mankind, Crusoe is forced through necessity to change the basis of his action, and he must, simply by force of circumstance, begin pulling himself out of this lowest state of "brutishness." It is at this point in his adventures that his actions tend to take on a positive quality, for he begins to base them on more rational thoughts. In fact, a l l of Crusoe's actions from this point on—including his accountant's figures, his calendar-maker's dates,the itemizing of his possessions, the circum-stantial descriptions of projects—are necessary steps he must take on the long and sometimes d i f f i c u l t path back to society. Here again, Defoe's intentions become apparent. Most of the seventeenth-century accounts of shipwrecked and stranded sailors point out the degrading psychological effects of isolation; they lose the faculty of speech, go mad, and even die. But. Defoe disregards these effects, and i t is for a good reason. He intends, in his fictional account of one man's isolation, to indicate the poss i b i l i t i e s of moral and rational growth in his hero, and thus to indicate something about the nature of man and his place in the world. The change in Crusoe—his acquisition of both rudimentary self-knowledge and a general, practical knowledge through experience— is signalled in several places in the text. After he has salvaged most of the material he needs from the ship, he' sets about improving his living quarters, securing himself from wild beasts and savages, and, symbolically, pulling himself out of the state of nature. He does a l l this through an application of reason to his situation, and the text 102 reflects this use of reason by indicating an explicit logic of development in Crusoe's thoughts—something that he lacked before. Consider, as an example, the following account of how Crusoe comes to locate his new dwelling: My thoughts were now wholly employed about securing myself against either savages, i f any should appear, or wild beasts, i f any were on the island; and I had many thoughts of the method how to do this, and what kind of dwelling to make, whether I should make me a cave in the earth, or a tent upon the earth; and, in short, I resolved upon both, the manner and description of which i t may not be improper to give an account of. I soon found the place I was in was not for my settle-ment, particularly because i t was upon a low moorish ground near the sea, and I believed would not be wholesome; and more particularly because there was no fresh water near i t . So I resolved to find a more healthy and more convenient spot of ground. I consulted several things in my situation, which I found would be proper for me. First, health and fresh water, I just now mentioned. Secondly, shelter from the heat of the sun. Thirdly, security from ravenous creatures, whether men or beasts. Fourthly, a view to the sea, that i f God sent any ship in sight I might not lose any advantage for my deliverance, of which I was not willing to banish a l l my expectation yet. (I, 63) Thus, Crusoe begins his search for a pr-o-Per location for his dwelling, and thus he begins to domesticate his island. There are several important things worth noting in this passage. Fi r s t , Crusoe's actions are well-thought out in advance; there is a careful weighing of facts before a conclusion is reached—something which does not occur to this extent in any of the earlier portions of the story. Second, there i s a logical continuity to Crusoe's thought; again something we do not see in previous parts of the book. And third, the structure of the passage i t s e l f is exceedingly rational: though Crusoe may have "many thoughts," he is able to sort them out and present the important ones accurately and logically, to himself for consideration, and thus he can make strong and 103 rational resolutions which, lead both to a greater control over the natural environment and to a greater control over his own thought-processes - and behavior. Also, as we have seen, Crusoe is f a i r l y methodical when he salvages materials from his ship. He does make mistakes, nearly sinking his raft twice, and rather foolishly taking off everything he can get his hands on. But again, he carefully considers a l l the factors, advantages, and disadvantages, and thus displays the f i r s t crude use of a rationality that w i l l allow him to control and order a major portion of the natural environment on his island. Following the Lockean concept of property and labour, Crusoe, in mixing his labor with the natural environment, manifests a "natural" human control over i t , and also extends the property of his person into i t . Thus, in the many passages wherein Crusoe takes pride in his belongings and in his accomplishments, he is celebrating not only the triumph of human reason over both the state of nature and the brutish aspects of his own human nature, but also the acquisition of property through his own action and increasing self-knowledge. In fact, as his practical knowledge and true confidence (as opposed to false pride) increase, his actions evolve into gradually more and more complicated patterns, and his property increases from the time he sits in his cave and takes pride in the orderly arrangement of the items he has salvaged from the ship, to the place in his narrative where he can say (after his repentance): "I descended a l i t t l e on the side of that delicious vale, surveying i t with a secret kind of pleasure (though mixed with my other a f f l i c t i n g thoughts), to think that this was a l l my own, that I was king and lord of a l l this country indefeasibly and 104 had a right of possession; and i f I could convey i t , I might have i t in inheritance, as completely as any lord of a manor in England" (I, 110). And again, later on in the narrative, Crusoe reflects on knowledge, reasonable acquisition, and usefulness: "In a word, the nature and experience of things dictated to me upon just reflection that a l l the good things of this world are no farther good to us than they are for our use; and that whatever we may heap up indeed to give others, we enjoy just as much as we can use, and no more" (I, 143). First, Crusoe is j u s t i f i e d in claiming ownership of the island in the Lockean sense, since he has mixed his labor with large parts of i t , and since i t is part of the natural order, or way of things, for man to dominate. As Locke-states in his First Treatise of Government: For the desire, the strong desire of Preserving his Life and Being having been Planted in him, as a Principle of Action by God himself, Reason, which was the Voice  of God in him, could not but teach him and assure him, that pursuing that natural Inclination he had to preserve his Being, he followed the Will of his Maker, and therefore had a.right to make use of those Creatures, which by his Reason or Senses he could discover would be serviceable thereunto. And thus Man's Property in the Creatures, was founded upon the right he had, to make use of those things, that were necessary or useful to his Being.23 And further on, in•the chapter on property in the Second Treatise, Locke again indicates that God (or Providence) works through man's reason to allow him to subdue and order the earth according to the laws of nature and of property: God and his Reason commanded to subdue the Earth, i.e. improve i t for the benefit of Life, and therein lay out something upon i t that was his own, his labour. He that in Ohedience to this Command of God, subdued, t i l l e d and sowed any part of i t , , thereby annexed to i t something that was his Property, which another had no Titl e to, nor could without injury take from him.24 105 Therefore, in Locke's Treatises, God gave the earth to man to cultivate, and order, according to reason, which is God's w i l l , which is also the law of nature and thus the law which society should model i t s e l f on. As Locke states near the end of his First Treatise, "the positive Laws of Society" are "made conformable to the Laws of Nature, for the public good, i.e. the good of every particular Member of 25 that society." Locke's concepts of property and individuality, then, are at one with his concepts of natural order and the stable arrangement of society; and a l l , of course, find their basis in God's w i l l as that w i l l is indicated by both the voice of Reason and Providence. The spiritualized cosmos at the back of Locke's philosophy is the same as that which operates continually through Rob in s on C rus oe; and, as we have already seen, Providence and Crusoe work very closely together to order the natural environment on the island and to create a status quo that—according to Watt, MacPherson, and others—is so unprofitable to the true capitalist. Second, as our quotations from Defoe's novel indicate, once Crusoe masters his passion he gains the use of his more rational faculties, and i t is through this learning process that he completes his conquest of the natural environment by extending his property on the island. Thus, once again, the pattern of Crusoe's meditations indicates his growing rationality and self-knowledge as he subdues and orders his environment. For example, when Crusoe reflects on "stating and squaring everything by reason, and making the most rational judgment of things" Ci, 74), he is involved in enlarging his cave, producing his f i r s t table and chair, making shelves, and ordering his goods inside his fo r t i f i c a t i o n . Soon after this, Crusoe begins keeping his Journal, which 106 seems to him to be a f i t place for recording both his reflections on his situation and what he does in that situation—his daily activities in other words. It is interesting, at this point, that the narrative eye of the older Crusoe becomes the narrative " I " of a diary, perhaps indicating that in one sense, Crusoe is developing the perspective of the older narrative voice. The Journal does contain some essentially moral reflections, but the perceptions are not yet turned inward to record the state of Crusoe's soul. This kind of observation w i l l come only after his conversion. So, for the time being at any rate, Defoe is more largely concerned with presenting to his readers Crusoe's relative success in ordering his actions and his thoughts according to reason. At the same time, this pattern of interior growth and external conquest again parallels certain basic ideas in Locke's philosophy. According to both Locke and Defoe, man is not born with a knowledge of the law of nature, or of the uses of reason. Man's faculties must be developed—a learning process must take place—before he can effectually pull himself out of the state of brute nature to a position of self-knowledge and rationality. As Locke asks in his Second Essay of the Law of Nature, " i f a l l men are led to the knowledge of i t [the law of nature] by the light of nature, how does i t arise that very many ariortals are without knowledge of this law and nearly a l l think of i t differently, a fact that does not seem possible i f a l l men are led to the knowledge of i t by the light of nature?" Locke's answer is that, since the law of nature i s not innate in a l l men, a proper use of mental faculties (i.e., reason) w i l l lead man to a knowledge of this 2.6 law. This knowledge, as those who have read the Essay concerning 107 Human Understanding w i l l testify, can be gained through experience and contemplation. This is how, according to Locke, man transcends the brutish state of nature. Man' differs from the brute animals in three ways: man has reason and memory, he can learn from experience, and he can come to act in accord with the results of his contemplation. Man, then, is free at any time to use his faculties of reason and contemplation to gain a knowledge of the workings of nature, the society he lives in, and the universe. In most of Defoe's fi c t i o n , characters are more largely determined by their environment than by any innate or hereditary tra i t s . Colonel Jack, of course, has certain traits which lead people to think he i s of noble, or high-ranking, birth. However, characters such .as he and Captain Singleton are ignorant of the moral and social evils of pickpocketing or pirating u n t i l they are told, or somehow learn, that such actions controvert moral and social order. As Jonathan Bishop states, in his a r t i c l e , "Knowledge and Action in Defoe's Novels," NoifcwoniHyedoes eachohero start'the book as a tabula  rasa, but before every principal adventure he is again reduced to this state. Moll Flanders i s broke and desperate when she starts a new attempt. Bob Singleton is marooned on the coast of Madagascar, Robinson Crusoe wrecked on a desert island, Colonel Jack transplanted as a felon to Virginia. In each case the hero is stripped naked and must begin again the laborious business of learning and applying his knowledge.29 Once f i l l e d with abhorrence towards the e v i l of their deeds, Defoe's characters often try to remedy the situations they created, or they repent and liv e good, Christian lives. In this sense, a l l of Defoe's novels are stories of men and women learning about themselves through a combination of a close interaction with their environment, and consequent 108 reflections on what they have learned from their interaction. Defoe creates situations for his main characters through which he can i l l u s t r a t e his doctrine of necessity and self-preservation. In other words, commiting a moral sin is often necessary simply in order to survive in this world. However, at the same time, Defoe's characters are learning through experience and reflection to become n essentially moral and good human beings. In this larger context, then, Defoe's novels are studies i n the acquisition of knowledge through experience. The.direct causal relationship between experience and knowledge i s , of course, fundamentally Lockean, and at the same time allows Defoe to indicate what a society of men devoid of morality and rationality would be. li k e : i t would be, simply, a Hobbesian state of nature— a world f i l l e d with pickpockets and thieves and lacking any order or sanity. That i s , society would be such i f not for the existence of men who are knowledgeable in the ways of God, the laws of nature, and who are aware of what their position in society is and what the bounds set by nature on that position are. Man's acquisition of self-knowledge, then, would also be an affirmation of a social and moral order in which a society of men can exist in peace and harmony with one another. Thus, Defoe often depicts the true state of society (among the lower classes at least) not as that rational and moral mechanism in which a l l mankind can happily and peaceably coexist. Rather, the state of society is in many cases analogous to the Hobbesian state of nature, and so Crusoe points out in conversation with an "Old Gentlewoman" in his Serious Reflections: 109 R.C. Truly, the main business that mankind seems to be doing is to eat and drink; that's their enjoyment, and to get food to eat is their employment, including a l i t t l e their eating and devouring one another. Old Gent. That's a description of them as brutes. R.C. It is so in the f i r s t part, namely, their l i v i n g to eat