Appeared in Vol. 8 No. 3 Download PDF here
Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864) is justly famous as one of America’s premier novelists and short story writers. Over a writing career stretching from 1829 until his death, Hawthorne consistently probed the moral and spiritual con icts which he observed in his own life and, mainly, in the lives of the Puritan and Transcendentalist New Englanders with whom he spent most of his life. Both Puritanism and Transcendentalism, of course, deal with the material world and the human body in ways which tend to make them either con ict with or irrelevant to the human spirit. Therefore, Hawthorne was never far in his works from a struggle with the fundamental identity of man as a unity of body and soul. As Michael Jones points out below The Blithedale Romance is a novel uniquely situated in Hawthorne’s life and experience to lend itself to an illuminating examination of the con ict within the author about human na- ture. This examination in turn sheds light on a whole chapter of American history as well as some of the recurring spiritual tensions of our own time.
“He is a man, after all!” thought I-–his Maker’s own truest image, a philanthropic man!-not that steel engine of the Devil’s contrivance, a philanthropist!”-But, in my wood-walks, and in my silent chamber, the dark face frowned at me again.
“We must trust for intelligent sympathy to our guardian angels, if any there be,” said Zenobia. “As long as the only spectator of my poor tragedy is a young man, at the window of his hotel, I must still claim the liberty to drop the curtain.”
Again, they declared their suspicion that the wizard, with all his show of manly beauty, was really an aged and wizened figure, or else that his semblance of a human body was only a necromantic, or perhaps a mechanical contrivance, in which a demon walked about.
Nathaniel Hawthorne
The Blithedale Romance
Completed in the spring of 1852, The Blithedale Romance is the third of Hawthorne’s major romances and the one most concerned with social reform and the intellectual climate of his day. It was born out of his association with Brook Farm, a Fourieristic commune established in 1841, of which Hawthorne was a member along with the Boston intellectual elite of his day. In retrospect it is hard to imagine how someone of Hawthorne’s sceptical temperament could be drawn into such a frankly utopian experiment. The fact remains, however, that he did join (even if he later withdrew and had to go to court to get his money back), and The Blithedale Romance is Hawthorne’s meditation on the failure of the commune and its cause in what he increasingly saw as man’s radically dual nature.
Recognizing the dualism at the heart of The Blithedale Romance, critics have generally defined its poles in terms of the philosophies they bring to interpret it. This, if course, does not mean that their terms will be completely arbitrary; most have their root in the work and have as their basis the opposition between the material and the spiritual. At the heart of The Blithedale Romance, Crews sees a conflict between art and life,’ Levin, “a medieval debate between body and soul,”2 and Fogle, a conflict between materialism and idealism.3
More recently critics have been taking issue with the idea of polarity itself. Making use of what one might call the deconstructive algorithm, Kenneth Dauber reduces all oppositions to the formula x=tix in which every term of every antinomy is resolved into its opposite. “An element of any one incident in Blithesdale,” Dauber writes, “may be read as an element of any other.”4 “As long as Brook Farm remains in America, fact and fiction does and does not exist.”5 “The similarity between the two worlds proves,” he writes at another point, “precisely, their discontinuity.”6 Like most of those who share his school of criticism, Dauber fails to see that any attack on the principle of noncontradiction merely destroys discourse.7 If, Aristotle tells, a thing is at the same time a trireme, a wall, and a man, then there isn’t much point in talking about it.
