R Providence and Religion in the Crusoe Trilogy

Providence and Religion in the Crusoe Trilogy

Leah Orr Dickinson College

The first volume of Daniel Defoe’s Crusoe trilogy (1719 – 20) provides a sat- isfying conversion narrative: Crusoe, alone on the island, recognizes that he has been a sinner and becomes a practicing Christian.1 However, in the second volume, The Farther Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, he turns away from God and begins to believe that humans have the right to make moral judgments and determine their own courses of action. In the third volume, Serious Reflections of Robinson Crusoe, he proposes a plan for using force to colonize and convert non-Christians. Based solely on the neat conversion in volume 1, many scholars take Crusoe’s religious beliefs as indica- tive of his author’s. Is Crusoe just a personal projection of his creator? Or is Defoe more distant from his narrator? If we look beyond the first volume, depictions of Providence (the power of God) and religion contradict both Crusoe’s beliefs in volume 1 and ideas that Defoe expresses elsewhere. What are the implications of the religious inconsistencies of the latter two volumes for studying Defoe and for reading the Crusoe narrative, especially the famous first volume? Looking carefully at the presentation of Providence and religion, I will argue that if we take all three volumes together, they show Crusoe rejecting the religious conversion he experiences in volume one, which has serious implications for how far we should take Crusoe as representing Defoe. The Crusoe who exclaimed proudly

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of his island colony that “I allow’d Liberty of Conscience throughout my Dominions” (1:286) differs radically from the Crusoe who plans Christian world domination.2

I. The Crusoe Narrative as a Trilogy What counts as part of the Crusoe story? Modern rewritings of the narrative treat the story of the first volume as complete.3 Since its publication in 1719, The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures has been one of the most popular books in English.4 Crusoe, as Ian Watt points out, “cannot be refused the status of myth,” promoting perseverance, faith, and hard work.5 This accurately reflects the cultural impact of Crusoe’s sojourn on the island: replicated and allegorized, Crusoe the shipwrecked man becomes a paradigm for a lost soul who reconnects with God through nature and privation. But by effectively erasing the last two volumes, Watt and other critics misrepresent what was ultimately published as a trilogy.6 I am not arguing that the rest of the trilogy deserves greater popularity, but that taking all three of the books into account yields a much more complex, reflec- tive, and dynamic view of Crusoe’s religious experience than can be seen in the first volume alone. Farther Adventures was published the same year as The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures and continues the story without any chronological break.7 The first volume ends with a short summary of Crusoe’s return to the island and his war against the cannibals, concluding, “All these things, with some very surprizing Incidents in some new Adventures of my own, for ten Years more, I may perhaps give a farther Account of hereafter” (1:364). Farther Adventures describes in detail Crusoe’s wanderlust and his return to the island in the company of his nephew. There he meets with the Spanish and English residents he left on the island, relates their adventures in his absence, and leaves a missionary with them to help convert their enslaved cannibals to Christianity. Crusoe continues his voyage, but a conflict with the crew in Madagascar forces him to remain behind in India. The latter half of the volume describes his journeys, first in the Indian Ocean, then through China and Russia back to England. Although the story has more action and less reflection, the narrative techniques of Far- ther Adventures clearly relate very closely to those of The Life and Strange Suprizing Adventures. Since Defoe outlines the premise of the second vol-

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ume at the end of the first, he evidently conceived the second book as part of the same story. Unlike the first two volumes, Serious Reflections has no plot, and does not advance the narrative any further in time. Instead, it consists of short moral and philosophical essays Crusoe supposedly wrote based on the experiences he recounts in the earlier books. The third volume includes “A Vision of the Angelick World,” describing his views on spirits, and a preface wherein Crusoe tells the reader, “The happy Deductions I have employ’d myself to make from all the Circumstances of my Story, will abundantly make him amends for his not having the Emblem explained by the Original.” 8 Crusoe apparently intends the third volume to complement and complete the first two, to explain the conclusions he has drawn from his adventures. He emphasizes this in his introduction, where he remarks, “I Must have made very little Use of my solitary and wandering Years, if after such a Scene of Wonders, as my Life may be justly call’d, I had nothing to say, and had made no Observations which might be useful and instructing” (3:1). This third volume, then, seems to serve as a commentary on the first two: it was not designed as a completely separate work to be read for its own sake. Focusing on the neat conversion in volume 1, many critics have omitted Farther Adventures and Serious Reflections from their analyses of the Cru- soe narrative. Certainly, the island experience is the most memorable part of the story: few casual readers of volume 1 remember Friday’s tussle with a bear in the Pyrenees. Some critics of Defoe skip right past the sequels, jumping directly from The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures to Moll Flanders.9 Others dismiss the sequels: John Richetti, for example, writes that in the later volumes, Crusoe “loses our interest,” while J. Paul Hunter comments that “the two sequels . . . were published later and seem, like 1 Henry IV and 2 Henry IV, to have been separately conceived.” 10 Maximil- lian E. Novak is a notable exception, stating, “Without denying that there is much of Defoe in the work, these essays have to be regarded as part of the Crusoe fiction.” 11 There is growing critical attention to Farther Adven- tures and Serious Reflections, most recently from Kevin Seidel and John C. Traver.12 However, scholarship on Robinson Crusoe to date primarily rein- forces the idea of the Crusoe story as a self-contained literary myth by focusing only on those parts of the story that fit the structure of the conversion narrative.