andtdrink; but in the last part they are worse than the brutes; for the brutes destroy not their own kind, but prey upon a different species; and besides, they prey upon one another for necessity, to satisfy their hunger, and for food; but man for baser ends, such as avarice, envy, revenge, and the li k e , devours his own species, nay his own flesh and blood.... ( I l l , 106) A bit further on, Crusoe discusses the c i v i l i z i n g power of Christianity as i t works to influence men—both "savage" and " c i v i l i z e d " — t o a higher knowledge of themselves and of their proper positions in society and nature. Finally, in a later work, A System of Magick, Defoe combines practicality, action, knowledge and understanding in c r i t i c i z i n g the generations descended from Noah and his sons after the flood: j In the room of this capacious Understanding and this inquiring and applying Temper in those Ages, behold a stupid Generation risen up in Succession; stript as naked of the natural Glories of their Ancestors, as the Earth was of i t s natural Fruitfulness after the Curse in Paradise; and instead of applying themselves to useful Arts, and to the acquiring of Knowledge, grown as indolent as they were ignorant, having, like Solomon's Fool, no delight in Understanding.29 In Moll Flanders, to draw an example from Defoe's f i c t i o n , society is often pictured as a state of nature wherein man must try to survive in the midst of ignorance, foolishness, and a hostile environment. Robert Donovan points out, "In this respect Moll i s very much like Robinson Crusoe; both are centrally concerned with the elementary problem of survival, and beyond that with whatever material amenities a hostile environment can be made to p r o v i d e . T h e fundamental difference between the two novels is that, in Rob in s on C rus oe, Defoe's hero struggles in the state of nature as nature, while in Moll Flanders, 110 the main character directly confronts the moral and social problems as they are created by the social environment through which she moves. But, on the other hand, both novels contain a dialectical opposition between a complete secular individualism and a moral vision which incor-porates the eighteenth century ideals of Christian morality and social order. Perhaps, then, in his f i r s t novel, Defoe has focussed on a single character through whom this dialectic can be resolved. We have so far seen that, through an application of a rational knowledge and action to practical problems, Crusoe is able to pull himself out of a "meer State of Nature," and in so doing is perhaps embodying the ideals of a rational,and active man. These ideals are dialectically ppposed to Crusoe's own character traits in the pre-island portion of his adventures; that i s , before Crusoe came to his island, he was an egocentric, possessive, and essentially c a p i t a l i s t i c character motivated by unreasonable desires and inclinations. But Defoe, in ordering the events of his narrative, implies that rationality is insufficient in aiding the good man to perform right actions, and Crusoe needs to acquire the principles of Christian faith before his knowledge becomes complete and before he can therefore successfully reenter the society of men. Crusoe, then, needs to repent and convert himself to Christianity before he can become a good social being. In becoming a rational creature, Crusoe has advanced one step closer to faith and one step closer to a reintegration into society. And Defoe, in tracing this early development of Crusoe on his island from the state of brute nature to a state of reasonable acquisition, allows his hero just enough time to get comfortably c I l l settled on his island, and just enough time to gain rational control over his actions, before God strikes a blow that Crusoe feels w i l l surely be fatal. What small security Crusoe had and what st a b i l i t y he did acquire are shattered by illness and a terrifying dream. There is a possible parallel, however slight, between this event and the second voyage Crusoe made in which he realized a handsome profit. In both cases, Crusoe has gained some confidence: his early success leads him to feel confident that he can perhaps make a career out of voyaging and trading, and the miracle of the grain leads him to believe that Providence is watching over him and caring for him. However, on his third voyage he is captured by the Moorish pirates, and just as he achieves a new sense of security and comparative ease on his island he f a l l s i l l . In both cases, the reader is made aware of the fact that Providence i s responsible for both the achievement and the loss, and this fact i s one of the f i r s t that the repentant Crusoe realizes and which humbles him before God and Providence. Finally, in-spending those f i r s t nine months (perhaps a period of gestation before a spiritual rebirth) on his island, ordering and subduing his environment for his use, Crusoe has learned to fully appreciate the principles of reason, for they have allowed him to achieve his st a b i l i t y and security. Because rationality has become integral to his thoughts and actions, he w i l l be able, upon his conversion, to successfully combine the principles of reason and Christian faith in meditating on his place in the divine scheme. He w i l l be able, in other words, to view his faith rationally and to achieve an even greater security and peace of mind that he ever 112 experienced before. Defoe has ordered his narrative, then, to trace the growth of Robinson Crusoe into a fully aware moral and rational being. This development, I would suggest, culminates in a resolution of the dialectic of trade and morality within the main character himself and his successful reintegration into society. Thus Crusoe moves from an egocentric and possessive capitalist to a more complete social and moral being who eventually reassumes his proper station in l i f e (and, i t should be pointed out, in an essentially Christian moral and social cosmos). This dialectical movement, and the resolution that takes place, would be one way of making sense of the development of Crusoe through those three stages of growth discussed earlier—impulse (brute nature), reason, and faith—and would allow us, f i n a l l y , to see Crusoe as embodying certain of the ideals of the eighteenth century view of man. In the next section, we w i l l consider the patterns of event and situation in Robinson Crusoe in order to define the fin a l stage of the protagonist's development— that of faith—and to show how this development operates to resolve the trade-morality paradox. .•3r.I. Possessive Individualism and the Pattern of Growth in Robinson Crusoe Locke's concept of property, which becomes the needed bridge in his philosophy between the abstract world of the state of nature and the concrete, actual world of p o l i t i c a l liberty guaranteed by p o l i t i c a l arrangements, can also be used to begin our discussion of the dialectics and pattern of Robinson Crusoe. We have seen that concept of self-ownership i s central to the philosophical and p o l i t i c a l definition of 113 individualism in the seventeenth century. C.B. MacPherson defines the essentially "possessive" quality of this doctrine of individualism in his discussion of seventeenth century p o l i t i c a l theory: Its possessive quality i s found in i t s conception of the individual as essentially the proprietor of his own person or capacities, owing nothing to society for them. The individual was seen neither as a moral whole, nor as part of a larger social whole, but as an owner of himself. The relation of ownership, having become for more and more men the c r i t i c a l l y important relation determining their actual freedom and actual prospect of realizing their f u l l potentialities, was read back into the nature of the individual. The individual, i t was thought, is free inasmuch as he is proprietor of his person and capacities. The human essence is freedom from dependence on the wills of others, and freedom is a function of possession. Society becomes a lot of free equal individuals related to each other as proprietors-of their own capacities and of what they have acquired by their exercise. Society consists of relations of exchange between proprietors. P o l i t i c a l society becomes a calculated device for the protection of this property and for the maintenance of an orderly relation of exchange.3i Here, in a nutshell, is the essence of the seventeenth century theory of individualism as formulated by Hobbes, Locke, and many of the Puritan p o l i t i c a l writers. Man in a state of nature is free to think and act as he wants. Freedom is then equated with total possession of self. When a free individual becomes a member of society, a contract is made wherein the individual gives up a certain number of freedoms for the security and the s t a b i l i t y (law and order) offered by a society of men. The relationship of the individual to society becomes essentially a trade relationship: I w i l l trade some of my freedom in the state of nature for the security and stability I expect to receive in joining the society of men. Again, transgression of this stabilized system of trade relationships upsets the balance of society-^the social order—and consequently, law and order (morality) must step in to restore 114 the balance of relationships and to keep the individual from again upsetting the contractual arrangements. Thus, men like Defoe and Locke saw the needu for a Christian morality which would keep society, and the arrangements which make up that society, balanced. Locke, for example, when sitt i n g on the Board of Trade in London from 1695 to 1698, promulgated 32 a mercantilistic economic policy tempered by a Christian morality. Likewise, Defoe, in one of his last pieces for Applebee's Journal (11 January 1729), writes: Sir, I have upon many Occasions shewn the World that I am a constant Friend to TRADE, and Commerce, which I take to he the third general Head in the Essentials of a Nation's Good. For,— 1. To be Uniform in orthodox Principles of Religion, adhering s t r i c t l y to the common Faith. 2. To be established on one and the same Foundation of Right and Property, Loyalty and Subjection, and 3. To be flourishing and prosperous, in just Measures, for Encouragement of Commerce, &c. These three, in my Opinion, constitute a happy People. And a bit further on in the same piece: If Trade i s the Life and Prosperity of a Nation in general, and the next valuable Thing to Religion and C i v i l Government in a Commonwealth, then the Tradesman is a most useful and valuable Creature to his Country; and i t is of Importance to the Publick, that he should thrive in his private Capacity, as well as i t is that ^ Trade, in General, should prosper as a publick Good.... Also, in previous articles for Applebee's, Defoe argues against that extreme form of economic individualism, stock-jobbing, picturing the stock-jobber as an immoral person who is willing to undermine social stability in order to raise his own fortune, and consequently, who is the direct antithesis to the good, or "compleat," tradesman. In effect, the stock-jobber-—and the floater of wild projects—tends to cause society to revert into that state of nature wherein a l l social contracts are 115 n u l l i f i e d . For a stable economy and a flourishing trade, this reversion would never do. Consequently, Defoe's earlier work, Robinson Crusoe, can be seen as a manifesto against this .reckless and speculative "capitalism." When Crusoe's animal nature and his desire to rise quickly in the world of trade result in his wild economic schemes, these schemes are justly punished by Providence in i t s capacity as a force of order in the social environment. Thus, the f i r s t part of the novel becomes a dialectic in which the thesis is Crusoe's economic schemes and the antithesis a sense of moral Tightness, embodied in Providence, which continually plagues Crusoe's trading adventures by means of storms, shipwrecks, and captivity. Crusoe, then, begins as the acquisitive capitalist who prefers to brush aside any awareness he might have of religion and morality, yet eventually he reaches a "synthesis" of trade-and-morality through his experience and the knowledge he gains from that experience. Again, the crucible of experience which molds Crusoe's new knowledge is the island, and again, the central point in this development is the conversion scene. One example w i l l serve to indicate the difference in Crusoe before and after his repentance, in both the social and religious sense. Before Crusoe lands on the island, he never thinks seriously on religion or on the morality of his actions. In spite of the professed loyalty of Xury—a loyalty which should bind both the slave and Crusoe sel l s his "man" to the Portuguese captain for sixty pieces of silver, twice the sum for which Judas betrayed Christ. Crusoe i s , of course, "loth to take" the money at f i r s t , since i t means selling "the poor 116 boy's l i b e r t y , " yet he does i t anyway. Later, he r e a l i z e s his need fo r Xury, and states that he had "done wrong" i n parting with him. But here, t h e i r r e l a t i o n s h i p i s stated i n terms of need and usefulness and seems completely lacking i n any moral or C h r i s t i a n q u a l i t y . And even though Crusoe s e l l s Xury into ten years' bondage, he w i l l be set free only i f he turns C h r i s t i a n . Surely t h i s comment i s i r o n i c , since Crusoe's act of s e l l i n g i s i t s e l f not very c h a r i t a b l e ; i t seems that Cirusoe i s only out to turn the fast buck, discarding Xury when the boy i s no longer u s e f u l . This early master-servant r e l a t i o n s h i p con-t r a s t s with the l a t e r association between Crusoe and Friday. Here, though Friday swears f e a l t y to Crusoe, becoming i n e f f e c t h i s slave, Crusoe takes the pains himself to convert h i s slave to C h r i s t i a n i t y , to give Friday an awareness of " c i v i l i z e d " values (e.g., forbidding Friday to eat his enemies and s a l t i n g h i s meat), and, i n f a c t , t h e i r comradeship develops i n t o a r e l a t i o n s h i p of t r u s t and love through-out thelkst part of Crusoe's n a r r a t i v e , ending only with Friday's death i n the Farther Adventures. Besides, then, the usefulness of a servant, a great deal of morality enters into t h i s second association with a "barbarian". There i s one other i n t e r e s t i n g contrast i n v o l v i n g Friday and Crusoe and the nature of s o c i a l r e l a t i o n s h i p s . When these two men rescue Friday's father from the cannibals, the kindness and s o l i c i t a t i o n shown by the son contrasts markedly with Crusoe's e a r l i e r treatment of h i s own father. One i n t e r p r e t a t i o n here would be that even Friday, a n a t u r a l man and supposedly a savage, can show more l o y a l t y , love, and obedience to h i s father than Crusoe, a supposedly c i v i l i z e d man, did previously to h i s . Thus, Crusoe, i n the f i r s t part of his n a r r a t i v e , 117 i s even les s than a savage i n h i s s o c i a l and moral r e l a t i o n s h i p with his "father; he