“Nearly all thinkers agree,” Aristotle writes at another point in a statement which could surely refer to The Blithedale Romance, “that beings, including primary being, consists of contraries as their first principles: some, odd and even; others, hot and cold; others, limited and unlimited; and still others, friendship and strife.”8 One of the dangers, however, of establishing dichotomies-and Blithedale demands that we as readers establish them-is a premature or over-simplistic identification with one or the other pole. Thus Fogle’s pregnant suggestion that The Blithedale Romance is about the conflict between mechanism and idealism is marred by his too facile identification of idealism (difficult word) as the right side and mechanism as the wrong. Fogle’s neo-Manicheanism is most apparent in his discussion on the women in the novel. “`The root of Zenobia’s tragedy,” he tells us, “is her failure to rise beyond materialism.”9 Priscilla, on the other hand, because the veil “insulates her from the world and suggests a sensitive spirit” is “untouched by sin.”10 Her “pure heart” becomes a “moral touchstone.”11 She “is a symbol of faith which pierces intuitively to a spiritual truth”: Priscilla is, in other words, an angel.12 Fogle’s theology, however, unlike Christianity, makes the angelic ipso facto free of sin. Much of the confusion in critical debate about Blithesdale comes from an uncritical acceptance of Fogle’s equation of Christianity with a Manichean distrust of matter. Fogle presents us with a universe in which the angelic is by definition good (ignoring the fact that Satan was and continues to be pure spirit) and the material is necessarily sinful. Zenobia’s fall is caused by her earthiness.
As in so many critical debates, critics of Hawthorne tend to keep the categories and change the labels. In spite of their differing views, they tend to share the same assumptions.There is, of course, reason to do this. The mind/matter dichotomy is Hawthorne’s, yet his ascription of values to either of the poles possesses an ambivalence that critics seem determined to ignore. So as a kind of foil to Fogle’s neo-Manicheanism, we have Nina Baym’s feminism, which makes Zenobia the heroine of the novel precisely because of the earthiness Fogle decries. According to Baym, Zenobia is “the great squaw Sachem dispossessed and obliterated from memory by the Puritan patriarchy that Hollingworth, cast as a Puritan judge, suddenly comes to represent.”13 Zenobia goes from being a fallen woman to being “the reality which Coverdale seeks … imagination and Eros in one figure.”14 “A man’s liberation and fulfillment,” Baym tells us, “requires his accepting a more fully sexual image of woman than the culture allows.”15 “Zenobia is the natural or precivilized woman,” and as such, according to Baym, the heroine of the story.16
Baym’s assumption that the natural and the precivilized are synonymous could be the topic of a whole book itself. Yet in spite of their antagonism, both Baym and Fogle share basic presuppositions. Their only difference lies in the labels they apply to them. For both, nature and spirit are mutually exclusive. For both, the material and the spiritual exist in some type of antagonistic relationship. Fogle feels that matter is evil; Baym, on the other hand, sees the spiritual as little more than disguised repression and desire for control over others.
Both have their insights though. Even Baym’s doctrinaire feminism allows her to discern some truths that Fogle completely ignores or tries to dismiss. Fogle, for example, cites Zenobia’s scathing indictment of Priscilla’s and Coverdale’s “spirituality”-“and so, as she has hardly any physique, a poet like Mr. Miles Coverdale, may be allowed to think her spiritual”-with a sort of grudging concession that seems to divert the reader from the true force of the passage.
Within its limits this account is true, but it is less than a half-truth, and its cruelty is accented by the fact that Priscilla hears it and is deeply wounded.17
With all due respect to Fogle’s critical powers and his contribution to Hawthorne criticism, the honest reader must confess that this statement is more than a half-truth. It is, in fact, quite central to the dramatic and psychological conflict at the heart of the story, and Baym’s interpretation of this passage looks that truth squarely in the face. “In this spritual ideal,” she writes, ” a crude equation has been made between spirit and lack of body. The more body, the less spirit.”18
BEING HUMAN: BODY AND SOUL
The unfortunate fact in these two critical analyses is that neither Baym nor Fogle is as perceptive of the really problematic nature of the body/soul, materialism/idealism dichotomy as Hawthorne himself is. Hawthorne is not at home with a neo-Manichean denigration of nature and the body, but neither is he prone to confuse the sensual with the natural, a fact more recent critics are unable to see. Hawthorne has no desire to look upon sensuality as natural nor upon the pre-civilized or anti-civilized as the good. The failure of the Blithesdale project and Coverdale’s voluntary dissociation from it seem to be evidence enough for that. Hawthorne, unlike some of his critics, propagandizes for neither a hyperphysical angelism (even though at times he seems to find it attractive) nor a libidinal anarchy which masquerades as the natural. Blithedale is in its way the story of the failure of both idealism and materialism, and the real tragedy lies not in the fact that we are neither angels nor pigs (although Hawthorne finds both alternatives attractive), but that human nature seems to be divided between four mutually incompatible people.