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Those studies of Defoe that do cover the sequels mostly treat Serious Reflections as an afterthought. Paula R. Backscheider and Hans Turley suggest that Defoe may have believed a further explanation was necessary to clarify the moral issues raised in the first two volumes, or he might have been responding to misinterpretations, or to readers who missed the didactic message.13 Serious Reflections, however, contains only two passing references to criticism of the first volume, both of which defend the use of fiction for didactic purposes (“Preface” and 3.115 – 16). Another line of thought suggests aesthetic reasons for the third volume: Robert Markley, for example, claims the sequels “represent Defoe’s self-conscious rejection of the interlocking discourses of ‘psychological realism,’ economic self-sufficiency, and one-size-fits-all models of European colonialism.” 14 Although this may be a plausible modern reading of the two volumes, Defoe provides aggravatingly little evidence of his thinking. Novak speculates that Defoe planned Farther Adventures mainly to expand the Crusoe franchise for all it was worth, which would make sense given his generally savvy writing for profit.15 This does not, however, explain why he wrote Serious Reflections in the format he did; as Jeffrey Hopes points out, “It was a highly laborious and commercially unsuccessful way to build on the popularity of the narrative.” 16 Whatever the impetus for its publication, Serious Reflections is still part of the Crusoe story and should not be ignored. Serious Reflections expands on the ideas Crusoe has already introduced, and it attempts to reconcile some of the disparities in morality and values that are so apparent in the first two volumes. I would argue that it exposes the inconsistencies present in the other volumes by exhibiting Crusoe’s intellectual struggles more poignantly than his narrative does. An adventure/travel narrative, Farther Adventures is a very different type of fiction from the spiritual autobiography presented in The Life and Strange Surpriz- ing Adventures, and Serious Reflections helps to tie together the first two volumes by providing commentary on the events from both. The three volumes explore different aspects of Crusoe’s religious experience; while they do not necessarily have to be taken serially, they do present a logical progression from conversion, to rethinking, to doubt. If we take the trilogy as a single evolving enterprise, instead of merely looking at the first volume, we get a much more complex picture of Providence and religion.

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II. Providence in the Crusoe Trilogy Although most readers of The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures remember Crusoe’s faith and his growing confidence that God will save him, his changing concept of Providence remains unexplored. “Providence” is Crusoe’s term for “the supervising Influence and the secret Direction of the Creator,” and he chiefly uses it to refer to God’s power both in his own case and over the universe in general (3:208).17 How does Crusoe in the second volume relate his real-life religious problems to the Christian doctrine he has learned in the first volume? Over the course of the trilogy, he changes his views of Providence based on his experiences. Rich- ard A. Barney has helpfully explained Crusoe’s version of Providence as “supervisory pedagogy,” in which Crusoe “portrays his religious conversion in terms of spiritual and moral reeducation,” thereby making Providence entirely responsible for Crusoe’s thinking.18 Both G. A. Starr and Hunter have argued that volume 1 describes the conversion of a sinner to faith — or, in the words of Martin J. Greif, “a symbolic voyage from sin and folly to the gift of God’s grace attained through sincere belief in Jesus Christ.” 19 By contrast, Nicholas Hudson and Richetti, focusing on Crusoe’s waver- ing from faith to despair, read the first volume as a problematic conversion experience.20 The reason the conversion can seem both sincere and problematic is that Crusoe’s belief in Providence is highly complex. His religious struggles, particularly concerning the nature and power of Provi- dence, give rise to conflicts that drive him from the extremes of evangelical zeal to cold-blooded arson and murder. Starr argues that casuistry informs the first Crusoe volume and Defoe’s work more generally, and my analysis will expand on his to show how Crusoe’s struggles with conscience and religious morality continue in Farther Adventures and Serious Reflections.21 By analyzing Crusoe’s relationship with Providence, I hope to demonstrate how he rethinks his initial religious conversion. Although the beginning of volume 1 shows Crusoe neither practicing religion nor heeding the various warnings he receives, he never doubts the existence or omnipotence of Providence. When he first experiences a storm at sea, he promises “that if it would please God here to spare my Life this one Voyage, if ever I got once my Foot upon dry Land again, I would go directly home to my Father” (1:8). He believes that God is all-powerful, but he turns to Providence only out of fear, easily forgetting his faith when he