i s a "meer brute." These contrasts i n Crusoe's r e l a t i o n s h i p s with h i s two servants, and i n the two father-son r e l a t i o n s h i p s , indicates that a marked change has taken place i n Crusoe's p r i n c i p l e s of action and h i s s e l f -knowledge. Whereas before h i s conversion experience he only honors what we could term a " s o c i a l contract" i f i t i s useful to.him—that i s , allows him to r i s e i n the w o r l d — a f t e r t h i s experience he learns to subordinate these "obstinate impulses" to a sense of morality and order. If Crusoe's conversion of Friday i l l u s t r a t e s a triumph of nurture over savage nature, then h i s conversion also p a r a l l e l s Crusoe's own ,experience i n learning to be, i n e f f e c t , a bet t e r human being. Likewise, before the i s l a n d experience, Crusoe i s e s s e n t i a l l y an i s o l a t e d f i g u r e among mankind: h i s contact with men take sthe form of trading or economic contracts, but we never admire Crusoe's actions or the part he plays i n these trading i n c l i n a t i o n s . He leaves his father's home to go to sea, thus refusing to take h i s lawful and moral place in the middle s t a t i o n of l i f e . He leaves h i s prospering B r a z i l i a n plantation i n order to go on a slav i n g expedition, again overthrowing his p o s i t i o n i n the middle s t a t i o n of l i f e . However, when he returns to soci e t y , a f t e r twenty-eight years of i s o l a t i o n , h i s actions are admirable. The reader, i n f a c t , has been prepared long i n advance f o r t h i s successful re i n t e g r a t i o n into the s o c i a l order through Crusoe's growing reinvolvement with mankind while s t i l l on h i s i s l a n d . In h i s f i r s t encounter with another European—the Spaniard he and Friday rescue from the cannibals—Crusoe i s quick to set out the terms of a contract which a l l p a r t i e s w i l l f a i t h f u l l y abide by: 1 1 8 i f the Spaniard i s to bring h i s friends over from the mainland, they must swear to follow Crusoe's commands and to obey his decisions. This demand i s quite reasonable, since Crusoe does own h i s i s l a n d (in the Lockean sense) and since he i s o f f e r i n g a degree of protection and s t a b i l i t y (the i s l a n d can support a sizeable population as long as peace i s maintained). This contract i s set out i n w r i t i n g even though Crusoe has run out of ink many years hefore, and the signing of the document indicates that Defoe's hero i s now prepared to become a leader of men. Crusoe i s allowed to prove h i s leadership c a p a b i l i t i e s l a t e r when he poses as the "governor" of h i s i s l a n d and leads a successful counter-mutiny against the sail o r s - t u r n e d - p i r a t e s on the English ship. Here, of course, Crusoe becomes a force for moral order and s t a b i l i t y i n the l i m i t e d , and perhaps miscrocosmic, ship-board society. Whereas the pirates have overturned t h e i r s o c i a l obligations by r e v o l t i n g against the representative of moral law and order, the ship's captain, Crusoe reaffirms the orderly arrangement of t h i s society by triumphing over the s i n f u l ways of the mutineers. Consequently, when he returns to Europe, he i s given the leadership of the group of men with whom he tra v e l s through the Pyrenees, and at the end of the book, he d u t i f u l l y reassumes that proper place i n society which he overthrew at the beginning of h i s adventures. The moral of the story i s that Crusoe has learned to l i v e a l i f e based on the " r i g h t s p r i n c i p l e s of s o c i a l order and s t a b i l i t y ; he has gained, i n other words, a proper morality and self-knowledge. . A larger system of p a r a l l e l s and contrasts i n Crusoe's actions indicates that perhaps Defoe's novel i s c a r e f u l l y structured to show 119 the development of Crusoe into this paradigm of the good social being who always affirms through his actions the natural and social order. Again, the bases of social action reside in a knowledge of what is ethically right, and this sense of right and wrong is inherent in the conversion experience in the book. An awareness of moral goodness proceeds directly from the repentance of Crusoe, and Defoe's novel is structured so as to indicate the birth of a moral vision as i t springs from Crusoe's acceptance of Christianity. As we have seen, upon his acceptance of God, Christ, and the rest of the Christian doctrine, Crusoe begins to seriously consider his position in relation to God and the Christian cosmos. He points out that, for the f i r s t time since his prayers during the storm off Hull, he contemplates his sinful nature and thinks of repenting. The difference i s , of course, that during the earlier storm, Crusoe was prompted by fear of drowning, while on his island he is prompted by the terrifying dream-vision, but at the same time, perhaps realizes that he is reaching out for something he"has lacked before: he i s , in other words, working toward a higher v i s i o n — a sBlf-knowledge. Thus, he states that previously he "was merely thoughtless of a God or a Providence; acted like a meer brute from the principles of Nature, and by the dictates of common sense only, and indeed hardly that" (I, 97). This passage signals the course of Crusoe's later spiritual development: "common sense," or reason, is not enough i f one wants to understand as completely as possible the workings of the universe, the purpose of events in this world, and the place of the individual in God's design. Crusoe, in fact, finds that faith bolsters his powers of reasoning, and he begins to discern patterns in his own 120 l i f e which, of course, are reflected in the patterns of the novel. In the f i r s t place, Crusoe notes "a strange concurrence of days in the various providences which b e f e l l " him. He notes in quick succession:that the same date he le f t his father's house, he was taken by Moorish pirates; he escaped from Sallee on the same date that, some time before, he got away from the sinking ship in Yarmouth Roads; on his birthday he was stranded on his desert island. He points out, referring to this latter concurrence of dates, "...my wicked l i f e and my solitary l i f e began both on a day" (I, 147). Just as he begins noting this curious pattern of significant dates in his l i f e (a pattern which -indicates a Providential design in his l i f e ) , Crusoe also begins ordering his pattern of living. For example, he solemnly observes the anniversary of his shipwreck on the island, fasting and meditating for an entire day each year. Since his repentance, Crusoe has also used this day, among others, to reason out the existence of God and to meditate on the design and pattern of Providential care in his l i f e . And he can announce on the fourth anniversary of his isolation, that "by a constant study and serious application of the Word of God, and by the assistances of His grace, I gained a different knowledge from what I had before. I entertained different notions of things" (I, 142). Crusoe's knowledge, gained from experience, is partly the abil i t y to "sum and square" everything, and to act rationally where before he would have acted foolishly. But, to Defoe and to Crusoe, reason alone is a weak and faltering guide, whereas reason buttressed by the strong principles of Christian faith provides the suremeans to true knowledge. In speaking of religious conviction, Defoe himself writes, "It is Religion alone, which i s the 121 bond of Virtue i n the World; the Awe of a Divine Power, and a Sense of the Majesty and Vengeance of Heaven, being-alone able to r e s t r a i n the 34 Vices and Lusts of Men." Beginning with a true repentance, Crusoe r e a l i z e s that his major s i n was to reject "the voice of Providence, which had m e r c i f u l l y put me i n a posture or s t a t i o n of l i f e wherein I might have been happy and easy; but I would neither see i t myself, or learn to know the b l e s s i n g of i t from my parents" ( I , 100). He then prays s i n c e r e l y for the f i r s t time i n many years, and soon a f t e r i s able to reason out h i s place i n the divine scheme: What i s t h i s earth and sea, of which I have seen so much? whence i s i t produced? And what am I, and a l l the other creatures, w i l d and tame, human and b r u t a l , whence are we? Sure we are a l l made by some secret Power, who formed the earth and sea, the a i r and sky. And who i s that? Then i t followed most n a t u r a l l y , It i s God that has made i t a l l . Well, but then i t came on strangely, i f God has made a l l these things, He guides and governs them a l l , and a l l things that concern them; for the Power that could make a l l things, must c e r t a i n l y have power to guide and d i r e c t them. If so, nothing can happen i n the great c i r c u i t of His works, e i t h e r without His knowledge or appointment. And i f nothing happens without His knowledge, He knows that I am here, and am i n this dreadful condition. And i f nothing happens without His appointment, He has appointed a l l t h i s to b e f a l l me. (I, 101-102) This, then, i s a large part of Crusoe's new-found knowledge, an awareness of Providence and a j u s t i f i c a t i o n of f a i t h through reason. The ca t a l y s t fo r Crusoe's thought i s the dream-vision which so t e r r i f i e d him, so that Defoe seems to be i n d i c a t i n g that some sort of rev e l a t i o n must take place before reason can j u s t i f y the foundations of f a i t h . On the other hand, there were two ways to f a i t h i n God i n the eighteenth century—one by reve l a t i o n and one through reason—and i t seems that Crusoe uses both i n conjunction with one another. However, when he l a t e r converts 122 Friday to C h r i s t i a n i t y , Crusoe draws a d i s t i n c t i o n between reason and r e v e l a t i o n : . . . i t was a testimony to me how the mere notions of nature, though they w i l l guide reasonable creatures to the knowledge of a God, and of a worship or homage due to the supreme being of God, as the consequence of our nature, yet nothing but Divine rev e l a t i o n can form the knowledge of Jesus Christ and of a redemption purchased for us, of a Mediator of the new convenant, and of an Intercessor at the f o o t s t o o l of God's throne. (I., 244) Thus, a general knowledge of God can be obtained through the p r i n c i p l e s of nature and reason, but p a r t i c u l a r knowledge of Jesus Christ must come through r e v e l a t i o n or nurture. With Friday, Crusoe must bear the white man's burden. We have previously noted that, a f t e r Crusoe's repentance, he expands both h i s exploration and h i s control over the natural environment. He learns the seasons, orders h i s p r o j e c t s , and meditates continually. He dominates the i s l a n d i n a s t r i c t l y orderly fashion, producing neither too much nor too l i t t l e of what he needs. I t i s well within Crusoe's power to overproduce the commodities e s s e n t i a l to his existence. He could, for example, grow acres of r i c e , barley, and corn, but most of i t would be surplus and waste. He would be dominating h i s environment for no r e a l reason whatsoever, and thus we can assume that he has learned what his place i s i n the natural order and, i n consequence, adheres to the bounds set by nature: "...we enjoy j u s t as much as we can use, and no more" (I, 143). Thus, Crusoe comes to value things only as they are useful to him. In other words, he learns to temper his acquisitiveness, to keep i t within the n a t u r a l (and moral) bounds, and again, the triumph over h i s animal, "brute" nature i s complete. 123 Another pattern which would indi c a t e a new basis f o r action and a new means of knowledge for Crusoe, would be the series of dream-vi s i o n s he narrates. S i g n i f i c a n t l y , these v i s i o n s begin only with the one that brings on h i s repentance. Previously, while hi s prayers and sabbath-keeping were merely matters of form, he had no such v i s i o n s , or paid no attention to them. At l e a s t , none are narrated. However, the dream pattern takes i t s s i g n i f i c a n c e from the fact that Crusoe pays great attention to his separate dreams, knowing (a f t e r h i s conversion) they are one means through which Providence communicates. Thus, by l i s t e n i n g to t h i s P r o v i d e n t i a l voice, he i s able to see into the future, and to guide his actions according to the knowledge granted him by God's voice. Frank E l l i s , taking a rather strange view of the dream-pattern i n Robinson Crusoe, states that i n fact dreams ex i s t on both sides of Crusoe's conversion: "Superimposed on t h i s form i s a r e l a t e d pattern of dreams ( i s o l a t e d man t a l k i n g to God). This dream-conversion pattern i s repeated on e i t h e r side, so to speak, of the c e n t r a l confrontation—^before and a f t e r , that i s to say, the c e n t r a l episode of the p l o t . " And further, E l l i s points out, "the conversion of Friday and of Robinson Crusoe himself are preceded and foreshadowed 3 '5 by dream sequences." Thus, Crusoe dreams one night that he w i l l get one of the "savages" to be h i s servant, that a man would come "running into my l i t t l e thick grove, before my f o r t i f i c a t i o n , to hide himself." Crusoe dreams he w i l l show himself to the savage, whereupon the l a t t e r w i l l prostrate himself before:Crusoe and become his servant ( I , 220-221). Crusoe's new project w i l l be to get a servant, and h i s fear of the cannibals i s consequently overcome by the knowledge granted him by 124 Providence that he w i l l be successful i n t h i s venture. The general importance of the dream pattern i s that i t indicates that Crusoe's inner b e i n g — h i s thought-processes and h i s s p i r i t u a l and r a t i o n a l c h a r a c t e r — i s slowly opening out into the book and assuming an ever greater importance to the na r r a t i v e i t s e l f . The importance of t h i s "blooming" of Crusoe's inner being i s to indi c a t e that he i s coming to a greater knowledge of himself, and that t h i s knowledge— a r e s u l t of h i s e x p e r i e n c e — i s being fed back into h i s experience through an i n t e r a c t i o n with the environment. Thus, the c o l l a p s i n g and s t r e t c h i n g of the time sequence throughout Robinson Crusoe serves what we could term a thematic function. We can assume, given the existence of an obvious p a r a l l e l i n g and contrasting of events i n Defoe's novel, that our author c a r e f u l l y chooses h i s events to show Crusoe's gradual awakening to these s p i r i t u a l r e a l i t i e s and to a s e l f -knowledge. The stretching of a s i n g l e day's events into several pages, or the collapse of several weeks into a si n g l e sentence, would indicate p a r a l l e l s between Crusoe's a c q u i s i t i o n " o f knowledge and his a c q u i s i t i o n of goods and property through a focus on important events and important meditations. The f a i r l y d e t a i l e d descriptions of various projects such as the making of pots, f u r n i t u r e , f o r t i f i c a t i o n s , and the growing and harvesting of crops, i l l u s t r a t e Crusoe's d i l i g e n c e , patience, prudence, and an a p p l i c a t i o n of reason i n order to gain c o n t r o l over the n a t u r a l environment. His explorations of the island"and, i n p a r t i c u l a r , the discoveries he makes of f e r t i l e land, grapes, t o r t o i s e s , and so on, serve the purpose of showing how Crusoe extends h i s d i l i g e n t a p p l i c a t i o n , his human power of reason, and h i s property into the state of nature. 