Lest we deny Fogle his dues, Hawthorne does feel that materialism is bad. Baym, however, in spite of her attack on the spiritual as cryptorepression, is just as firm in her condemnation of the same thing. According to her, Hollingworth’s motives are “ruthless and materialistic”; Coverdale’s problem is his confusion of “necessary material means with ends.”19 Before we can proceed then, something must be said about the terms of the argument.
Robert Stanton, in his interpretation of Blithedale, sees the basic dichotomy as the conflict between spirit and nature, and, as we have come to expect, the terms of his dichotomy become very quickly morally charged:
By the “spirit,” Hawthorne almost always means an intangible, shadowy, “feminine” in man that is the source of all idealism, sympathy, shame and truth of any kind, and is opposed to and contrasted with the sensuous material world. But specifically it can refer to the entire material world including man’s physical body and senses, to everything in the material world except man.20
Stanton bases his distinction on a passage from Emerson’s essay Nature, in which nature is described as “all which philosophy distinguishes as the NOT ME, that is both nature and art, all other men and my own body [emphasis added].”21 The curious result of this dualism is that the person, the `ME,’ is not in the world or a part of nature. The real `ME’ is a disembodied spirit inhabiting an organic machine which is alien to man because it is physical. Emerson takes his cue from Descartes, and modern critics their cue from Emerson, in uncritically accepting proto-modern dualism and the pseudo-religious values that go with it. This unacknowledged rational psychology excludes any being which is specifically human as the term has been traditionally defined; it excludes, in other words, the possibility of a being which is both physical and spiritual in se. According to Emerson and Hawthorne and the great majority of their critics, man now has the option of being an angel or a machine, but not of being human.
Yet Hawthorne’s rational psychology possesses nuances which few of his readers perceive and which fewer still can express systematically. If materialism is bad-and everyone is unanimous in saying that it is-matter nonetheless possesses a curious attraction, one which the pseudo-angel Coverdale has difficulty in fathoming. His attempt to understand why the ethereal Priscilla is atttracted to Hollingworth, the man of iron, causes him a great deal of perplexity. “What charm was there,” he muses, “in this rude massiveness, that so attracted and soothed this shadowlike girl?”22 Coverdale’s perplexity is so great in fact that he fails to see that he answers his own question. “Her air,” he adds a few lines later, “while perfectly modest, delicate, and virgin-like, denoted her as swayed by Hollingworth, attracted to him and unconsciously seeking to rest upon his strength.”23 The attractiveness of matter lies in its stability. It functions as a basis, as a foundation, as something secure, as something upon which one can rest. No one, so far as I know, in discussing the material world, has described its attractions, not even those like Baym, who set out to overturn the spiritual as the ideal. Materialistic has become a buzzword for “bad” among critics who fail to see that Hawthorne has a nostalgia for the very thing he so often condemns. Hawthorne is constant in his condemnation of materialism-the reduction of everything to material causes. He does not, however, condemn matter even though his feelings about it are never unmixed. The material becomes a metaphor for foundation in reality, and Coverdale, unlike Hollingworth, who “had come among us, actuated by no real sympathy with our feelings and our hopes, but chiefly because we were estranging ourselves from the world,”24 has no quarrel with the real, even if at times he hears he may be made clod-like by it.
