ENGL 479W: Technoromanticism

3 Responses to “Caleb Williams”

1. adubov Says:
   November 16th, 2008 at 3:01 pm

   William Godwin’s Caleb Williams provides sharp criticism of what happens when an entrenched system of social classes fails to fairly protect all of its constituents, not just the wealthy ones. When Caleb, a servant, is accused of theft by his master, Falkland, a gentleman within the social hierarchy of late 18th century England, he is alienated from his entire country. Since the accusation of theft alleged against Caleb was made by someone who is not only supposed to serve as his protector, but also, is considered to be a beacon of morality solely based upon his birth, Caleb is unable to vindicate himself in the eyes of those who share his social status, because his actions disturb the system that they blindly preserve. In the late 18th Century, people of all classes blindly followed this ideology of feudal paternalism, rather than experimenting with another form of social organization. Caleb’s isolation portrays the patriarchal system as a social experiment with the potential to dehumanize the individual because the omnipotence of this aristocracy causes Caleb to lose the very social contact that allows an individual to feel human.

   The concept of the patriarchal system as a social experiment is best illustrated at the end of the novel when Caleb loses the friendship of Laura, the first friend he makes after proven innocent. Once Laura, with her family connection to Falkland, realizes who Caleb is, he laments his loneliness, and subsequent lack of humanness:

   It was now first that I felt, with the most intolerable acuteness, how completely I was cut off from the whole human species. Other connections I had gained, comparatively without interest; and I saw them dissolved….I had never experienced the purest refinements of friendship, but in two instances, that of Collins, and this of the family of Laura. Solitude, separation, banishment! (303)

   In this passage, Caleb describes his subhuman status within larger society like the conclusions of a scientific experiment. Since science typically represents the mind, or what is rational, as opposed to the heart, or humanity, Caleb’s use of scientific words to describe his isolation make him sound less human. Take for instance, how Caleb feels “cut off from the whole human species.” Caleb’s use of the term, “human species,” identifies people them by their scientific classification, rather than other, more colloquial terminology—he immediately establishes himself outside of the human realm.

   Caleb also admits that he made “connections,” and that that they were “comparatively without interest.” This sentence could be read as part of a scientific conclusion because it infers that compared to past experiments, or in Caleb’s case, social interactions, these “connections,” or friendships, were inconclusive—they did not prove beneficial to Caleb in his social “experiment.” Also, Caleb’s use of the word “dissolved,” to describe his diminished friendships, connotes the idea of corrosive materials in a scientific experiment. This idea of friendships as chemical materials continues when Caleb says that he “never experienced the purest refinements of friendship,” placing friendship, only in its “purest” form at the forefront of his social experiment. Caleb even places his friend, Collins, from Falkland’s home, and Laura, in the position of scientific exceptions, or the “two instances,” in which he was able to achieve these “[pure] refinements” of the chemical material of “friendship.” Taken together, the scientific explanations of friendships makes Caleb’s exclamation of “Solitude, separation, banishment” the conclusion of his social experiment.

2. ibnl1441 Says:
   December 4th, 2008 at 1:20 pm

   I believe it to be impeccable timing, that the discussion about William Godwin’s Caleb Williams took place only two days after this historic presidential election…

   While Caleb Williams effectively resists and challenges the constructs of societal reality in the later 1700’s, I personally was hit harder by the Edmund Burke excerpt from, Reflections on the Revolutions in France, where he explains his dismay in regards to the French Revolution.

   After analyzing how William Blake and Jean Baudrillard intersect the Wachowski Brother’s film, The Matrix, I felt overwhelmed with the concept of virtual reality.
   While these works have forced me to question my own perceptions of reality, in hopes of becoming a more imaginative and conscientious thinker, I realize the challenge in imagining a world that functions differently than the one I know. However, despite my desire to think differently, I now understand the importance of recognizing the cost of completely deconstructing my perception of reality. Much like Collins’ realization in Caleb Williams, Burke suggests the importance of maintaining society’s “pleasing illusions,” as they allow citizens to realize a necessary sense of purpose, which may be absent without social construction. Burke writes:

   All the pleasing illusions which made power gentle and obedience liberal, which harmonized the different shades of life, and which… incorporated into politics the sentiments which beautify and soften private society, are to be dissolved… All the decent drapery of life is to be rudely torn off… On this scheme of things, a king is but a man, a queen is but a woman; a woman is but an animal, and an animal not of the highest order…