125 In conjunction with, the narration of c e r t a i n of these p r o j e c t s , Crusoe's meditations and r e f l e c t i o n s e x i s t i n a kind of timeless world, yet at the same time p a r a l l e l h i s conquest of the natural environment. Thus, as Crusoe indicates i n several of the more meditative passages of the book, the "secret hints and n o t i c e s " of Providence, working i n conjunction with h i s reason and proving to him the "justness of t h i s reason," form a strong bond between his growing s p i r i t u a l and r a t i o n a l being and h i s a p p l i c a t i o n of moral knowledge and reason to a p r a c t i c a l and u t i l i t a r i a n conquest of the environment. This major thematic thrust of the n a r r a t i v e achieves i t s f r u i t i o n with the coming of Friday to Crusoe's i s l a n d . Friday himself can be seen, i n one sense, as a thematic device which indicates the triumph of reason and f a i t h i n Crusoe's mind. F i r s t , of course, we have seen that Providence gives notice to Crusoe that he w i l l obtain a servant. Crusoe, because of h i s new "notions of things," pays heed to t h i s P r o v i d e n t i a l dream and decides, a f t e r many "secret disputes" and "great p e r p l e x i t i e s , " to prepare to capture one of the savages. He sets himself "upon the scout, as often as p o s s i b l e " (I, 222), and soon h i s d i l i g e n c e i s rewarded. Af t e r a f i g h t with the cannibals, i n which he i s " c a l l e d p l a i n l y by Providence to save" one "poor creature's l i f e " ( I , 225), he obtains Friday. Friday then becomes useful to both Crusoe and the narrative i t s e l f . He has a certain u t i l i t a r i a n value as a servant to Crusoe, but at the same time, he allows Crusoe to become a missionary. Crusoe converts Friday, and with p a r t i c u l a r reference to the theme of Crusoe's moral growth, t h i s s o l i d i f i e s and i l l u s t r a t e s our hero's f a i t h and knowledge. Again, the n a r r a t i v e focusses on the dialogues through which Crusoe converts 126 h i s servant to a Chr i s t i a n and c i v i l i z e d morality, i n d i c a t i n g the path that i s open from meditation to action throughout the novel. Therefore, Friday i s of p r a c t i c a l use to Crusoe, and he i s of moral and thematic use to the n a r r a t i v e , since once again reason and f a i t h triumph over a savage nature. There i s one f i n a l important pattern i n Defoe's novel which indicates the growth of p r a c t i c a l knowledge, reason, and f i n a l l y , the r e a l i z a t i o n that a c q u i s i t i o n should be tempered by reason. Three times ships come to Crusoe's i s l a n d , and each of these incidents i s used by Defoe to i l l u s t r a t e c e r t a i n character t r a i t s i n Robinson Crusoe which have developed through the course of the preceding n a r r a t i v e . The f i r s t incident i s that of the shipwreck which places Crusoe i n a state of nature and which concretely embodies the dominant nature of Crusoe himself up to that point i n the na r r a t i v e . F i r s t , the shipwreck i s obviously punishment by Providence for what we have seen to be moral and s o c i a l s i n s : Crusoe's overreaching and b e s t i a l nature r e s u l t s i n divinely-sent punishment as the Pr o v i d e n t i a l pattern once again triumphs. He i s placed i n a state of nature which i s emblematic df h i s own nature. He i s co n t r o l l e d by passion and morally i s o l a t e d from hi s own species through h i s early adventures; he i s c o n t r o l l e d by passion and p h y s i c a l l y i s o l a t e d from h i s own species when he i s shipwrecked on the i s l a n d . Though he begins slowly to evolve r a t i o n a l patterns of thought i n h i s mind, he i s s t i l l l a r g e l y a creature of i n s t i n c t as i s i l l u s t r a t e d i n his plundering of t h i s f i r s t staip. He does being to coordinate h i s plans and "gestures," but plunders the ship of everything he can take o f f , whether i t i s useful or useless. And, i n h i s haste and f o l l y , he nearly overturns one r a f t -127 load, while at another time he a c c i d e n t a l l y dumps a load of useless and heavy ironwork into the r i v e r . He even hauls o f f what he knows i s useless gold, but not without addressing to the money h i s famous apostrophe which Coleridge and others have found to be a masterpiece of irony: I smiled to myself at the sight of t h i s money. "0 drug!" said I aloud, "what art thou good for? Thou are not worth to me, no, not the taking o f f of the ground; one of those knives i s worth a l l t h i s heap. I have no manner of use for thee; even remain where thou a r t , and go to the bottom as a creature whose l i f e i s not worth saving." However, upon second thoughts, I took i t away.... (I, 62) Certain l y t h i s passage could be i r o n i c , since at the same time Crusoe has taken away other useless items, but i t could also i l l u s t r a t e the f i r s t glimmerings of prudence i n Crusoe's mind. I f he i s ever rescued from h i s i s l a n d , the gold w i l l c e r t a i n l y be u s e f u l , and i t i s t h i s l i n e of reasoning that controls h i s thoughts when the second ship i s wrecked off his i s l a n d years l a t e r . When th i s second ship runs aground, Crusoe takes h i s canoe out to i t and finds "very l i t t l e . . . that was of any use to me," except f o r several chests of money (I, 214). Again he r e f l e c t s that " f o r as to the money, I had no manner of occasion for i t ; 'twas to me as the d i r t under my feet; and I would have given i t a l l f o r three or four p a i r of English shoes and stockings, which were things I greatly wanted, but had not had on my feet now f o r many years." Crusoe takes the money o f f the ship, but t h i s time gives his reason: Well, however, I lugged t h i s money home to my cave, and l a i d i t up, as I had done that before which I brought from our own ship; but i t was great p i t y , as I said, that the other part of t h i s ship had not come to my share, f o r I am s a t i s f i e d I might have loaded my canoe several times over with money, which, i f I had 128 ever escaped to England, would have l a i n here safe enough t i l l I might have come again and fetched i t . (I, 215) What the reader might have once seen as merely greed and s t u p i d i t y has now become a prudent act, for Crusoe i s saving the money for when he might need i t . A number of years have elapsed since Crusoe plundered the f i r s t wreck, and the change i n h i s behavior as he takes things from t h i s second wreck i s quite evident. Instead of laying his hands on anything that i s loose or that he can detach, he i s very judicious i n the items he acquires. He doesn't take any muskets—he already has enough—but he takes the powder horn. He takes some k e t t l e s and pots, and a g r i d i r o n , and i s likewise very s e l e c t i v e i n what he takes from the seachests. Crusoe, then, behaves as a reasonable man would. He knows what he needs from the ship, h i s experience and reason having taught him the usefulness of c e r t a i n items and the uselessness of others. Therefore, i n judging the u t i l i t y and value of c e r t a i n objects, and even of c e r t a i n ventures, Crusoe shows again a new knowledge i n h i s a b i l i t y to handle himself i n c e r t a i n s i t u a t i o n s . And, as i f to drive the point home, Defoe f i l l s the following pages of the n a r r a t i v e with another of those long meditative passages wherein Crusoe r e f l e c t s on hi s past l i f e of s i n and the joys he would have found i n staying peaceably i n the middle s t a t i o n of l i f e , allowing reason and morality to guide him i n h i s a c q u i s i t i o n of material wealth and well-being. Further, i n c a l l i n g c h i m s e l f a "memento to those who are touched with the general plague of mankind"—i.e., the s i n of p r i d e — Crusoe again shows an awareness of the existence of an e s s e n t i a l l y moral universe wherein man must peacefully s e t t l e into h i s proper s t a t i o n i n l i f e and temper his aspirations and acquisitiveness with both f a i t h 129 and reason. Crusoe, here, i s a f a r cry from the Crusoe who found himself, i n h i s f i r s t days on the i s l a n d , sunk into a "meer state of Nature" and governed only by "fear and d e s i r e , " unaware of h i s true p o s i t i o n or nature, or by any r e a l i z a t i o n that through reason and r a t i o n a l a p p l i c a t i o n he can r a i s e himself out of h i s b e s t i a l mental and p h y s i c a l state of nature. F i n a l l y , with the coming of the t h i r d ship to the i s l a n d , Crusoe i s ready to take complete control of the s i t u a t i o n and to become a leader of men and a force for order and s t a b i l i t y i n society. In planning a counter-strategy that leads to a successful recapture of the ship, Crusoe again i l l u s t r a t e s through his actions h i s a b i l i t y to reason and take c o n t r o l , and to see the event through to the end. For example, he makes his demands to the English captain "most reasonable." I f Crusoe i s to give his a i d i n recapturing the ship, the captain must submit to two conditions: 1. That while you stay on this i s l a n d with me, you w i l l not pretend to any authority here; and i f I put arms into your hands, you w i l l upon a l l occasions give them up to me and do no prejudice to me or mine upon t h i s i s l a n d , and i n the meantime, be governed by my orders. 2. That i f the ship i s or may be recovered, you w i l l carry me and my man to England, passage free. (I, 285-86) A s o c i a l contract i s formed that i s both reasonable and j u s t . The captain o f f e r s Crusoe command :of h i s ship, but Crusoe j u d i c i o u s l y refuses. What follows the arrangement of this contract i s a s t r i n g of v i c t o r i e s which end with the recapture of the ship and safe passage of Crusoe and Friday back to England. In a l l , Providence has allowed Crusoe to achieve, through diligence and a p p l i c a t i o n , his own s a l v a t i o n : through Crusoe's own e f f o r t s , he gains a f i n a l deliverance from the i s l a n d and i s f u l l y i prepared to reassume his j u s t and proper 130 place i n society. One of Crusoe's l a s t actions on h i s i s l a n d i s to give thanks to that Providence which aided him i n a l l h i s " r i g h t " actions: I forgot not to l i f t up my heart i n thankfulness to Heaven; and what heart could forbear to bless Him, who had not only in a miraculous manner provided for one i n such a wilderness and i n such a desolate condition, but from whom every deliverance must always be acknowledged to proceed. ( I , 305-06) And, as a f i n a l note, Crusoe r e a l i z e s the s i g n i f i c a n c e of the date of his departure from the i s l a n d : And thus I l e f t the i s l a n d , the 19th of December, as I found by the ships account, i n the year 1686, a f t e r I had been upon i t eight and twenty years, two months, and nineteen days, being delivered from t h i s second c a p t i v i t y the same day of the month that I f i r s t made my escape i n the barco-longo, from among the Moors of Sallee ( I , 310-11) W.' Structure and D i a l e c t i c s The suggestion that' Crusoe i s f i n d i n g s i g n i f i c a n t patterns i n h i s l i f e and that Defoe i s c a r e f u l l y s t r u c t u r i n g h i s n a r r a t i v e to show the stages of Crusoe's development points to the p o s s i b i l i t y , again, of a shaping v i s i o n at work throughout the e n t i r e n a r r a t i v e , and further, that each episode i s thematically s i g n i f i c a n t i n this larger structure. In the previous chapter I indicated the p o s s i b i l i t y of three s t r u c t u r a l l e v e l s i n Robinson Crusoe: the p a r a t a c t i c structure, the pattern of i n t e r a c t i o n between the r e l i g i o u s and economic themes, and a structure which incorporates the growth and development of the main character and which serves to unify and place i n proper perspective the moral and economic themes of the book. Now that we have explored and defined the q u a l i t y of Crusoe's mental and s p i r i t u a l development and i t s basis 131 i n the philosophy of the period, we should be able to describe t h i s more comprehensive structure i n Defoe's novel. On the most basic l e v e l , Defoe's Robinson Crusoe divides into three units: the p r e - i s l a n d section, the twenty-eight year sojourn on the i s l a n d , and the return to the c i v i l i z e d world. As we have seen, Crusoe's own n a t u r e — h i s character and t h o u g h t s — i s explored and defined i n each of these three sections, the exploration being deeper and more s i g n i f i c a n t during the i s l a n d portion of the story. The reason for t h i s s i g n i f i c a n c e i s that, quite simply, the i s l a n d i s Crusoe's proving-ground; i t i s here that he must develop and f u l l y r e a l i z e a code of ethics and of r i g h t action which w i l l f a c i l i t a t e h i s peaceful reentry into society. In t h i s sense, each of the major changes i n h i s c h a r a c t e r — h i s a c q u i s i t i o n of reason and f a i t h — a n d a l l his; projects and diary-keeping, take him one step further from the state of nature and consequently one step c l o s e r to a recovery of c i v i l i z e d s ociety. If the i s l a n d portion i t s e l f i s a major t r a n s i t i o n a l scene, then i t i s c a r e f u l l y connected with the n a r r a t i v e sections on e i t h e r side through Defoe's use of s p e c i f i c f i c t i o n a l devices. In f a c t , Defoe i s c a r e f u l to prepare his reader for each stage i n Crusoe's development through both dramatic build-ups to c l i m a c t i c scenes and t r a n s i t i o n a l scenes and devices. Our l a s t s e c t i o n , then, w i l l be an attempt to i n d i c a t e the close relationships between Crusoe's developing character and the dramatic structure of the novel, and to show how both character and structure consequently work toward a r e s o l u t i o n of the trade-morality paradox. F i r s t , each stage of Crusoe's development, beginning with hi s e s s e n t i a l l y " b r u t i s h " early l i f e , i s c a r e f u l l y defined and dramatically 132 rendered before any move i s made to the next stage (though i n many cases Defoe does prefigure future developments). Thus, i n the opening pages of the book, Crusoe's father c a r e f u l l y describes the middle state i n