Crusoe, Dafoe, and The Enlightenmento

Do you often say to yourself "Gee, I sure wonder what parallels there are in the text Robinson Crusoe, connecting Dafoe's book to enlightenment ideals?" I know I do. Well, fear not, for the answer to all your quandaries is listed herein. But not so fast--let's start from the beginning. 

First, a brief outline of enlightenment ideals: The enlightenment revolved primarily around rationalism, embodying all of the ideals Locke put forth over a century earlier. This mentality was supported by such upcoming rational ideas/constructs as the scientific method, and the industrial revolution. Overall, the enlightenment desired experience over theory. "But John! How do these enlightenment ideals permeate Dafoe's text?" Don't worry! We're getting there.

These enlightenment ideals permeate Dafoe's text, but not in the preachy, exemplary kind. These ideals are crumpled up, stomped on, and thrown in the trash by Crusoe, in the beginning of the book, as he goes off to sea. Think about it--everything Crusoe does is what the enlightenment doesn't.  What Crusoe does is in no way rational. It is, in fact, quite the opposite. He glorifies theory over experience, and convinces himself to ignore the sage advice of his parents and peers, and sets sail, because goddamnit he thinks it's gonna be awesome. And what happens? He gets enslaved, has the worst time of his life on a boat hit by a catastrophic storm (twice), and ends up on a deserted island full of cannibals, in no particular order. It's pretty clear that Dafoe isn't very fond of Crusoe's irrational state of mind, so as the author, he punishes him for it. Crusoe, you idiot! How dare you leave the lethargically comfortable quicksand of middle class life. What did you think was going to happen? 

But slowly, Crusoe begins to take control of his surroundings--shedding his former folly, he begins to recreate his own society on his little island. He adopts societal tendencies and mentalities. He builds a shelter,  later filled with amenities unprecedented for an island-dweller, and he maintains a calendar, always minding the date and time. Through Friday, his father, and the Spaniard they save, he almost is able to recreate a small society entirely. As the book progresses, Crusoe's mentality changes to that of a societal leader, assuming responsibility for the men that now populate "his island". How far Crusoe has gone from maniacally questioning his origins, to maintaining his very own colony on an island. And this reconnects to another enlightenment ideal--collectivism. The interdependence of every human being, and the truths found therein.

So--there you have it. According to Dafoe, what happens when you disobey enlightenment ideals? You end up on a deserted island, devoid of all humanity save for cannibals. And when you atone for your sins by building a society? You finally get off the island to return to "real" society, and end up wealthy, happy, and well. 

Don't Read This Article

While Robinson Crusoe wasn't necessarily my favorite book in the world--far from that, actually--like many books I read, I found small bits of entertainment or amusement here and there. In Robinson Crusoe, this mainly came from the surprisingly blunt presence and representation of the "vices of humanity", if you will, through the acts of Crusoe's character. However intentional or unintentional, Defoe was able to thoroughly exemplify the both disgusting and stubbornly charming aspects of being human. 

The first of these aspects--the disgusting one--comes to mind in Crusoe's changing opinion of his slave boy, Xury. When they first meet, he asks Xury to join him and form a pact of sorts, and is impressed by his loyalty: "The boy smiled in my face, and spoke so innocently that I could not distrust him, and [he] swore to be faithful to me, and go all over the world with me," (Defoe, 34). Xury aids Robinson in many a way, including helping to procure their freedom, and they develop quite a bond together on the African coast. At this point, Crusoe seems genuinely fond of Xury--but of course, the aforementioned vices take over. When a Portuguese ship finds it's way to their coast, Crusoe opts to sell Xury for 60 pieces of eight, which he was "loth [loath, I believe?] to take, not that I was unwilling to let the captain have him, but I was very loth to sell the poor boy's liberty," (Defoe 52). At this point, Crusoe is still obviously somewhat fond of Xury, but not so fond that he wouldn't sell his buddy back into slavery. Which, while Crusoe manages to frame it slightly "nicer" than the actual act that he committed, we can take a step back from that premise for a second and recognize that he just sold his friend into slavery. One page and a three-year time lapse later, Crusoe is already wishing for "His boy Xury" back, to help him out on his tobacco plantation. Yeah--not for the companionship of the guy who was alongside you while escaping slavery, for the slave labor that he could have taken advantage of to further his agricultural establishment. Way to go, Crusoe. And way to go, Defoe, because I think in his excessively detailed yet ever-so-frank writing style, he managed to stumble onto a gem of humanity. This gem's a blood diamond, but it's at least interesting to observe. 

The other more amusing aspect I found was Crusoe's on-and-off relationship to being at sea. When the book begins, Crusoe is a sailor at heart. He preaches it to his parents, and repeatedly denies his father's advice and warnings about life as a seaman. Crusoe's only wish is to go to sea, and the only way he can ever enjoy life or be liberated is to be out on the ocean. While no real motives are ever presented, it's definitely clear that Crusoe wants to go to sea. So finally, after disobeying every bit of advice, and the will of his parents, he runs away to go to sea. He's there! Woo, gotta be awesome, right? Haha... no. After a storm hits their ship, we get to read this monologue: "I made many vows and resolutions that if it would please God to spare my life this one voyage, If I ever once got my foot upon dry land again, I would go directly home to my father, and never set it into a ship again while I lived; that I would take his advice, and never run myself into such miseries as these anymore... And I resolved that I would, like a true repenting prodigal, go home to my father," (Defoe 10). So, naturally, after that horrible experience, and revelation about how painfully correct his parents were, Crusoe never goes back to sea. Right? Haha...no. Crusoe proceeds to stomp all over those past re-assertions of his assertions, go to sea many, many, more times. In all honesty, I think what drives this is another one of these unnamed vices--"Someone tells me I shouldn't do this? Better do it. Don't press this button? Eh, nah. Don't read this article? Hmm..". 

It seems silly to read, but I recognize that as something we all do--or maybe it's just me, and I'm as crazy as Crusoe--but that aside; I clearly remember being a six-year-old and having that same attitude about cleaning my room, and a myriad of other chores. I would come to do something of my own volition, and it would be reaffirmed by my mother--but somehow that declaration--even if I was already going to do it, would deter me from performing that action itself. In short, the fact that I was told to do it made me not want to. Inversely so, the same happens with Crusoe. He is told to not go to sea, and he disobeys. Even after that apocalyptic epiphany he has mid-storm, Crusoe still goes back to sea, again, I think, because he is told not to. This happens in everyday life too--say you're given an English blog post assignment that ought to be limited to 500 words, and you make it 900 instead. It's all about fighting the man. Don't let establishment keep you down.