   About one week after the election, I had a conversation with a very passionate, but knowledgeable conservative friend of mine. In the midst of the discussion, I brought up Burke’s metaphor of drapery, as I asked her why low-income citizens would vote for John McCain. I used the metaphor to represent Obama’s ideas for reform, as they suggest a desire to lift the Bush administration’s corrupt and divisive drapery. While my friend acknowledged that Obama would offer hardworking, low-income citizens a larger slice of the proverbial pie, she challenged my views with a rebuttal that Edmund Burke would have applauded. She argued that such people believe in the universal benefit of America’s institutions, and although they see that others have more, they accept their place and identity in society. She further argued that such people have strong opinions and beliefs that influence who they vote for. It is these values that correspond to their perception of identity, which ultimately reflects their vision of reality. She even used the metaphor of the drapery to suggest that Barack Obama’s semi-socialist plans could potentially give unqualified individuals opportunities for power, which could ultimately destroy the prestige and structure of certain institutions.
   While I do not entirely agree with her views, she forced me to think hard about the consequences of change. However, I see our country’s decision to elect Obama as a means of achieving balance, rather than a road to revolution. After eight years of an extremely inept and narrow-minded conservative leader, the scale has tipped so far right that our country must find some equilibrium, in order to repair the cornucopia of problems. But like suggested in Blake’s Book of Urizen, Obama will inevitably impose his own set of standards and laws, thus creating a new set of drapes that will define and restrict a new constituency of citizens. And although this notion would normally leave me with a feeling of discomfort, I have realized that there are things in the world that I will be unable to change. Possibly the only true revolution that can be realized in this life is the revolution of mind.

3. tim burt Says:
   December 12th, 2008 at 6:16 pm

   Tim Burt
   Blog post #3

   Slavoj Zizek inserts the following poem in his book “Violence” (while discussing billionaire philanthropists). I thought it would be relevant to discussing Falkland, who as the ultimate horizon of the chivalric notion of the “good,” deserves a bit of deconstruction. The poem is by Bertolt Brecht.

   “The Interrogation of the Good”

   Step forward: we hear
   That you are a good man.
   You cannot be bought, but the lightening
   Which strikes the house, also
   Cannot be bought.
   You hold to what you said.
   But what did you say?
   You are honest, you say your opinion.
   Which opinion?
   You are brave.
   Against whom?
   You are wise.
   For whom?
   You do not consider your personal advantages.
   Whose advantages do you consider then?
   You are a good friend.
   Are you also a good friend of the good people?

   Hear us then: we know
   That you are our enemy. This is why we shall
   Now put you in front of a wall. But in consideration
   of your merits and good qualities
   We shall put you in front of a good wall and shoot you
   With a good bullet from a good gun and bury you
   With a good shovel in the good earth

   Merrill and Jakko Hintikka, in “How Can Language Be Sexist?” claim, “The referential system does not by itself supply enough information to enable the structural system to operate.” The definitions of words often do not hold the full meaning of their actual use, in context (what Hintikka means by the “structural system”). They write, “…the word good… the way it operates is to rely on some evaluation principle but to leave it to the context to settle which one this evaluation principle is… pre-existing valuations are typically determined by someone’s interests.”
   What the Brecht poem introduces is a different level of moral analysis. “You are wise/ for whom?” When we say someone is “wise,” Brecht suggests we are not speaking about some ambiguous, universal ideal. “Wise” refers to a certain set of behaviors that exist in the context of real social relations. So a good opinion might in reality be good for a distinct group of people, and negative for another. This is why Brecht was a Marxist; he recognized ideology and valuation to be connected to class interests. Or, to put it in the perspective Zizek aims for, the claims of moral legitimacy by excessively wealthy bleeding-heart liberals rings disgustingly false, given their wealth is often built on brutal exploitation of the poor they claim to help.
   So what does this have to do with Caleb Williams? Is not the novel an interrogation of the good? Does it not introduce a greater, contextual moral analysis? Here lies the irony in Godwin’s descriptions of Falkland at the outset of the novel, as possessing the highest moral caliber. As the novel unfolds, we get a different context, one that asks us to consider that Falkland owns a slave plantation, or that his notion of “honor” involves hierarchy and subordination. We could say that the chivalric moral system is deconstructed

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