Idealism, on the other hand, while attractive to Coverdale the poet and utopian dreamer, has its negative side too. Just as materialism threatens to create a world which is real but indifferent to our moral purposes, so idealism threatens to creat a world which is whatever we want it to be but fundamentally unreal. Westervelt, whose materialism Hawthorne condemns without reservation, still speaks a truth which Coverdale is loath to hear when he describes the ethereal Priscilla as,
one of those delicate, nervous young creatures, not uncommon in New England, and whom I suppose to have become what we find them by the gradual refining away of the physical system, among your women.25
Blithedale is the ideal community, but it is populated by dreamers. Hollingworth haunts a “visionary edifice” which never gets built.26 The veiled lady is ethereal and sympathetic but “lack[s] … human substance. “27 And Coverdale knows the whole story but is unable to act or to change its tragic outcome. Just as those who espouse materialism tend to get enmired in the world and as a result lose their ability to sympathize and to know-in other words, their ability to transcend-those who sit in powerless judgment hovering above the world like angels or ghosts lose their ability to act in it. They transcend but are ineffective, while their mechanistic counterparts are active but misguided.
HAWTHORNE’S PROBLEM OF INTEGRATION
The real problem in The Blithedale Romance is not that man is too ethereal or too clod-like, but that he is both at the same time. The real problem lies in Hawthorne’s inability to integrate the spiritual and physical modalities of human existence, which, though we can separate them for the purpose of analysis, are really two inseparable dimensions of one complex but not dualistic human nature. Is there a human nature which involves the essential union of body and soul, or is man merely an ens per accidens? Neither Hawthorne nor his contemporaries nor his critics have any ready answer to that question.
Stanton, like other critics we have mentioned, sketches out the dichotomy and promptly falls into the trap of siding with the angels. “Nature,” he writes, “is good (or innocent) in itself but alien to man as a moral creature. “28 Hollingworth and Coverdale “weigh Zenobia (or nature) and find her wanting because she cannot be trusted.”29 “Fallen man’s yearning for Nature’s freedom and innocence,” he continues in another passage, “is understandable, but he embraces them only at the cost of deadly harm to his spirit.”30 “Is the pale fragile Priscilla really preferable to the gorgeous Zenobia?” Stanton asks drawing his line of reasoning to its conclusion, ” We have evidence that Hawthorne answers `Yes’ to these questions. . . . “31
James F. Ragan sees in Hawthorne’s fiction an attempt to link progress and “refining away our grosser attributes of body.” 32 Hawthorne, of course, saw the same thing, but he, unlike Ragan, saw this type of progress as a phenomenon with problems of its own. Describing Zenobia, Ragan writes, “the largeness of physical nature” is one of the tokens whereby we recognize a character “not deeply refined. “33 Priscilla, on the other hand, is the heroine because she is ” hyperphysical. “34 “She knows not through the sense but through telepathic insights. Coverdale sees, but Priscilla intuits.”35 In this passage Ragan, as did Fogle before him, unwittingly describes the noetic constitution of the angel, who, since it has no body, has no senses and therefore must gain knowledge through a direct apprehension or intuition of the causes of things as revealed by the mind of God. Or as Aquinas puts it:
The species whereby the angels understand are not drawn from things, but are conatural to them. … The same is evident from the manner of existence of such substances. The lower spiritual substances-that is, souls-have a nature akin to a body, in so far as they are the forms of bodies: and consequently from their very mode of existence it behooves them to seek their intelligible perfection from bodies, and through bodies; otherwise they would be united with bodies to no purpose. On the other hand, the higher substances-that is, the angels-are utterly free from bodies, and subsist immaterially and in their own intelligible nature; consequently they attain their intelligible perfection through an intelligible outpouring, whereby they received from God the species of things known, together with their intellectual nature.36
