Monday, March 28, 2011

In Search of a Nation(al Allegory)

In the “The Cultivation of Partiality” Anderson argues that Eliot’s rendering of Judaism and Jewish nationalism in Daniel Deronda represents her cosmopolitan ideal of the modern citizen that “balances the claims of the particular against those of the universal”(122) by testing the (possibly alienating) tenets of modernity “against the articulated experience of the excluded particular” (146). In Deronda, Anderson reads Eliot arguing for a “form of cultural understanding” that Anderson terms “reflective dialogism,” in which individuals relate to and articulate their national and cultural identities through “passionate argumentation, not simple embrace” (121). This “reflective dialogism” takes its most prominent form in the relationship and conversations between Mordecai and Deronda. Their conversation is one of a “double discourse” that represents different models of nationality, the Jews relationship to modernity and a broader “split response to the challenges of modernity” (137).

This reading runs counter to previous criticism that, according to Anderson, conflates the views of Deronda and Mordecai, creating a false binary between the utopianism of the “Jewish section” or the story of Deronda and Jewish nationalism and the realism of Gwendolen Harleth (to steal from Leavis), which draws Judaism and its culture as traditionalist and in stark contrast—and naturally opposed—to modernity. In her construction, Eliot negotiates the paradoxical tension of “European” models of modern nationalism that call for both cosmopolitanism, and a homogenous “national character” which engenders “national cohesion”—a character often delimited along racial and ethnic lines that indicates the failure of civic ideals meant to transcend this very definition. The Jewish figure, whether cosmopolitan or traditional, represents a “separatist character” that threatens “national cohesion” by either exploiting the culturally unmoored nature of the cosmopolitan state through transnational forces like capitalism for individual gain, or by refusing to participate in this modern, political establishment.

To Anderson, it is the specified distance of opinion between Mordecai and Deronda, and Deronda’s detachment and “universal sympathy, that exemplify Eliot’s attempt to strike a balance between the “cultivated particular” of a tradition-bound cultural heritage that impedes participation in the modern state, and the alienation of a cultural and historical repudiation modernity seems to require. While the desire to “steer a middle course between traditionalism and hypermodernism” is not unique to Eliot, her modeling this ideal through the language of Jewish nationalism and idealism “radically challenge[s] the dominant cultural rhetoric” (129) which places Judiasm at each of these polarities. Rather than a figure of the extreme, Eliot asserts that the modern European Jew, as a figure with a culture but not a nation, a “rootedness” without a spatial association and a religion but not necessarily an occluding religious practice, the best suited to negotiate this liminal space and respond to its cultural quandary.

For me, this article made me wonder how the Jewish characters other than Deronda and Mordecai—the two most critics are concerned with—operate in relation to the ideas of nationalism and cultural identity and Jewish nationalism and cultural identity, specifically, that Anderson argues Eliot advocates. But first, before we move to those considerations, a few questions about the article that, hopefully, will inform he later discussion of the literature:

1. Anderson ties the conception of the Jew as potentially both too cosmopolitan and too traditional, a dangerously “untethered” individual and a recalcitrant culturally-bound separatist—which allows Eliot’s manipulation of this discursive space—to Mill’s concern over “national cohesion” and Arnold’s ideas of Hebraism. This underlying discourse ties into last week’s discussion of “chosenness” and the simultaneous need for the existence and rejection of the Jew in the creation of British nationalist identity. For Anderson as well, Judaism represents to Victorian England the informing tradition of Christianity that has been transformed and improved, rendering those within the tradition either static separatists or “unmoored” individualists based on their embrace or rejection of Judaism, unless they are able to be “absorbed” into the more universal and modern British culture. This posits that both universalism and modernism are necessarily Christian ideals. Therefore, the Jewish figure must “convert” or (as Gideon argues) mix, in order to assimilate and participate in the modern state. Does Anderson’s reading of Deronda provide any solution to this in trying to articulate a way to maintain cultural heritage and modern identity? Is that answer Jewish nationalism or revision of both Judaism and modernity or both? What is the role of the “external” or what Arnold claims calcified, nature of a Judiasm bound by “the Law” in placing the Jew at one extreme or the other? Are other non-Protestant/non-Christian figures as irrevocably bound by a religious tradition? If not, why?