l i f e , and i n so doing he defines the q u a l i t y of Crusoe's e a r l i e s t years. Defoe's hero grows up i n an environment of ease, s t a b i l i t y , s e c u r i t y , and comparative t r a n q u i l i t y ; he does not have much to worry about, and his future has been pretty w e l l mapped out for him. But Crusoe i s quick to point out that he i s " f i l l e d very early with rambling thoughts" (I, 2), and so begins l a y i n g the groundwork for a r e v o l t against h i s father. The r e v o l t comes about, c h a r a c t e r i s t i c a l l y , through a spur-of-the-moment decision to ship out with a f r i e n d , and in r e v o l t i n g against the values of r a t i o n a l i t y (implied i n h i s father's arguments) and a concomitant s e c u r i t y and s t a b i l i t y , Crusoe embraces a set of counter-values—passion, i n c l i n a t i o n , and a desire to r i s e quickly i n the world. These counter-values are exemplified and i l l u s t r a t e d i n the seri e s of schemes and trading adventures which follow. At the same time, the moral framework and the correct values of Crusoe's father continually impose themselves throughout these early adventures, both through the narrator's l i t e r a r y analogies to the Genesis story, the prodigal son, and Jonah, and through the intrusions of Providence into young Crusoe's l i f e . In t h i s manner, the d i a l e c t i c between Crusoe's trading schemes and a moral and C h r i s t i a n ethos becomes operative through the f i r s t portion of the book. The d i a l e c t i c i s nearly resolved for the f i r s t time when Crusoe s e t t l e s on h i s B r a z i l i a n p lantation. In t h i s case, the moral r e f l e c t i o n s of the narrator i n d i c a t e that the younger Crusoe i s g r a v i t a t i n g back into the middle s t a t i o n of l i f e . But the counter-ideology proves 133 successful again, as Crusoe decided to accompany h i s friends on a slaving expedition, and once again the themes of trade and foolishness assert themselves. Crusoe's s l a v i n g voyage proves to be the s t r u c t u r a l t r a n s i t i o n between the f i r s t two major sections of the book. What the reader i s i n v i t e d to see as b a s i c a l l y an immoral venture ("foolish i n c l i n a t i o n s " coupled with " r i s i n g f a s t e r than the nature of the thing allowed") ends i n d i s a s t e r f or Crusoe, with a l l of h i s former security destroyed; he i s shipwrecked and i s o l a t e d through an act of Providence on a desert i s l a n d , and he must spend the next twenty-eight years developing h i s r a t i o n a l and moral being before Providence w i l l allow him to return to society. It i s i n t e r e s t i n g to note, at t h i s point, that before each major change i n his l i f e , Crusoe reaches a p o s i t i o n of a certain degree of s t a b i l i t y and s e c u r i t y . The equilibrium and r e l a t i v e immobility of the middle s t a t i o n of l i f e i s refuted by Crusoe as he opts for the hazards and mobility of the adventurer's l i f e . And instead of q u i t t i n g a f t e r h i s s u ccessful second voyage, he f e e l s confident i n his trading c a p a b i l i t i e s — a confidence which i s shattered by Providence during h i s t h i r d voyage. For a t h i r d time, on h i s plantation i n B r a z i l , Crusoe r e a l i z e s a certain degree of equilibrium. As I have indicated, he f a s t approaches the middle s t a t i o n which he overthrew at the beginning of h i s story. But, the trade nexus enters once again, and what confidence and sound p o s i t i o n Crusoe had gained i s overthrown by Providence. F i n a l l y , we have seen that on h i s i s l a n d , Crusoe manages to take a step out of the natural state by applying reason to his s i t u a t i o n . Again, he r e a l i z e s a c e r t a i n s t a b i l i t y i n h i s s i t u a t i o n , and t h i s 134 s t a b i l i t y i s indicated i n several ways. He works c a r e f u l l y at several rudimentary pro j e c t s , he f o r t i f i e s himself against any "wild creatures" or "savages," and f i n a l l y he even has time to begin a journal: "And now i t was when I began to keep a journal of every day's employment; f o r , indeed, at f i r s t , I was i n too much hurry, and not only hurry as to labour, but i n too much discomposure of mind; and my jour n a l would have been f u l l of many d u l l things" (I. 75). A j o u r n a l , of course, implies a cer t a i n ordering of one's l i f e and thoughts, and as Crusoe points out, i t i s only a f t e r he has r a t i o n a l l y mastered h i s thoughts, that he can begin this p a r t i c u l a r account. Among other things, then, Crusoe's Journal traces h i s development up to a point of r e l a t i v e confidence and equilibrium. Thus, the "reason-stage" of our hero's development i s c a r e f u l l y rendered by Defoe before he begins h i s dramatic build-up to Crusoe's repentance, when the sure ground Crusoe f e l t himself to be on i s shaken f i r s t by a storm and an earthquake, and then by i l l n e s s and a v i s i o n of God's punishment. The s o c i a l and thematic implications of t h i s structure of equilibrium and undercutting are that Crusoe, i n each case, has some-how f a i l e d to become a complete man. Throughout his pre - i s l a n d adventures he opposes r a t i o n a l and moral values i n basing h i s actions on desire and i n c l i n a t i o n . Because of his opposition to correct values he i s j u s t l y punished by Providence. And when Crusoe achieves, through r a t i o n a l behavior, a cer t a i n equilibrium on his i s l a n d , Defoe implies that reason alone i s i n s u f f i c i e n t ; i t does not complete man's knowledge. Thus, Defoe structures h i s nar r a t i v e to indica t e , on the one hand, the incompleteness of each of the stages Crusoe reaches, and on the other hand, the absolute necessity of a 135 sense of Ch r i s t i a n moral p r i n c i p l e s i n achieving a balanced and r a t i o n a l self-knowledge. Once Crusoe has gained t h i s knowledge, he i s ready to make h i s slow and painstaking way back into human society. Again, Defoe gives us a slow and dramatic build-up to Crusoe's f i n a l a p o t h e o s i s — h i s entry into the proper s t a t i o n of l i f e i n c i v i l i z e d society. A f t e r Crusoe's repentance, Defoe allows plenty of time f o r h i s protagonist to discover and explore the p r i n c i p l e s and values of Ch r i s t i a n f a i t h , c a r e f u l l y preparing him, through meditations and actions, f o r his eventual rescue from the i s l a n d . "Thus," as E.M.W. T i l l y a r d points out, "Crusoe learnt to cope with solitude and with a l i f e now devoid of v i o l e n t turns and surprises. But that i s a d i f f e r e n t matter from coping with society and i t s ways. And to that second aptitude he must be educated. It i s th i s further education and the use to which Crusoe puts i t that i s the theme of the second h a l f 36 of the book." In a manner of speaking, the pattern Crusoe follows i n rediscovering human society i s roughly analogous to the pattern of h i s own development up to th i s "half-way" point i n the novel. Crusoe has progressed from the "meer State of Nature" through reason to Chri s t i a n f a i t h , and the pattern he follows i n rediscovering mankind proceeds from a discovery of the cannibals, or "natural men," through a rescue of Friday—who i s shown to be a f a i r l y r a t i o n a l human—then Friday's father and the Spaniard, and f i n a l l y to a meeting with a man of both reason and f a i t h , the English captain. And ju s t as he gets more and more of his i s l a n d into h i s possession, so he gradually gets more and more of humanity to serve him. In a l l t h i s he i s , of course, a j u s t r u l e r and leader, since he now bases h i s actions and s o c i a l contracts 136 on the p r i n c i p l e s of reason and f a i t h he has learned in his s o l i t u d e . When, f o r example, he has three men working for him on his i s l a n d , he makes t h i s "merry r e f l e c t i o n : " My i s l a n d was now peopled, and I thought myself very r i c h i n subjects; and i t was a merry r e f l e c t i o n , which I frequently made, how l i k e a king I looked. F i r s t of a l l , the whole country was my own mere property, so that I lad an undoubted right of dominion. . Secondly, my people were p e r f e c t l y subjected. I was absolute l o r d and lawgiver; they a l l owed t h e i r l i v e s to me, and were ready to lay down t h e i r l i v e s , i f there had been occasion of i t , f o r me. It was remarkable, too, we had but three subjects, and they were of three d i f f e r e n t r e l i g i o n s . My man Friday was a Protestant, his father was a Pagan and a cannibal, and the Spaniard was a Papist. However, I allowed l i b e r t y of conscience throughout my dominions. ( I , 269) Crusoe, who once r e v e l l e d i n h i s society of cats, a dog, and a parrot, can now take a great deal more pride i n h i s a b i l i t y as a j u s t r u l e r of t h i s somewhat informal society of humans. There are two important t r a n s i t i o n a l scenes which dramatically s i g n a l the beginning of this recovery of human society. The f i r s t i s the discovery of a s i n g l e f o o t p r i n t on the beach which at f i r s t throws Crusoe into great consternation. However, as we have seen, a f t e r much r e f l e c t i o n and meditation, Crusoe a l t e r s h i s l i f e - s t y l e on the i s l a n d to take i n t o account t h i s previously unforeseen circumstance ( i . e . , the p o s s i b i l i t y of cannibals frequenting h i s side of the i s l a n d ) , and t h i s minor event breeds a chain of events which ends i n the rescue of Friday. The other event i s the second shipwreck which allows Crusoe to give voice, again through r e f l e c t i o n s , to his desire f or human conpanionship. From these two occurences, the reader i s led through a seri e s of meditations and actions through which Crusoe continually proves h i s c a p a b i l i t i e s . . This sequence of thought and event leads to the f i n a l recapture of the English ship 137 from the mutineers (again, possibly emblematic of Crusoe's recovery of c i v i l i z e d s o c i e t y ) . Indeed, we have already seen that t h i s f i n a l event allows Crusoe to prove his c a p a b i l i t i e s as a leader of men by basing h i s actions on reason and a f a i t h in Providence. Crusoe's triumph over the unjust and immoral mutineers (who were probably motivated in t h e i r action by desire and i n c l i n a t i o n ) proves that he i s now able to return to England and to peacefully and confidently s e t t l e into the secure and stable middle s t a t i o n of l i f e . And, as i f to drive t h i s point home, Defoe gives us one l a s t picture of Crusoe i n a c t i o n , t h i s time commanding c i v i l i z e d men i n the f i g h t with the wolves as he i s returning to England. The implication through these f i n a l actions i s that Crusoe has i n t e r n a l i z e d the moral framework, f i r s t presented through his father's l e c t u r e s , which he f o o l i s h l y revolted against at the beginning of his t a l e . F i n a l l y , Crusoe i s now prepared to write h i s memoirs (Defoe's "ju s t h i s t o r y of fact") and to structure them so as to i n s t r u c t the reader through "a r e l i g i o u s a p p l i c a t i o n of events to the uses to which wise men always apply them...and to j u s t i f y and honour the wisdom of Providence i n a l l the va r i e t y of our circum-stances, l e t them happen how they w i l l " (I, l x v i i , "Author's Preface"). It i s , i n the f i n a l a n a lysis, Defoe's a b i l i t y to c a r e f u l l y order h i s f i c t i o n a l structure so as to exemplify a n d ' i l l u s t r a t e the growing consciousness of the main character that r e s u l t s i n the aesthetic success of the work. This success i s achieved through an unmediated i d e n t i t y of form and content, and with this fact i n mind, we can agree with David Grossvogel who states that Crusoe i s "not reread because of the complexities of a c r i t i c ' s i n t e r p r e t a t i o n s , " but because of the 3,7 " s i m p l i c i t y " of the narrative i t s e l f . ' The word " s i m p l i c i t y , " however, 138 does need some q u a l i f i c a t i o n . Form:and content are one in that the development of Crusoe's knowledge and ethics i s rel a t e d to us through his own nar r a t i v e eye. He sees the P r o v i d e n t i a l pattern i n h i s l i f e j u s t as he sees the structure of the book i n i t s r e l a t i o n s h i p to his own development. The structure of the book thus represents to the reader the growth of r a t i o n a l i t y and moral awareness i n the mind of i t s narrator. From voyage to voyage, and from shipwreck to shipwreck, we view the slowly developing processes of Crusoe's thought, and we delve with him below the surface manifestation of events and objects to read a deeper and truer s i g n i f i c a n c e . The na r r a t i v e eye i s e s s e n t i a l l y a Puritan and e t h i c a l eye, but i f some events cannot be read as having s p e c i f i c and s i g n i f i c a n t r e l i g i o u s meaning, they s t i l l c e r t a i n l y contribute to our knowledge of the narrator himself and to the pattern of his moral growth. Therefore, the book's s i m p l i c i t y does not l i e e n t i r e l y i n i t s q u a l i t y of d e s c r i p t i v e "realism", nor i n the pattern of an unambiguous adventure story, but rather i n the complete i d e n t i f i c a t i o n between the narrator and the na r r a t i v e , between the theme and the aesthetic and dramatic structure. One q u a l i t y of the structure of this novel, which Defoe i s doubtlessly concerned with bringing out, i s that the book i s a kind of patterned polemic; Crusoe, i n narrating h i s l i f e story, i s r e c o n c i l i n g the paradox of trade and morality by t r a c i n g h i s evolution from a brute human i n the state of nature to a c i v i l i z e d human ready to assume h i s place i n society. The basic problem which Defoe must resolve i s , as we have seen, indicated i n the opposing sets of counter-values which form a d i a l e c t i c i n the pre-island section of the na r r a t i v e . 