Ragan’s assumptions mirror Hawthorne’s; unfortunately he is unaware that they do and therefore is unable to explain them. Hawthorne saw the angel as the human ideal because his culture did, yet he saw, at the same time, the drawbacks of that ideal in a way that his contemporaries and critics did not. Man, both male and female,37 could aspire to the ideal but paid the price of unreality in proportion to how completely he achieved his goal. Critics participating unconsciously in the same cultural assumptions recapitulate the problem as if that sufficed for an explanation of its cause. The entire romance takes place on a moral and psychological spectrum between Priscilla, the ethereal and yet insubstantial maiden whose soul suffuses her body to the point of making it almost transparent, and Westervelt, who is an opaque mechanism inhabited by a fallen angel:
They averred that the strange gentleman was a wizard and that he had taken advantage of Priscilla’s lack of earthly substance to subject her to himself, as his familiar spirit, through whose medium he gained cognizance of whatever happened in regions near or remote…. Again they declared their suspicion that the wizard, with all his show of manly beauty, was really an aged and wizened figure, or else that his semblance of a human body was only a necromantic, or perhaps a mechanical contrivance, in which a demon walked about.38
Both Westervelt and Priscilla participate in a radically dual human nature. Priscilla is pure because, in her, spirit triumphs over matter; Westervelt is corrupt because he uses spirit-in this case Priscilla-in the service of materialistic or monetary ends. Hollingworth is unambiguously a man of iron, and as a result he can offer the stability and therefore the consolations of matter to those, like Priscilla and Coverdale, who are attenuated by their alienation from it. His iron will also offers direction to the luxuriant Zenobia, whose mind Coverdale at one point describes as “full of weeds.”39 Westervelt, however, represents a perversion of both the physical and the spiritual. The really pernicious aspect of his philosophy lies in its subtle and mendacious commingling of the wish-fulfillment latent in idealism with the power over the material world that mechanism provides, so that he can achieve his own selfish ends. Like Hawthorne’s mad scientists, Westervelt uses the material as a way of coercing the spiritual as a means to purely material ends. As a result his attitude takes on the worst aspects of both philosophies. His discourse on psychological phenomena “was eloquent, ingenious, plausible with a delusive show of spirituality, yet really imbued throughout with a cold and dead materialism. “40
Thus the deeper Hawthorne probes, the more ambivalent he becomes about a human nature that seems more and more radically dual. At his most optimistic moments in Blithedale, he sees man in the image of Priscilla, a material being suffused by spirit but on the verge of becoming therefore unreal. The closer man approximates the ideal, the less he is a part of the world. At his most pessimistic, hawthorne sees human nature as a “wretched simulacrum” (his description of Feathertop), a fallen angel at the controls of a necromantic machine, giving off the illusion of life while being in reality a galvanized mechanism. The dualism that haunted Hawthorne in his writing becomes inescapable by the writing of The Blithedale Romance. In The Scarlet Letter, he presented one woman flanked by two men, the angelic minister and the mechanist physician. Hester, in spite of her sin, gave the hope that a life lived with integrity could preserve a unified human nature. By the time of Blithedale, however, we have a novel which, like The Marble Faun, divides human nature between four incomplete people. Men, as represented by Hollingworth and Coverdale, are metonymic abstractions of either intellect or will; taken together they represent the impossibility of bringing these faculties together in one integral personality. Those, like Coverdale, who know (his hermitage hanging high in the air represents his powers of observation and intellection), find human endeavor, especially of the philanthropic and utopian variety at Blithedale, ridiculous. Climbing above the earth, with all that that action implies, leaves Coverdale suddenly,
possessed by a mood of disbelief in moral beauty or heroism, and a conviction of the folly of attempting to benefit the world. Our especial scheme of reform, which, from my observatory, I could take in with the bodily eye, looked so ridiculous that it was impossible not to laugh aloud.41
Those who act, on the other hand, can do so only by deliberately excluding the complex multiplicity of knowledge and reducing the world (and other people) to details in one iron-clad scheme. In order to know, Coverdale climbs a tree and turn himself into a pseudo-angel; in order to act, however Hollingworth must transform himself into a human machine: “A cold heartless, self-beginning and self-ending piece of mechanism,” as Coverdale calls him.42 By becoming a machine, Hollingworth condemns himself to act in a purely mechanical fashion, one which automatically negates his philanthropic ends.