2. The tacit connection between universalism and Christianity and Mill’s argument that the benefits of cosmopolitanism cannot overcome a “national cohesion,” seem related to our discussion of Mordecai’s assertion that through the separateness of the Jewish nation, it will become universal (534-35; Hand and Banner conversation). Yet, Anderson states that Deronda’s conception aligns with Mill’s “universalist civic model of nationality” while Mordecai represents a “collectivist-romantic model” of Germain idealism which requires a “national unity” (122-23). How do we read Deronda as an individual which symbolizes a nationalist conception that transcends but does not subsume the individual, in contrast to a concept that “reifies national community…[in] the single individual” and demands “total subsumption into the state” (134)? Is Mordecai’s nationalist doctrine different from the British “universalism” which requires homogeneity in order to sustain the modern state? Is this not both organic and advocating complete “subsumption”? How does Mordecai’s argument tie into the “balancing [of] claims of the particular against those of the universal” (122) that Anderson argues Eliot achieves through Deronda’s cultural journey? Does the “excluded particular” require a certain separateness that enables both cultural ties and modernity?

3. Anderson asserts that Deronda never fully accepts Mordecai’s idea of “guaranteed cultural transmission” (135) which relies on the conception of an organic and racially based bond that is inescapable—an idea that runs counter to what Anderson calls Deronda’s belief in the need for “informed consent” that represents a “profound rejection” of Mordecai’s nationalism (751 in Deronda). Yet, Deronda does come to a “gradual accord” with Mordecai and feels an innate connection before returning to a cultural heritage most prominently represented by Mordecai and his ideas. Does Anderson’s distinction hold up? Are Deronda and Mordecai—and their doctrines—manifestly different enough to maintain Anderson’s delineation? Or does this apparent slippage between the two representations underpin the “reflective dialogic” in the text?

4. If the narrative follows Anderson’s distinctions, how can we view it in terms of the national allegory that we previously rejected as a possibility because there is no nation? Anderson calls Deronda’s history an “allegory about cosmopolitanism.” In light of the role of cosmopolitanism established within the article, could we consider Deronda an allegory of the concept of modern (Jewish) nationalism?

5. If we are to think of Deronda as an allegory, of either cosmopolitanism or nationalist conceptions, what could the following events (listed in no particular order) signify or symbolize: Deronda’s rejection of his grandfather’s exact belief but acceptance of his notion of “separateness with communication (725); Deronda’s marriage to Mirah, and her own stance on her heritage; the Klesmer marriage plot; Lapidoth’s absconding with Deronda’s “heritage” ring; Mordecai’s death, before the trip “East”; the description of and attitudes taken toward the Cohens; the “wandering” Kalonymos and Lenora.

6. Topics I would like to discuss but for which I have no particular questions: femininity in Deronda; the Jew as a “post-colonial subject”; the Meyricks’ stark prejudice; Deronda’s prejudice toward the Cohens.

6 comments:

  1. I was also interested in Anderson's reading of the "cultural transmission" that Mordechai believed would take place between him and Deronda. We have sort of circled around the topic of agency and choice in class for the past week or so, and I thought that had a lot to do with the readings for today. There is a tension in the book between choice and essence, and I find Anderson's claim (that Deronda does not accept Mordechai's claims outright but rather tells Mordechai that he will need to learn more and decide for himself)fairly convincing in terms of a middle ground. Of course, this idea of agency is troubled by many of the other aspects of the text--issues I'm sure we'll get around to discussing in class.

    In an allegorical reading that accepts Anderson's distinctions, are we reading Deronda as a "new Jew" who embodies the choice, autonomy and self-reflection associated with Protestant Christianity, whereas Mordechai represents the "old Jew" bound by tradition (who has to die)? This seems like the obvious allegorical reading to me--perhaps too obvious.

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  2. Cosmopolitism

    Among other things, Anderson discusses the “cosmopolitism” of Jewish people. She also includes that “Hegelians and others” viewed them, at times, as “too autonomous” (126, her emphasis). I know that the British elites were anxious about the rise of the “merchant class.” All of these factors combined, do you think that the reaction toward Jewish people, as well as other immigrants, may have been due to their rising fiscal power?


    Ellipsis

    What did you think about the rather stunning ellipsis of what would become Gwendolen and Grandcourt’s last interaction on the boat?

    Pressing issues

    This is a bit of a digression, perhaps, but I have an interest in the printed press, so I’m beginning to wonder about all of the italicized text. Was this text italicized when first published? What kind of triggered my question is (1) our edition’s prevalent use of italics, and (2) the uses of many sources (MS, proofs, and the first and second editions) for this edition. Additionally, italicizing was difficult to do in certain instances; for example—if I understand it correctly—with the early typewriter, you didn’t have the option to italicize text. This is why book titles can be underlined or italicized. Before, underlining was an option, but you just didn’t have the option to italicize (at least via typewriter—press, of course, is different).

    I could always research this (which I do plan to do at some point), but I wanted to see if anybody had any thoughts in the matter.