139 It i s exactly t h i s opposition that has l e d John R i c h e t t i , i n h i s Popular  F i c t i o n Before Richardson, to see the f i r s t and t h i r d books of the Crusoe t r i l o g y — T h e Strange'and Surprising Adventures of Robinson  Crusoe and The Serious R e f l e c t i o n s — a s "directed at a counter-ideology of secular i n d i v i d u a l i s m which i n s i s t s , i n a sense, upon the implications of modern experience, and thus e f f e c t i v e l y denies the p r o v i d e n t i a l control of the n a t u r a l and human orders." R i c h e t t i continues, "In i t s balancing of secular and r e l i g i o u s experience and i t s compensation f o r secular action and power by p a s s i v i t y and submission, Robinson Crusoe epitomizes the strategy of popular r e l i g i o u s ideology, 3'8 not simply, as Watt would have i t , Defoe's own psychosis." Thus, the psychology, and the psychological growth, of Crusoe implies a moral polemic i n the novel: the development of Crusoe's character on the i s l a n d embodies and exemplifies (through incident, action, and meditation) an ideology which i s a balanced resolution of the two sets of values juxtaposed i n the e a r l i e s t portion of the n a r r a t i v e . In more precise terms, the trade-morality d i a l e c t i c i n the pre - i s l a n d adventures of the young Crusoe i s r e s o l v e d — o r synthesized—through Crusoe's a p p l i c a t i o n of reason to his s i t u a t i o n and with h i s a c q u i s i t i o n of C h r i s t i a n f a i t h . Therefore, on one l e v e l of i n t e r p r e t a t i o n , Robinson Crusoe i l l u s t r a t e s the harmony between reason and the laws of nature on the one hand, and the moral p r i n c i p l e s of the English Protestant r e l i g i o n on the other. The r i g h t s of nature include those of s e l f - p r e s e r v a t i o n , the l i b e r t y of the i n d i v i d u a l as defined through the concept of property, and the d e s i r a b i l i t y of extending one's own property to insure s e l f - p r e s e r v a t i o n . The laws of nature, according to Hobbes and Locke, are those laws of 140 reason which, insure the l i b e r t y of the i n d i v i d u a l and h i s rights to s e l f - p r e s e r v a t i o n and property. But the laws of nature also insure peace, s t a b i l i t y , and order i n the state of nature, at least according to Locke. These laws can be controverted by the overly a c q u i s i t i v e i n d i v i d u a l , and thus, as i n the earl y , p r e - i s l a n d adventures of Robinson Crusoe, the orderly arrangement of society and of the Lockean state of nature, and the laws governing both nature and  society, are upset. The unbalancing of nature and society i n the e a r l i e s t parts of Robinson Crusoe occurs through Crusoe's s i n of p r i d e — hi s reenactment of the f a l l of man from the s o c i a l and n a t u r a l order and from a state of grace. The s i n of one i n d i v i d u a l , i n Defoe's view, can upset the enti r e arrangement of the world, and i n a chain of events, Crusoe's s i n (emblematic of the s i n of a l l men) res u l t s i n shipwrecks and disasters b e f a l l i n g other men. At the end of the book, however, when Crusoe has become a man of reason, f a i t h , and knowledge, h i s good acts can restore society and nature to t h e i r proper b a l a n c e — f i r s t , i n his successful " c o r r e c t i o n " of the mutineers, and second, i n hi s wise handling of h i s wealth and his s e t t l i n g down i n English society. This contrast between the young Crusoe and the mature Crusoe indicates that the a c q u i s i t i o n of both reason and f a i t h can influence a man to maintain the s o c i a l and .natural order. Thus, instead of drawing a contrast between Crusoe as the active c a p i t a l i s t and Crusoe as the passive s o c i a l being, as R i c h e t t i would have us do, we can see the difference with reference to eighteenth century ideas of "wrong" action and " r i g h t " action. Let us b r i e f l y return to the structure of Defoe's novel as i t relates to these concepts of action. 141 This l a r g e r contrast between the younger Crusoe and the older i s supported, as we have seen, by a structure of p a r a l l e l s and contrasts throughout the book. Defoe, in f a c t , works consciously over each side of Crusoe's repentance to ind i c a t e s i m i l a r i t i e s or d i s s i m i l a r i t i e s i n mental states, i n c i d e n t s , and s i t u a t i o n s , i n order to show the maturing process which takes place as h i s main character comes to a more complete self-knowledge. The change in Crusoe's temperament would indi c a t e that, i f there exists a d i a l e c t i c between secular and r e l i g i o u s i n t e r e s t s (or trade and morality) i n the pr e - i s l a n d e x p l o i t s of Crusoe, then a proper balance has been struck between these two sets of values by the time our hero leaves h i s i s l a n d : this balance i s simply the placing of r e l i g i o u s and moral "co n t r o l s " on one's desire to r i s e quickly i n the world. Crusoe, on his i s l a n d , has learned to work f o r and maintain a status quo—a balanced and orderly way of l i f e — a n d through t h i s achievement has prepared him-s e l f f o r a reentry into the society of men. He has learned to control his acquisitiveness with a morality which involves the knowledge of his proper place i n the natural and s o c i a l order, and t h i s i s exactly what makes the i s l a n d such a remarkable proving ground. As Crusoe remarks, a f t e r h i s repentance: In the f i r s t place, I was removed from a l l the wickedness of the world here.... I had nothing to covet; for I had a l l that I was now capable of enjoying. I was l o r d of the whole manor; or, i f I pleased, I might c a l l myself king or emperor over the whole country which I had possession of. There were no r i v a l s : I had no competitor, none to dispute sovereignty or command with me.... But a l l I could make use of was a l l that was valuable.... The most covetous gr i p i n g miser i n the world would have been cured of the vice of covetousness, i f he had been i n my case; f o r I possessed i n f i n i t e l y more than I knew what to do with. (I, 142-43) 142 In t h i s state of comparative innocence, Robinson Crusoe r e a l i z e s the need f o r order. I f he i s prompted by fear and desire to r a i s e himself out of h i s b e s t i a l state and to order h i s environment, then he soon also learns the v i r t u e of temperance perhaps simply because he learns he can saturate himself with goods to no purpose whatsoever. He learns to value things for t h e i r u t i l i t y , and t h i s goes hand i n hand with r e s t r a i n t i n the a c q u i s i t i o n of goods. The important thing to note i s that Crusoe eventually comes to involve both h i s head and h i s heart i n h i s labor and a c q u i s i t i o n , and thus the long meditative passages wherein Crusoe displays h i s maturing self-knowledge and the narration of"projects wherein Crusoe channels h i s thoughts and his energies towards the problems of s u r v i v a l are i n t e g r a l to one another: the deepening of Crusoe's moral nature both controls and validates the energy he expends on s u r v i v a l . God placed man on earth to do h i s duty, to work, and to transform and subdue nature i n order to make i t useful to himself. But, i n a l l t h i s , Crusoe t e l l s us, man cannot forget God. Instead of running into excess' and intemper.ance, as the young Crusoe did, t h i s mature Crusoe i l l u s t r a t e s the cohesiveness of conscious a c t i v i t y and moral aim, and i t i s thus that the paradox of trade and morality i s resolved. And although, as Martin Price has pointed out, on h i s i s l a n d Crusoe's "tradesmanlike energy remains innocent, with no danger of inordinate desires leading to dishonesty," '" i t i s also on h i s i s l a n d that Crusoe learns to con t r o l r a t i o n a l l y and morally, h i s previous "inordinate desires." Again, Defoe's technique of dramatic presentation i s important, f o r we see Crusoe- v i t a l l y involved i n solving problems of both a p r a c t i c a l and a s p i r i t u a l nature. Just as each stage in h i s growth to s e l f -143 awareness and ri g h t action i s dramatically rendered and f i x e d through his involvement d i r e c t l y with trading projects or with s u r v i v a l projects, so the s p i r i t u a l and philosophic q u a l i t y of each stage i s explored and defined through a serie s of meditations and r e f l e c t i o n s both on r e l i g i o n and reason, and on action i t s e l f . Thus, Crusoe returns to society a new man. He marries and s e t t l e s down i n England, enjoying the wealth he has gained from his B r a z i l i a n plantation, the money he put into the care of the old widow in England, and the treasure he accumulated during h i s i s l a n d sojourn. When he r e a l i z e s the extent of h i s wealth, he states that "I might w e l l say now, indeed, that the l a t t e r end of Job was better than the beginning" ( I , 318). Crusoe handles h i s money wisely t h i s time, p r e f e r r i n g to invest most of i t s a f e l y , and to generously s e t t l e portions of i t on f a i t h f u l friends and r e l a t i v e s . He can say, then, at the end of his story, "And thus I have given the f i r s t part of a l i f e of fortune and adventure, a l i f e of Providence's chequersrwork, and of a v a r i e t y which the world w i l l seldom be able to show the l i k e of; beginning f o o l i s h l y , but cl o s i n g much more happily than any part of i t ever gave me leave so much as to hope f o r " ( I , 340). Defoe shows us, then, that reason and f a i t h can work to restore balance and normality to a s i t u a t i o n made extremely unstable by man's intemperate and immoderate desires. But, t h i s r e s o l u t i o n i n one man does not mean that the d i a l e c t i c i s resolved i n society at large. Unfortunately, Defoe r e a l i z e s , too few men honor t h e i r s o c i a l contracts and o b l i g a t i o n s , and so he perhaps o f f e r s h i s Crusoe as an example of the good man which others should imitate. I f the novel shows Crusoe p u l l i n g himself out of the state of nature as i s l a n d , then one other implication i s that other men should, and could through r i g h t actions, p u l l themselves out of the state of nature as society. Thus, there would be no d i s j u n c t i o n between public v i r t u e and p r i v a t e v i c e — n o d i s p a r i t y between the e s s e n t i a l value of trade and the i n t r i n s i c value of private m o r a l i t y — f o r a l l men would become moral and reasonable beings, and forces f o r order and s t a b i l i t y i n the small c i r c u i t s of t h e i r l i v e s . CHAPTER IV Conclusion: Theme and Technique While delineating three fundamental themes i n Robinson  Crusoe—the r e l i g i o u s , the economic, and the theme of growth to moral knowledge—I have also attempted to construct various models which would describe the fundamental structure of the novel. These models have included the p a r a t a c t i c structure, the pattern of i n t e r a c t i o n between two themes, and f i n a l l y , a dramatic pattern through which Defoe presents h i s hero's a c q u i s i t i o n of reason and f a i t h . These three patterns and the three most fundamental themes are not i s o l a t e d from one another, but rather work together to structure and create meaning i n Defoe's novel. Previous c r i t i c s have tended to i s o l a t e one theme and one pattern from the r e s t , elevating one aspect of the book at the expense of a l l others; thus, a s o l e l y r e l i g i o u s i n t e r -pretation of the work tends to undercut what economic meaning i t may have, and vice versa. And f o r the most part, a p h i l o s o p h i c a l background has been c a l l e d i n simply to support one of two basic in t e r p r e t a t i o n s of the novel: i f a c r i t i c sees the book as a r e l i g i o u s and a l l e g o r i c a l story, then he draws support from a Puritan background and philosophy; i f a c r i t i c , on the other hand, sees the book as a t r a c t on economics (as Watt and Novak have done), then h i s support i s drawn from a more secular philosophy and from p o l i t i c a l and economic wr i t i n g s . I suggest 146 a change i n our c r i t i c a l view of Robinson Crusoe; seeing the novel i n r e l a t i o n to the values and ideas of i t s a g e — i t s broad c u l t u r a l and i d e o l o g i c a l background—should allow one to put together a more complete pattern of meaning i n the book, a pattern which w i l l take into account nearly a l l of the n a r r a t i v e elements and allow us to see the three themes as being i n t e r r e l a t e d and i n t e g r a l . By "narrative elements" I mean the author's technique i n i t s broadest sense as i t i s defined by Mark Schorer i n h i s essay, "Technique as Discovery:" When we speak of technique...we speak of nearly every-thing. For technique i s the means by which the writer's experience, which i s h i s subject matter, compels him to attend to i t ; technique i s the only means he has of discovering, exploring, developing h i s subject, of conveying i t s meaning, and, f i n a l l y , of evaluating i t . Technique i s r e a l l y what T.S. E l i o t means by "convention"— any s e l e c t i o n , structure, or d i s t o r t i o n , any form or rhythm imposed upon the world of action; by means of w h i c h — i t should be added—our apprehens ion of the world of action i s enriched or renewed.! As was suggested i n the previous chapter, Defoe's technique can be described as one of continual s i m p l i f i c a t i o n . His s t y l e , for example, i s p l a i n , h i s descriptions are of surfaces (Locke's primary q u a l i t i e s of matter) or of events or objects that can be read as a l l e g o r i c a l s h e l l s , and f i n a l l y , h i s n a r r a t i v e contains a si n g l e moral thrust. Thus, A.D. McKillop describes the broad appeal of Robinson Crusoe as stemming from an "impulse...toward s i m p l i f i c a t i o n , not toward pr i m i t i v i s m . " He describes Crusoe's actions on the i s l a n d as i l l u s t r a t i n g "a simpler-than-real-life-program," but here McKillop i s discussing 2 a si n g l e theme without r e l a t i n g i t to technique. I would suggest that Defoe's themes and h i s technique are a l l part of a si n g l e moral v i s i o n which suffuses the novel, and that h i s technique i s , i n t h i s sense, those methods through which Defoe presents his moral v i s i o n . 