Coverdale, as we have already suggested, is sympathetic but unable to be anything more than a passive observer of what goes on before him. He can report the tragedy like a Greek chorus but can in no way impede its course. In his attempt to become Zenobia’s guardian angel, he ends up nothing more than a voyeur:
“We must trust for intelligent sympathy to our guardian angels, if any there be,” said Zenobia. “As long as the only spectator of my tragedy is a young man at the window of his hotel, I must still claim the liberty to drop the curtain. “43
Just as Coverdale is unable to understand why the shadow-like Priscilla is drawn to the massive Hollingworth, so he, as the sympathetic feminist, is perplexed at being rejected because of the very sympathy he offers. “How little,” he muses, “did these women care for me who had freely conceded their claims.”44 Coverdale is sympathetic but impotent. Hollingworth, however, the rigid and insensitive man of iron will, is the choice of both women, including Zenobia the feminist, because he is undeniably real.
The women in Blithedale suffer a similar and more frequently discussed bifurcation into body and spirit. But-and this is the point most critics miss-neither extreme is unmixed blessing. Priscilla is ethereal, but spiritual by default because of lack of substance. Each description of her in the novel is radically ambivalent. “There was,” Hawthorne writes:
a lack of human substance in her; it seemed as if, were she to stand up in a sunbeam, it would pass right through her figure and grace out the cracked and dusty window-panes upon the naked floor.45
Referring to the Irish matrons in her neighborhood, Hawthorne writes that:
they fancied … that she was not so solid flesh and blood as other children, but mixed largely with a thinner element. They called her ghost-child, and said that she could indeed vanish, when she pleased, but could never, in her densest moments, make herself quite visible. The sun, at mid-day, would shine through her; in the first gray of the twilight, she lost all the distinctness of her outline, and if you followed the dim thing into a dark corner, behold! she was not there.46
Hawthorne finally concludes that she was “privileged; either by the preponderance of what was spiritual, or the thin and watery blood that left her cheek so pallid. “a’ Hawthorne’s radical ambivalence about the spiritual comes out in the last passage. He finally cannot make up his mind whether the ideal is the actual presence of supernature or the mere absence of actual nature. As a result Priscilla’s spirituality can just as easily be seen as a weakness.
Zenobia, as Priscilla’s foil, begins as a woman undeniably real, yet her “noble earthliness”48 at the beginning of the romance becomes a grotesque rigidity by its end, a parody of both Hollingworth, the man of iron who rejected her, and “the rusty iron framework” of the society she sought to escape:49
Her wet garments swathed limbs of terrible inflexibility. She was the marble image of a death-agony. Her arms had grown rigid in the act of struggling, and were bent before her, with clenched hands; her knees too, were bent, and-thank God for it!-in the attitude of prayer. Ah, that rigidity! It is impossible to bear the terror of it.50
Zenobia’s “terrible inflexibility” in death is a parody of Hollingworth’s inflexible attitude toward life. “I should rather say,” he remarks early on in the story:
that the most marked trait in my character is an inflexible severity of purpose. Mortal man has no right to be so inflexible, as it is my nature and necessity to be. “51
Hollingworth is, of course, right in his assessment of himself; unfortunately his inflexibility is more a sign of his inhumanity than of his immortality.
