Commentary #11: Hélène Cixous

Desperately Seeking Cixous


I am not a prude, but some of Cixous’ rhetoric in “The Laugh of the Medusa” made me squirm. Not because the vocabulary or the subject was shocking (neither is), but mostly because I was going to be the one leading the classroom discussion. I wondered just how graphic the conversation would need to be to successfully cover the essay.

Fortunately, we have a stellar class, and everyone treated the material honestly and respectfully. No problem. Landis didn’t rattle me when he asked if I knew the real meaning (wink, wink) of Cixous’ coined word joissance (possibly joiessance) or the legit French word jouissance – all indicating pleasure (and beyond). Take your pick, I guess. Anyway, I enjoyed hearing various interpretations of Cixous’ writing and wish we had had time to delve into more of the text.

One passage that caused me to nod in agreement can be found on Page 1527 of Bizzell/Herzberg, where Cixous writes of what one might call women’s signature guilt:

. . . (writing) will tear her away from the superegoized structure in which she has always occupied the place reserved for the guilty (guilty of everything, guilty at every turn: for having desires, for not having any; for being frigid, for being “too hot”; for not being both at once; for being too motherly and not enough; for having children and for not having any; for nursing and for not nursing. . .)

Ouch. I hope the young women in our classroom don’t have to contend with the guilt trips that plagued my generation – and even more so my mother’s. When you’re at work, you feel guilty for not being at home with the kids. When you’re home with the kids, you feel guilty because you’re not out making money for the household. You do both and feel guilty because you don’t feel you’re giving both home and career adequate attention. You feel guilty about feeling bitter when you’re overextended, and you feel guilty when you ask for relief. You even feel guilty about a glass of champagne you drank on your anniversary when you were eight months pregnant, because now you know "the facts"; and now you just know that one drink lowered your child’s I.Q. by at least ten points. You know you shouldn't feel guilty, so you feel guilty about feeling guilty.

Damned if you do and damned if you don’t, as “they” say. Moms are always yearning for do-overs. I don’t know any men who have battled this kind of guilt or suffered from what appears to be a female-oriented “if-only” syndrome. In fact, to illustrate: My son and daughter-in-law are not planning to have children, and yet she is the one who catches most of the flak about their decision. Is that fair?

Cixous insists that WRITING will release women from the guilt that has been imposed on them in a phallogocentric culture. If that's all it takes, then come on, girls; let’s write, write, write!

Commentary #10: Erasmus

Erasmus Erupts in The Praise of Folly

Desiderius Erasmus was not a happy camper.

First of all, his parents were unmarried (and totally star-crossed) lovers – his mother a widow and the daughter of a physician, and his father a priest. As he matured, Erasmus remained sensitive to the stigma of his illegitimacy and, while he lived with his mother and grandmother, continued to suffer from being abandoned by his father. According to Minnich and Meissner, after both of Erasmus’s parents died during his teen-age years, his guardians persuaded him to study in a monastery – a course of action that he accepted but did not embrace. Having no family, no wealth, and being in poor health, how could he refuse the plans of his elders?

Erasmus’s spirits lifted when he pursued classical studies and became familiar with the humanist culture, which seemed to address his own personal needs. Humanists believed that God would not blame children for their parents’ sins, and that view soothed Erasmus, to a certain degree. The oppression he felt at school was somewhat lessened, too, after he met Servatius Roger, a young man for whom Erasmus felt a deep affection. But Servatius did not share the love, and Erasmus was again left feeling abandoned.

After becoming an ordained priest, Erasmus was flung from the tranquility of the monastery into the harried political scene, where he served as secretary to Bishop Henry of Bergen. Unhappy with this position, Erasmus convinced his boss to let him study theology in Paris, where he also encountered disillusionment, discouragement, and more depression. Feeling victimized, he blamed the incompetence of teachers for his lack of scholarly success.

Taking a welcomed opportunity to spend a year in England, Erasmus was able to rub elbows with a number of aristocrats – one of which was John Colet, a humanist-theologian, who became a good friend. Five years later, he met humanist/scholar/statesman Thomas More, the man who most inspired Erasmus to take the plunge into satire – resulting in the eyebrow-lifting The Praise of Folly.