147 The impulse through the n o v e l — o n both a thematic and t e c h n i c a l l e v e l — i s toward s i m p l i f i c a t i o n and r e c o n c i l i a t i o n as Crusoe r e a l i z e s t h i s moral knowledge while working through h i s adventures and projects back to society. Therefore, Robinson Crusoe embodies not only a theory of man but a moral v i s i o n as w e l l , and both v i s i o n and theory serve to define Defoe's intentions and h i s technique. And v i s i o n and theory are, of course, subsumed i n the larger and more complex c u l t u r a l and i d e o l o g i c a l model which has been defined i n the previous two chapters. Our reading of Defoe's novel has indicated that, f o r purposes of f i c t i o n a l presentation, the author has reduced and s i m p l i f i e d this model through h i s technique. But before inv o l v i n g ourselves i n these issues, a short summary of findings i s perhaps i n order. F i r s t , Defoe's novel embodies an e s s e n t i a l l y Puritan r e l i g i o u s v i s i o n . D i f f e r e n t events and si t u a t i o n s are obviously intended to be emblematic. Crusoe's leaving home represents the f a l l of man through disobedience, h i s wanderings embody i s o l a t i o n - from God and value (Jonah, the prodigal son), h i s ph y s i c a l i s o l a t i o n on the i s l a n d represents t h i s same s p i r i t u a l a l i e n a t i o n and a complete s o c i a l a l i e n a t i o n . Providence, the hand of God, intervenes throughout Crusoe's l i f e , leading both Crusoe and the reader to see his auto-biography as "Providence's chequer-work." The novel, i n th i s sense, shows how the moral and r e l i g i o u s v i s i o n of the narrating Crusoe has developed—what s i g n i f i c a n t incidents, s i t u a t i o n s , and thoughts the younger Crusoe experienced which came to define the r e l i g i o u s point of view and the r e l i g i o u s pattern of the book. Thus, Crusoe sees himself as reenacting the age-old pattern of the f a l l of man, the loss of Paradise (in this case, the middle s t a t i o n and s o c i e t y ) , the 148 e x i l e and repentance of the wanderer, and a f i n a l r e s t o r a t i o n to Paradise (again, society seen emblematically). This pattern i s , perhaps, the backbone of the novel, since the narrating Crusoe has i n t e r n a l i z e d t h i s C h r i s t i a n view of l i f e and presents h i s own story as i t i l l u s t r a t e s t h i s view. As we have seen, the r e l i g i o u s v i s i o n i s so strong i n c e r t a i n parts of the n a r r a t i v e that some c r i t i c s attempt an a l l e g o r i c a l i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of the work. But again, there i s no precise, point-for-point analogy between each one of the events and a fundamental C h r i s t i a n pattern of meaning. One can, for example, read the miracle of the corn as emblematic of the seeds of grace sprouting i n Crusoe's heart, but the d i r e c t c o r r e l a t i o n i s i n f a c t nonexistent. When the " p h y s i c a l " incident occurs, the seeds of grace have not yet sprouted, and they don't u n t i l sometime l a t e r . At most, t h i s event can be read as a kind of emblematic foreshadowing, but Defoe i s probably more concerned with the thematic p o s s i b i l i t i e s of a d i s p a r i t y between t h i s conventional r e l i g i o u s metaphor and Crusoe's s p i r i t u a l state at the time the actual event takes place. This example i s more a case of i s o l a t e d irony, since Crusoe f a l l s i l l before he even thinks of repenting. There are other events which might be interpreted as emblematic, but only by s t r e t c h i n g a point or by reading the metaphoric meaning i n a very broad and general sense; Crusoe, for example, forms h i s f i r s t pot, which represents h i s giving s p i r i t u a l shape to h i s s o u l , or Crusoe ordering h i s island-wilderness p a r a l l e l s h i s growth out of h i s "inward jungle." This a l l e g o r i c a l reading, besides being hazy and at times ambiguous, would also give more of a subsidiary status to the other themes than i s warranted by the text. These other patterns are stressed too much throughout the novel 149 and, i n t h i s sense, should not be relegated to a s o l e l y r e l i g i o u s -a l l e g o r i c a l pattern. However, th i s i s not to say that the general r e l i g i o u s pattern i s unimportant, for i t operates to place a perspective on Crusoe's economics. His sins are i n fact enacted i n a more economic frame of reference, so that the economic pattern supports the r e l i g i o u s and moral theme just as the r e l i g i o u s pattern supports the economic and moral theme. Again, i n the opposition between m e r c a n t i l i and l a i s s e z - f a i r e capitalism, both Defoe and, eventually, Crusoe opt for the more conservative and moral view. This conservative bias i s , as we have seen, a basic part of Puritan thought i n the seventeenth century, indicated p r i m a r i l y i n the writings of Richard Baxter and William Perkins. The conservative a t t i t u d e does change throughout the l a t t e r part of the century, but writers such as Defoe and L o c k e — both from Puritan b a c k g r o u n d s — s t i l l side with the m e r c a n t i l i s t conservatives. Thus Defoe a c t u a l l y f o r t i f i e s h i s economic theme i n Robinson Crusoe by s e t t i n g his hero's trading ventures i n a moral and r e l i g i o u s context. The moral depends on the r e l i g i o u s framework, but i t depends on socio-economic values as w e l l . We have seen that Crusoe's early trading schemes are i n d i r e c t opposition to the correct s o c i a l v a l u e s — i . e . , maintaining order, s t a b i l i t y , balance, not r i s i n g f a s t e r than the nature of things a l l o w s — b o t h expounded by h i s father and implied through the older Crusoe's moral v i s i o n and h i s growth to e t h i c a l awareness on the i s l a n d . Crusoe learns to order his l i f e , maintian a status quo, and r e a l i z e the blessings of so doing. He learns to value things economically only as they are useful to him, 150 honor his contractual arrangements, and reciprocate the l o y a l t i e s of his servant and fr i e n d s . In short, he learns the e s s e n t i a l value of s t a b i l i t y and security through h i s experience and through h i s coming to a knowledge of proper p o s i t i o n , duty, and o b l i g a t i o n . As our summary has thus f ar indicated, a pattern of growth into moral v i s i o n and knowledge i s superimposed on both.the r e l i g i o u s and economic patterns. We have seen that t h i s larger pattern involves an awareness of both the p h i l o s o p h i c a l ideas i n c i r c u l a t i o n at the time and the values presented i n the philosophies of the seventeenth century. Certain C h r i s t i a n ideals are fundamental to Locke's views on man and so c i e t y , and these ideals are inherent i n the Lockean quest for greater knowledge—for discovering, i n other words, the sane and r a t i o n a l workings of a universe which embodies the wisdom of i t s Creator. Crusoe grows into t h i s knowledge while on h i s i s l a n d . He discovers that nature i s best made useful by ordering i t according to the p r i n c i p l e s of reason, and that nature h e r s e l f contains a na t u r a l law or order which Crusoe r e a l i z e s by assuming (in Locke's terms) a "natural c o n t r o l " over the environment. A f t e r his repentance, he notes that f a i t h s o l i d i f i e s and builds on t h i s r a t i o n a l i t y ; reason orders and f a i t h v a l i d a t e s , i n other words. Thus, a f t e r h i s repentance, Crusoe indicates that he makes himself "very melancholy sometimes, i n r e f l e c t i n g , as the several occasions presented, how mean a use we make of a l l these [the precepts of reason], even though we have these powers enlightened by the great lamp of i n s t r u c t i o n , the S p i r i t of God, and by the knowledge of His Word added to our understanding...." And he makes "c e r t a i n discoveries of the i n v i s i b l e world and a converse of s p i r i t s we cannot doubt" (I, 233) through both h i s understanding of the law of 151 nature and h i s discovery of the reasonableness of C h r i s t i a n f a i t h . These concepts, then, lead Crusoe to accept r a t i o n a l l y and a p o d i c t i c a l l y the existence of a "converse of s p i r i t s " and a hand of Providence always at work i n the world, and t h i s r e a l i z a t i o n i s , of course, part and parcel of h i s new-found knowledge. Likewise, these concepts seem to l i e at the basis of Locke's own quest for knowledge—in a manner of speaking, h i s philosophy i t s e l f — a n d i n presenting this more philosophic theme of self-knowledge, Defoe i s reducing the Lockean (and Puritan i n some respects) concepts of reason and f a i t h and t h e i r i n t e r a c t i o n to t h e i r most basic and s i m p l i f i e d l e v e l s . At the same time, Defoe's reduction leads to an i n t e g r a t i o n of a l l three basic themes simply by showing them as i n t e r r e l a t e d parts of the same basic moral v i s i o n — i n t h i s case, Crusoe's v i s i o n . A l l three themes, then, are r e f l e x i v e i n that they work to define the "complete man" as he combines the p r i n c i p l e s of reason and f a i t h to produce e s s e n t i a l l y good actions. This complete man i s Crusoe himself when he leaves his i s l a n d to return to c i v i l i z a t i o n ; he has a strong moral v i s i o n , f o r t i f i e d by both reason and f a i t h . Crusoe's morality has, of course, i t s passive aspect; self-knowledge and awareness come through righ t ( r a t i o n a l ) thoughts and contemplation. But h i s v i s i o n also has an active side; ri g h t intentions lead to good actions. Thus, according to Crusoe i n h i s Serious Reflections , "...we are to l i s t e n to the voice of Nature [ i . e . , Reason], and to the voices of creatures, v i z . , to the voice of the i n v i s i b l e agents of the world of spirits...we are to l i s t e n to the voice of God" ( I I I , 187). L i s t e n i n g to the voice of " i n v i s i b l e agents" and "the voice of God" 152 are, i n Crusoe's sense, parts of the Puritan concepts of introspection and emblematic i n t e r p r e t a t i o n of events. But, i n Crusoe's case, t h i s moral v i s i o n i s also f i r m l y grounded i n the philosophy of the period, so that both r e l i g i o n and philosophy work to give man a strong sense and knowledgeof right action i n a world threatened by the inordinate and immoral desires and i n c l i n a t i o n s of a f a l l e n human nature. Crusoe has learned his lesson; he must work f o r order and s t a b i l i t y , f o r only then w i l l he be blessed (as was Job), and only then i s there a p o s s i b i l i t y that society as a whole (with reference to the themes of Defoe's novel) w i l l be balanced, ordered, and sane. Defoe's polemical purpose, then, i s perhaps to show that people should follow Cursoe's example, r e a l i z i n g as completely as possible t h e i r p o s i t i o n i n a world threatened by the p r o b a b i l i t y of human anarchy, and that t h e i r moral duty i s — b y following the dictates of reason, f a i t h , and moral knowledge—to become active i n promulgating ideals of order and s o c i a l s t a b i l i t y . In a l l t h e i r actions, people should maintain a Ch r i s t i a n morality and apply the p r i n c i p l e s of human reason. Therefore, to Defoe, proper knowledge should apply to action i n a l l spheres of human e n d e a v o r — p o l i t i c a l , s o c i a l economic, philosophic, r e l i g i o u s . But, as we have seen, i n eighteenth century philosophy a major portion of these categories dissolve into a sing l e economic frame-work. S o c i a l and p o l i t i c a l r e l a t i o n s h i p s are seen as a system of "trade contracts" which, to a philosopher such as Locke, should provide the maximum freedom to the i n d i v i d u a l (defined, s i g n i f i c a n t l y , through an "economic" concept of property) while at the same time i n s i s t i n g on an orderly arrangement of these contracts which would insure a s t a b i l i z e d society. The set of laws which govern both the state of nature and the 153 arrangement of society should also of course operate to maintain a balance, or status quo, i n the area of actual trading r e l a t i o n s h i p s . Thus, there i s a general connection between Locke's abstract and t h e o r e t i c a l concepts and Defoe's thematic intentions i n Robinson  Crusoe. Defoe's purpose i n s e t t i n g Crusoe i n a state of nature and tracing h i s growth back into society i s to i l l u s t r a t e those rules which should always govern man's actions. Locke's c o d i f i c a t i o n of the laws of nature, h i s description of.the state of nature, his view of society as a system of contract and trade r e l a t i o n s h i p s , are a l l p a r a l l e l e d i n Crusoe's r e a l i z a t i o n of his p o s i t i o n i n a state of nature and i n society. And, j u s t as Locke's philosophy i s based on the r e l a t i o n -ships between reason and f a i t h (the quest for knowledge being a r a t i o n a l discovery of man's purpose and p o s i t i o n i n r e l a t i o n to nature, society, and God), so Crusoe must i n t e r n a l i z e the p r i n c i p l e s of reason and f a i t h i n order to recover his proper p o s i t i o n i n both a C h r i s t i a n cosmos and a secular society. The way i n which Defoe presents t h i s basic theme i s most important here, since he i s i l l u s t r a t i n g , through Kis f i c t i o n , the same organization of r e a l i t y that Locke attempts i n h i s more t h e o r e t i c a l and abstract philosophy. The rather complex i d e o l o g i c a l model which informs both Defoe's and Crusoe's v i s i o n i s thus reduced and s i m p l i f i e d i n order to concretely represent the ideas, i d e a l s , and values by which the eighteenth—-century Englishman should l i v e . In t h i s sense, the dramatic A. structure and the moral c o n f l i c t s i n Robinson Crusoe are unidimensional in that both are c o n t r o l l e d by a s i n g l e , pervading moral v i s i o n which infuses both theme and technique,. For example, part of the s i m p l i f i c a t i o n i s a plainness of s t y l e which i s discussed not only by Defoe, but also by Puritan writers and 154 Locke himself. Plainness i n s t y l e leads, i n a l l three cases, to a closer approximation of r e a l i t y (Locke's empiricism, the Puritan emblematic v i s i o n of experience) and thus closer to the fundamental truths of the human condition. And, i n both Locke and Defoe, this s t y l e leads to a uniform tone of " c o o l " o b j e c t i v i t y and emotional detach-ment. Since most of Defoe's s t o r i e s are memoirs, the narrator himself i s detached from his e a r l i e r experience. This detachment creates both an "aesthetic distance" between the narrator and the early events of his l i f e , and a s t y l e that remains "o u t s i d e " — n o t emotionally involved, i n other words—the narrated s i t u a t i o n s . The given event i s reported by means of a detached s t y l e which leads, paradoxically, to an emotional involvement by the reader. Crusoe, for example, relates that a f t e r the f i r s t shipwreck, he never saw any of h i s fellow crewmen, "or any sign of them, except three of t h e i r hats, one cap, and two shoes that were not fellows" (I, 43). Not only does t h i s sentence i l l u s t r a t e Defoe's use of circumstantial d e t a i l , but the s t y l e i t s e l f r e f l e c t s an emotional detachment. The reader must f i l l i n the emotional gap; he must imagine the sadness, perhaps even the bi t t e r n e s s , that Crusoe f e e l s when he finds these objects on the beach. Therefore, the detachment of the narrator leads not necessa r i l y to irony, but rather to empathy. Again, the straight-forward and consistently serious manner i n which Crusoe t e l l s h i s story m i l i t a t e s against any pervasive i r o n i c view of his adventures. Certainly there are i s o l a t e d cases of irony, but only when some of Crusoe's early actions are held up against the moral v i s i o n of the narrator. Swift or Pope, f or example, may use the detached persona to create complex 155 i r o n i e s i n t h e i r works, but Defoe o f f e r s us a simple narrative which evokes an empathetic