A further irony is that both Zenobia and Hollingworth become unreal in their inflexibility. Zenobia’s last words, “Tell him I shall haunt him,” Give an indication that her fate is ultimately to disintegrate into the two components of human nature. At the end of the story, she is a ghost and a rigid corpse, two components of a human nature Hawthorne had tired so assiduously to unite. When Coverdale leaves the place of their last meeting, he senses Zenobia “still hovering around the spot still haunting it.”52 In death she has decomposed into a disembodied spirit and at the same time a once magnificent body that is now a defunct machine. In this she is like Hollingworth, who, “mistaking his egotism for an angel of God” has turned himself into the foundation he sets out to create. He is edifice, director and inmate all in one. Yet, “Unlike other ghosts,” Hawthorne tells us, “his spirit haunted an edifice which, instead of being time-worn, and full of storied love, and joy and sorrow, had never yet come into existence.”53
Thus at the end of The Blithedale Romance we are left with characters who are all parts of a human nature that no one of them can possess. Each is incomplete alone; some have too much of what the others lack completely. “I lack purpose,” Coverdale tells us and then, thinking of Hollingworth, goes on:
How strange! He was ruined morally by an overplus of the very same ingredient, the want of which, I occasionally suspect, has rendered my own life an emptiness.54
Hollingworth has too much will and Coverdale too much knowledge, and the tragedy in Blithedale is not only that the characters cannot get together to share what they have, but that there is no none human nature which allows the integration of personality each of the characters seeks. “The yeoman and the scholar-“Coverdale tells us early on:
the yeoman and the man of finest moral culture, though not the man of sturdiest sense and integrity-are two distinct individuals, and can never be melted or welded into one substance.55
The real tragedy in The Blithedale Romance is not ultimately the failure of Utopian schemes nor even the death of a gifted woman but rather the wreck of human nature, its disintegration into two equally inhuman components-the angel and the machine. The root of Hawthorne’s pessimism is the ever-deepening conviction that these two parts can never be “welded into one substance,” and the more he probes into human nature, as The Marble Faun will show, the more his pessimism deepens.
NOTES
1Frederick C. Crews, “A New Reading of The Blithedale Romance,”American Literature, 29 (1057), 150.
2Harry Levin, The Power of Blackness (NY: A. A. Knopf, 1958), 90.
3Richard Harter Fogle, Hawthorne’s Fiction: The Light and the Dark (Norman, OK: U. of Okla. Press, 1964), 189.
4Kenneth Dauber, Rediscovering Hawthorne (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977), p. 151.
5Dauber, p. 152.
6Dauber, p. 153.
7Aristotle, Metaphysics, trans. R (Ann Arbor: U. of Michigan Press, 1978), p. 230.
8Aristotle, p. 65.
9Fogle, p. 169.
10Fogle, p. 187.
11Fogle, p. 188.
12Fogle, p. 188.
13Nina Baym, The shape of is ever universally exerted.” Hawthorne’s Career (Ithaca: Cornell U. Inc., 1947), I,SS,Art.2, p. 278.
14Baym, p. 190.
15Baym, p. 190.
16Baym, p. 196.
17Fogle, p. 175.
18Baym, p. 197.
19Baym, p. 186-7.
20Robert Stanton, “The Trial of Nature: An Analysis of The Blithedale Romance,” PMLA, 76 (1961), 529.
21Stanton, p. 529.
22Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Blithedale Romance and Fanshawe, Cent. Ed. of the Works of N. Hawthorne, Vol. III. (Columbus: Ohio State U. Press, 1964), p. 76-7.
23Blithedale, p. 77
24Blithedale, p. 54-5.
25Blithedale, p. 95.
26Blithedale, p. 56.
27Blithedale, p. 186.
28Stanton, p. 537.
29Stanton, p. 537.
30Stanton, p. 537.
31Stanton, p. 535.
32James F. Ragan, Hawthorne’ Bulky Puritans” PMLA, 75 (1960), 421.
33Ragan, p. 422.
34Ragan, p. 423.
35Ragan, p. 423.
36St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica trans. Frs. Of the Eng.
Dominican Prov. (NY: Benzinger Bros.,
37“Man,” OED, 1971. Cf. D.
38Blithedale, p. 188.
39Blithedale, p. 44.
40Blithedale, p. 200.
41Blithedale, p. 101.
42Blithedale, p. 218.
43Blithedale, p. 163.
44Blithedale, p. 124.
45Blithedale, p. 185-6.