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  3. I think British romanticism complicates Anderson’s argument. Even though the Brits are there in the epigrams and there’s a quote from Shelley addressing nations (522), she does not address that brand of romanticism. It would disrupt her dialectic between the particular Daniel Deronda and the universal Mordecai. Typically individualistic British romanticism certainly has the goal of an ideal collective, which I’m sure Deronda also aspires to, whatever that might be. British romanticism would be a combination of Mill and the ultimate goal of a collective. I agree with Stephanie that it is significant that Mordecai is dying. The extremity of his vision of an exclusive nation might be due to his late stage tuberculosis which supposedly causes a person to become more visionary. Nevertheless, his vision is poetic (like Keats’) and pulls in Deronda, and he becomes one with Mordecai’s vision, but at the same time he will chose his own action--he states, "We can do nothing safely without some judgment as to where we are to stop"(417).
    I think Deronda’s attitude toward the Cohens illustrates a type of initial Jewish self-hatred, but once he becomes a true believer, he gets over that. I think this is part of Deronda accepting both the universal and the particular.

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  4. A comment related to Jordan’s question 5. Anderson’s argument that Deronda embodies “a middle course between traditionalism and hypermodernism” (129) is convincing. But, when reading this work as a modern novel, not as an allegory unlike Anderson does, one problem might be that this middle ground requires a kind of fairy-tale like tour de force—a Jew who has been devoid of Jewishness, a highly conceptual/abstract figure which is not altogether compatible with conventional realism. As Deronda’s mother’s ironical remark suggests, Deronda is “glad to have been born a Jew. . . because you have not been brought up as a Jew” (630). What her words possibly indicate is that if one is brought up within a strictly Jewish tradition, one could either be “hypermodernist/individualist” like Leonora or “traditionalist” like Mordicai. If Deronda could break away from those polemics, it is because of his extraordinary background of a Jew by “nature” but a non-Jew by “nurture.” Granting that Deronda successfully incorporates Eliot’s ideal of the middle ground, it is enabled only through the-ugly-duckling like fanciful setting. Eliot must have been aware of that, and Leonora’s remark about Mirah also seem to introduce a kind of self-criticism for this kind of idealism of this story: “Ah! like you. She is attached to the Judaism she know nothing of” (665). An ideal coupling of Mirah and Deronda, which offers a possibility of newly constructed Jewishness, is brought about by their enforced separation from Jewish tradition for the large part of their lives.

    One more thing I’ve been interested is a function of a romantic plot in this novel. The novel seems to be constructed in such a way that Deronda has to choose Mirah or Gwendolen—in a sense, very traditional, Austin-like plot, in which protagonist’s “choice” becomes a touchstone of his or her agency/selfhood. On a surface level, Deronda chooses Mirah. But does he really “choose” Mirah over Gwendolen? Deronda’s sudden realization of his love for Mirah seems to be triggered almost solely by his knowledge of his birth, and the novel seems to free Deronda from a responsibility of difficult choice by providing him with his Jewish blood, becoming a parody of a marriage plot... Dis Eliot consciously deviate from the norm of traditional novel by writing Daniel Deronda?

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  5. I agree with Stephanie about the tension between choice and essence. Deronda and his mother are more deliberate about their relationship with Judaism. Mirah and Mordecai seem simply to accept and embrace it as part of their identity. On the other hand, Leonora and Mordecai seemed more informed and experienced as Jews. And as Madoka has pointed out, Leonora compares Deronda and Mirah for their embracing Judaism for knowing so little of it. And then there is secular Klesmer. Is he a “separatist character?

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  6. Madoka: I really really like what you're saying in your first paragraph about Deronda and nature/nurture. You’re right about what the novel suggests, too; Daniel Deronda seems to emphasize that Deronda is lucky to stumble upon his heritage, which grants him a certain freedom (with a twist, as Madoka notes). It’s interesting to consider how the novel thinks about race and gender differently, though (Jordan, this might speak to a few of the points you bring up in #6). I’m thinking specifically of the example of Leonora, who Anderson points to as a critic of Jewish *patriarchy*; Leonora “eloquently conveys to Daniel how painful it was to ‘have a man’s force of genius within you, and yet to suffer the slavery of being a girl,’ to be expected to conform to a pattern and serve cheerfully as a ‘makeshift link’ to the next generation of *sons*” (Anderson 140, my emphasis). So, if we follow the logic of the text, racial heritage is something that can be stumbled upon (not always, but sometimes), whereas gender is, like being born into a heritage one knows, constricting. I can’t help feeling like this is a bit autobiographical on Eliot’s part because of many of the claims about Eliot’s ‘surprising intellect.’ However, the novel suggests through Leonora and Daniel that both gender and race are constructed—nothing new there. I suppose the ideal, then, would be androgyny and racial ambiguity. Fixity is death.

    I’m not sure where to go in terms of postcolonial studies, but, as a side note, I don’t think the term ‘postcolonial’ works here. In Irish studies, the term ‘semicolonial’ is often used to indicate the differences between the other Others and the Others proper in terms of both race and nation.

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