response from the reader, not an i r o n i c one. Defoe undoubtedly meant us to take h i s hero s e r i o u s l y , not to see him as a buffoon or to see his e n t i r e autobiography as an i r o n i c inversion of the moral viewpoint of the older Crusoe. This lack of complex irony again leads us to see the novel as e s s e n t i a l l y unidimensional; rather than creating a complex structure of meaning through convolutions and verbal complexities, Defoe reduces Crusoe's actions and meditations to a s i n g l e , straight-forward, "surface" l e v e l . F i n a l l y , i f Defoe's novel i s not a work of complex QE pervasive irony, our case against the trade-morality c o n f l i c t school of c r i t i c i s m i s further strengthened. Any major theme or pattern i n the book can be read p r e c i s e l y f o r what i t i s , neither more nor l e s s . Crusoe's progress i n both the r e l i g i o u s and economic p a t t e r n s — h i s slow a c q u i s i t i o n of f a i t h and r e a s o n — i s subsumed i n a l a r g e r , more general pattern of his growth out of the state of nature into a " c i v i l i z e d " human being, able to reenter society. Thus, each theme and pattern r e f l e c t s the same fundamental moral purpose; Defoe's i n t e n t i o n i s to present to his readers a picture of the e s s e n t i a l l y good eighteenth-century man. His technique, then, r e f l e c t s his i n t e n t i o n ; he defines such a man by slowly and painstakingly t r a c i n g Crusoe's growth through a seri e s of adventures and s i t u a t i o n s which produce t h i s paradigmatic being. Crusoe, therefore, i s a man who can resolve the paradox between trade and morality. He does so by becoming an e s s e n t i a l l y conservative fellow with strong r e l i g i o u s moral p r i n c i p l e s and with a strong b e l i e f i n a stable and ordered society. By l e t t i n g reason and f a i t h work i n conjunction with one another, Crusoe can be responsible for good 156 s o c i a l a c t i o n s — i . e . , actions which w i l l insure the continued prosperity and balance of society. In short, by the end of the novel the younger Crusoe has caught up completely with the older one i n that he has i n t e r n a l i z e d moral and r a t i o n a l p r i n c i p l e s and i s thus able to assume a r a t i o n a l and stable p o i s i t i o n i n society. He has learned, quite simply, that reason orders and s t a b i l i z e s one's thoughts and actions, and that f a i t h validates—makes s i g n i f i c a n t — t h o s e meditations and actions. Crusoe has thus acquired a moral conscience and a p h i l o s o p h i c a l knowledge of h i s place i n a rationajLly operated, and e s s e n t i a l l y moral, cosmos. He has combined p r i n c i p l e s of a secular knowledge (economic and philosophical) with the precepts of Protestant C h r i s t i a n f a i t h to f i n d a pattern of r e l i g i o u s meaning, s o c i a l i d e n t i t y , and value i n h i s own l i f e , and i s thus offered to us by Defoe as the paradigmatic model of the eighteenth-century middle class Englishman. \ NOTES CHAPTER I ~*"Defoe's Review, ed. William Lytton Payne (New York: Columbia University Press, 1938), XXII, 214. 2 Rudolf G. Stamm, "Daniel Defoe: An Artist in the Puritan Tradition," Philological Quarterly, 15 (1936), 225-46. 3 Hans H. Anderson, "TEe Paradox of Trade and Morality in Defoe," Modern Philology, 39 (1941), 23-46. ^Maximillian E. Novak, Defoe and the Nature of Man (London: Oxford University Press, 1963), p. 88. ^Maximillian E. Novak, Economics and the Fiction of Daniel  Defoe (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1962), pp. 3-31. Hereafter cited as Economics. Novak, Economics, especially pp. 32-66. ''ian Watt, The Rise of the Novel: Studies in Defoe, Richardson  and Fielding (1957; rpt. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1967), pp. 60-92. g Arnold Kettle, An Introduction to the English Novel (1951; rpt. New York: Harper & Row, 1960), I, 21-26, 55-62.. 9 George A. Starr, Defoe and Spiritual Autobiography (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1965) "^See J. Paul Hunter, The Reluctant Pilgrim: Defoe's Emblematic  Method and Quest for Form in Robinson Crusoe (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1966) and Edwin B. Benjamin, "Symbolic Elements in Robinson Crusoe," Philological Quarterly, 30 (1951), 206-11. There are actually two Covenants. The f i r s t dates from 1638 when a protestation was signed throughout Scotland in which the signers (Covenanters) pledged to defend the Protestant (i.e., Calyinist) religion. 158 The second Convenant—the.one r e l a t i n g to our d i s c u s s i o n — i s a treaty, The Solemn League and Covenant, concluded between the English Parliament (at that:time i n revolt against Charles I) and the Scots nation i n 1643. In return f o r Sc o t t i s h m i l i t a r y a id i n prosecuting the war against Charles, i t was s t i p u l a t e d that the reformed church i n Scotland (Presbyterian) would be preserved, popery and episcopacy were to be extirpated i n both England and Scotland, and peace would be concluded between the two kingdoms. The Covenant remained on the books, o f f i c i a l l y at l e a s t , throughout the period of Puritan r u l e . With the restoration of Charles I I , however, the Covenant came under heavy c r i t i c i s m , and the treaty i t s e l f was e f f e c t u a l l y abolished by the Clarendon Code, though the Scots continued for some time to r e f e r to i t as i f i t were s t i l l i n e f f e c t . 12 O l i v e r Heywood: His Autobiography, D i a r i e s , Anecdotes and  Event Books, ed. J. H o r s f a l l Turner (London: Brighouse and Bingley, 1882-85), I, 93. 13 G.R. Cragg, Puritanism i n the Period of the Great Persecution, 1660-1688 (Cambridge: Cambridge-University Press, 1957), p. 9. 14 Maurice Ashley, England i n the Seventeenth Century (Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1952), p. 126. "^Bonamy Dobree, English L i t e r a t u r e i n the Early Eighteenth  Century (1959; rept. Oxford: Clarendon Press,.1964), p. 35. 16 Quoted i n John Robert Moore, Daniel Defoe: C i t i z e n of the  Modern World (Chicago: University.of.Chicago Press, 1958), p. 35. "^William H a l l e r , The Rise of Puritanism: Or, the Way to the New  Jerusalem as Set Forth i n P u l p i t and Press from Thomas Cartwright to John  Lilburne and John Milton, 1570-1643 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1938), p. 302. 18 Quoted i n H a l l e r , The.Rise.of Puritanism, p. 138.. 19 James R. Sutherland, Defoe (Philadelphia and New York: J.B. L i p p i n c o t t , 1938), p. 22. 20 See Novak, Economics, pp. 11, 160. 21 Sutherland, p. 45. 22 Daniel Defoe, Serious Reflections During the L i f e and Sur- p r i s i n g Adventures of Robinson Crusoe with h i s V i s i o n of the Angelic  World, ed. George A. Aitken (London: J.M. Dent, 1895), pp. 115-16. A l l 159 subsequent references to the Crusoe t r i l o g y (Part I: The L i f e and Strange  Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe; Part I I : The Farther Adventures  of Robinson Crusoe; Part I I I : Serious R e f l e c t i o n s ) , which comprise the f i r s t three volumes of Aitken's e d i t i o n of the Romances and Narratives  by Daniel Defoe (16 vols.)> are noted p a r e n t h e t i c a l l y i n the text by volume number ( I , I I , or III) and page. 23 Novak, Economics, p. i x . CHAPTER II See Moore, p. 39; Diana Spearman, The Novel and Society (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1966), p. 157; and H a l l e r , The Rise  of Puritanism, pp. 16-17.-2 George A. S t a r r , Defoe and Casuistry (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971), pp. x i - x i i . 3 Starr, Defoe and S p i r i t u a l Autobiography, p. x i . 4 For a p a r t i c u l a r discussion of t h i s theme, see S t a r r , Defoe  and S p i r i t u a l Autobiography, pp. 5-11. "'john Bunyan, The Pilgrim's Progress from t h i s World to That  which i s to Come, ed. James Blanton Wharey, 2nd ed., rev. by Roger Sharrock (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1960), p. 32. H a l l e r , The Rise of Puritanism, pp. 95-96, 141-42. 7 See Starr, Defoe and S p i r i t u a l Autobiography, pp. 6-11. g Quoted i n S t a r r , Defoe and S p i r i t u a l Autobiography, p. 20. 9 Quoted i n Starr, Defoe and S p i r i t u a l Autobiography, p. 20. 1 ( ^ S t a r r , Defoe and S p i r i t u a l Autobiography., p. 40. . 1 1Robert Sanderson, XXXVI Sermons (London: 1689), pp. 205, 215. 12 Charles and Katherine George, The Protestant Mind of the English  Reformation: 1570-1640 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961), p. 127. 160 13 The Workes of that famovs and worthy minister of C h r i s t , i n  the V n i u e r s i t i e s of Cambridge, Mr William Perkins (London: Printed by I. Legatt, 1612-13), I, 750, 751. "^See Robert W. Ayers, "Robinson Crusoe: 'A l l u s i v e A l l e g o r i c k History,'" PMLA, 82 (1967), 401. "^ H a l l e r , The Rise of Puritanism, p. 368. "^Quoted i n Hunter, p. 130.. "^John Goodman, The Penitent Pardon'd 04th ed. London: 1694), pp. 86, 87. 18 Starr, Defoe and Casuistry, p. 182. 1 9Hunter, p. 102. 20 Nigel Dennis, Jonathan Swift. A Short Character (New York: MacMillan, 1964), p. 125. 21 Benjamin, pp. 206-07. 22 Benjamin, p. 211. 23 Lynn White, J r . , "The H i s t o r i c a l Roots of Our Ecologic C r i s i s , " Science, 155 (March 10, 1967), 1206. 2 4Hunter, p. 102. 25 Benjamin, p. 206. 2 6Watt, p. 70. 27 Daniel Defoe, Caledonia; a poem i n honour of Scotland and the  Scots nation (Edinburgh: Printed by the h e i r s and successors of A. Anderson, 1706), pp. 57, 59, 2. 2 8Watt, p. 86. 29 Novak, Economics, pp. 49, 42. Watt, p. 65. 161 31 Richard Sibbes, The S p i r i t u a l l Man's Aime (London, 1637), p. 8. 32 H a l l e r , The Rise of Puritanism, p. 123. 33 Quoted i n Charles and Katherine George, p. 160. 34 H.M. Robertson, Aspects of the Rise of Economic Individualism: A C r i t i c i s m of Max Weber and h i s School (1933; r p t . New York: Augustus M. Kelley, 1965), p. 166. 35 Richard Baxter, The C h r i s t i a n Directory (London, 1678), IV, 131. 36 Novak, Economics, p. 70. 3 7Watt, p. 61. 3 8 See Robertson, p. x i i ; Novak, Economics, pp. 3-31; and William Lytton Payne, Mr. Review: Daniel Defoe as Author of The Review (New York: King's Crown Press, 1947), pp. 70-92. 39 Payne, Mr. Review, p. 92. 40 Daniel Defoe, Essay upon Projects, excerpted i n Selected  Poetry and Prose of Daniel Defoe, ed. "Michael F. Shugrue (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1968), p. 7. 41 Daniel Defoe, The Compleat English Tradesman (London, 172 7), I I , 183. 42 Defoe, The Compleat English Tradesman, I I , 149, 152. A 3 See George A. Starr. "Escape from Barbary: A Seventeenth-Century Genre," Huntington Library Quarterly, 29 (1965), 35-52. 44 Starr, Defoe and S p i r i t u a l Autobiography, p. 113. 45 Hunter,, p. 175. 46 Novak, Economics, pp. 50, 51, 55. ^ M a r t i n J. G r e i f , "The Conversion of Robinson Crusoe," Studies  i n English L i t e r a t u r e 1500-1900, 4 (1966), 553. 162 48 Watt, p. 69. 49 Alan Dugald McKillop, The Early Masters of English F i c t i o n (Lawrence: University of Kansas. Press, 1967), p. 24. ~*^Martin P r i c e , To the Palace of Wisdom: Studies i n Order and  Energy from Dryden to Blake (New York: Doubleday, 1964), p. 126. "'''"Robert Alan Donovan, The Shaping V i s i o n : Imagination i n the  English Novel from Defoe to Dickens (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell U n i v e r s i t y Press, 1966), p. 242. CHAPTER III Ernst Behler, "Ideas of the 'State of Nature' and 'Natural Man' i n the Arabic T r a d i t i o n of the Middle Ages and t h e i r entrance into Western Thought," Arcadia, 3 (1968), 22. 2 Behler, p. 15. 3 Behler, p. 17. 4 Hans A a r s l e f f , "The State of Nature and the Nature of Man i n Locke," in John Locke: Problems and Perspectives; A C o l l e c t i o n of  New Essays, ed. John W. Yolton (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969), p. 100. ^Hugo von Grotius, De Jure B e l l i ac Pacis L i b r i Tres (The  Law of War and Peace) , trans. Francis W. Kelsey et a l . '(Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merril, 1925), pp. 38-39. ^Grotius, p. 15.. 7 Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan, or the Matter, Forme & Power of a  Common-wealth E c c l e s i a s t i c a l l and C i v i l l , ed. C.B. MacPherson (Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1968), p.. 186. g Quoted i n Novak, Defoe and the Nature of Man, p. 25. 9 John Plamenatz, Man and Society: A C r i t i c a l Examination of  Some Important S o c i a l and P o l i t i c a l Theories from Machiavelli to Marx (London: Longmans, Green, 1963), I, 212. 163 1 John Locke, Two Treatises of Government, ed. Peter L a s l e t t (1960; rpt. New York and Toronto: The New American L i b r a r y , 1963), pp. 319-320. Hereafter c i t e d as Two Treatises. ''""'"Quoted by L a s l e t t i n "Introduction," Locke, Two Treatises , p. 48. 12 Locke, Two T r e a t i s e s , pp. 311, 312. 13 John Locke, Essay concerning Human Understanding, ed. John W. Yolton (1961; rpt. London: J.M. Dent & Sons, 1967), Book IV, Section x i v , Paragraphy 2. Hereafter c i t e d as Essay followed by Book, Section, and Paragraph. 14 Locke, Essay, IV, x i i , 2. "'""'piamenatz, I, 222. "^Watt, p. 62. "^Plamenatz, I, 221. 18 Locke, Two Tr e a t i s e s , pp. 328-39. 1 9 C h r i s t o p h e r H i l l , The Century of Revolution, 1603-1714 (1961; rpt. London: Sphere Books, 1969), p. 220. 20 Henry Overton, An Arrow Against A l l Tyrants (London, 1646), pp. 1-2. 21 H a l l e r , The Rise of Puritanism, pp. 86, 179, 367. 22 See H.M. Robertson, Aspects of the Rise of Economic Individualism; Christopher H i l l , The Century of Revolution; Maurice Ashley, England i n  the Seventeenth Century; and C.B. MacPherson, The P o l i t i c a l Theory of Possessive Individualism (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1962). 23 Locke, Two Treatises, p. 243. ^ L o c k e , Two Tre a t i s e s , pp . 332-33 ^Lo c k e , Two Treatises, p. 247. 164 26 John Locke, Essays on the Law of Nature, ed. Wolfgang von Leyden (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1954), p. 31. 27 See A a r s l e f f ' s essay i n John Locke: Problems and Perspectives, pp. 114-15. 2 8 Jonathan Bishop, "Knowledge, Action, and Interpretation i n Defoe's Novels," Journal of History of Ideas, 13 (1952), 6. 29 Quoted i n Novak, Defoe and the Nature of Man, p. 9. ^Donovan, p. 36. 31 MacPherson, The P o l i t i c a l Theory of Possessive Individualism, p. 3. 32 See Peter L a s l e t t , "John Locke, The Great Recoinage, and the Origins of the Board of Trade: 1695-1698," i n John Locke: Problems and  Perspectives, pp. 137-64. 33 William Lee, Daniel Defoe: His L i f e , and Recently Discovered  Writings: Extending from 1716 to 1729 (London: John Camden Hotten, 1869), I I I , 469-70. 34 Lee, I I , 353. 35 Frank H. E l l i s , "Introduction" i n Twentieth Century Inter- pretations of Robinson Crusoe, ed. Frank H. E l l i s (Englewood C l i f f s , N.J.: P r e n t i c e - H a l l , 1969), p. 13. E.M.W. 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