It must have been amazingly therapeutic for Erasmus to unload years of pent-up anger, criticism, gripes, cynicism, and frustration via the satirical commentary of Folly. The pleasure of the purge was short-lived, however, as noted by Minnich and Meissner (609):

. . . Once in print, the Praise of Folly did not go unnoticed. Erasmus believed that as a man of learning he was entitled to satirize with impunity the foibles of humanity, especially since he had provoked in the process serious reflection. . . While friends like More appreciated his Moriae Encomium, others could neither forgive nor forget those large sections of the work in which they found themselves scoffed at and satirized. But it was perhaps his playful use of the text of the Holy Scripture that caused the most trouble.

Taken aback by the backlash, Erasmus answered his critics, defended his work, but later admitted he might not have written Folly had he known it would vilify him. Furthermore, he lost one great joy of his life, his supportive, dear friend Thomas More, in 1535, when Henry VIII had More executed for refusing to take the Oath of Supremacy. Erasmus himself died a year later, embattled and embittered.

Minnich and Meissner portray Erasmus as brilliant, witty, clever, and urbane as well as narcissistic, self-pitying, sickly, gloomy, and a few other not-so-flattering adjectives. I say, cut the guy some slack. Considering the obstacles Erasmus faced from birth, I think he accomplished a great deal more than would have been expected. And maybe some of his complaints were justified; perhaps he was underappreciated in his own time. Perhaps he and his Folly were misunderstood. What’s wrong with a little satirical whistle-blowing if it helps weaken corruption and inspire reform? Perhaps a sixteenth-century writer wasn't supposed to “tell it like it is.”

* * * * * * * *

(Note: The Praise of Folly, with an introductory note from Erasmus to Thomas More, can be found online at , provided by Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, Oxford, Mississippi.)

Work cited

Minnich, Nelson H., and W. W. Meissner. “The Character of Erasmus.” The American Historical Review 83, 3 (1978): 598-624.

Commentary #9: Margaret Fell

Margaret Fell (But She Got Back Up Again!)

What surprised me about Margaret Fell's story is that she seemed to get away with a great deal more than one might expect of a seventeenth-century Quaker lady. As the dear soul who is referred to as the “Nurturing Mother of Quakerism” in the Gwynned Friends Meeting Historical Notes, she certainly knew how to pack a punch, rhetorically speaking.

We read that Judge Thomas Fell did not approve of his wife’s activism in promoting the brand-new, politically incorrect Quaker religion (Society of Friends) and, at times, even stifled her. He did, however, provide his wife legal protection as long as he could. After his death in 1658, Margaret was no longer able escape legal prosecution and landed in jail several times for refusing to take an oath of allegiance to the king.

The issue of women’s rights to speak publicly was a major cause that moved Margaret to action. In fact, during a four-year incarceration, she made use of her time by writing what turned out to be her most memorable work, a pamphlet entitled Women’s Speaking Justified, Proved and Allowed of by the Scriptures, All Such as Speak by the Spirit and Power of the Lord Jesus And How Women Were the First That Preached the Tidings of the Resurrection of Jesus, and Were Sent by Christ’s Own Command Before He Ascended to the Father, which is found in our Bizzell and Herzberg textbook and online at <http://ccat.sas.upenn.edu/~kuenning/fell.html>.

She comes out swinging at the beginning of the text, pointing out how clergymen erroneously object to women speaking out in church. But she doesn’t whine or complain unattractively; rather, she forthrightly states her case and crisply uses Scripture to support it. What better ammunition could she have found to endorse feminism at that time, for her audience?

By the time Margaret finished writing her manuscript, she may have worked herself up into a bit of a snit. Here is how she begins the postscript: “And you dark Priests, that are so mad against Womens Speaking and it’s so grevious to you. . .” O.K., maybe I’m reading something into the text that doesn’t exist, but I detect a seething bitterness resulting from womanhood scorned, as well as several undeserved years in the clink.

(Note: A rough abstract of the life of Margaret Fell can be found in the Gwyedd Friends Meeting Historical Notes at <http://www.gwyneddfriends.org/margaret_fell.html>.)