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feels safe (as happens when he immediately breaks his promise by staying at sea). Crusoe’s conversion is not, therefore, from unbelief to salvation: he has always been a believer and a Christian, but initially he does not demonstrate his belief through words and actions. Crusoe’s conversion in volume 1 engages several different aspects of Providence: he learns that he must repent to be saved, that he must resign himself to divine power, that fear challenges faith, and that, finally, humans play a role in a secret divine plan. His conversion is much less linear than is implied by critics who have argued that Crusoe simply accepts the omnipotence of God; even in the first volume his faith wavers considerably.22 He first begins reading the Bible after a fever-induced dream warns him that he will die if he does not repent, and he interprets his ill- ness as proof that “God’s Justice has overtaken me, and I have none to help or hear me: I rejected the Voice of Providence” (1.106). From this point Crusoe convinces himself that he should be “fully comforted in resigning myself to the Dispositions of Providence” (1:169). He doubts his faith when the discovery of the footprint brings back his fear, but he regains equilib- rium when he considers how much worse his situation might be. He uses Providence to explain the motives behind his actions. When he sees Friday about to be killed by the cannibals, Crusoe believes he “was call’d plainly by Providence to save this poor Creature’s Life” (1:240), and he declares he is “an Instrument, under Providence, to save the Life, and for ought I know, the Soul of a poor Savage” (1:261). Believing only in the general power of Providence, Crusoe first responds to Providence through his own religious practice and then sees himself as working directly for God.23 At the end of the first volume, Crusoe regards God as omnipotent, directing his actions in accordance with a secret divine plan. The beginning of Farther Adventures exhibits Crusoe’s first major doctrinal struggle, a clash between an omnipotent God and a God who relies on human agents, which he resolves temporarily by refusing any responsibility for the salvation of others. He attributes the unknown to the power of God: his wife calls his wanderlust “some secret powerful Impulse of Provi- dence upon me” (2:4), and he concludes “that it would be a kind of resist- ing Providence, if I should attempt to stay at Home” (2:12). This is a rather self-serving argument: in volume 1, he had considered his urge to travel his greatest sin, but here he excuses his “farther adventures” by claiming that Providence causes his desire.24 Providence impels Crusoe toward his fate, and he has only to follow its direction by obeying whatever signs he

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receives and living according to Christian morals.25 This lack of responsibility enables him to feel self-righteous, but others do not share his logic: for example, the shipwrecked French priest who visits the island with Cru- soe tells him that if he does not do what he can to convert the English seamen and their native wives, “All the Guilt, for the future, will lie entirely upon you” (2:148). Crusoe resigns the fate of others to Providence so he can avoid culpability for their sins, just as he had given up control of his own fate when in despair on the island in volume 1. Once he decides that God is responsible for conversion, Crusoe feels an evangelical obligation that leads him to another doctrinal conflict: if Christianity is the key to salvation, how can a merciful God damn most of the world for ignorance? This question had stymied Crusoe while still on the island in the first volume. Thinking of Friday’s ignorance of Christian- ity, he wonders “How it came to pass in the World, that the wise Gover- nour of all Things should give up any of his Creatures to such Inhuman- ity; nay, to something so much below even Brutality it self, as to devour its own Kind: But as this ended in some (at that Time fruitless) Speculations,” he gives up his questioning (1:233). On the island, he solves the problem by working to convert Friday, doing his part by saving at least one native from damnation. In the second volume, however, Crusoe’s laissez-faire attitude toward native conversion makes him dangerously dependent on a secret divine plan, so that he no longer feels any need to work toward spreading Christianity. He reasons that if God wanted the native people to be saved, he would have made them Christian. The problems Crusoe encounters in trying to create a consistent moral system become manifest midway through Farther Adventures. After leaving the island on his nephew’s ship, Crusoe so vehemently criticizes the crew for destroying a Madagascar village that he nearly causes a mutiny and is finally forced ashore in India (2:245 – 46). By the end of Farther Adventures, however, he wants to lead exactly such an attack. Seeing a village of people in Muscovy worshipping an idol, Crusoe is so incensed that he “related the Story of our Men at Madagascar, and how they burnt and sack’d the Vil- lage there, and kill’d Man, Woman and Child, for their murdering one of our Men, just as it is related before; and when I had done, I added, that I thought we ought to do so to this Village” (2:333). Crusoe’s companion dis- suades him from his murderous intentions, so he settles for burning the idol while forcing the Muscovites to watch the destruction. Has Crusoe gone mad? Throughout the scene, he makes no mention of the power of Provi-

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dence to save the Muscovites and make them Christian, and he seems to be deciding to do this of his own volition, not as an agent of a divine power. Does this mean that Providence was not acting rapidly enough, so the task of forcing them to abandon their idolatry falls upon him? Crusoe apparently thinks so. Crusoe’s unsettling attack on the Muscovite village in Farther Adven- tures thus indicates either wild inconsistency or a broader shift in his thinking from believing in an omnipotent Providence, to thinking that Provi- dence depends on human action. By aggressively stopping the Muscovites’ worship, he takes responsibility not just for saving himself and the people directly dependent on him, but for saving everyone. Acting as a vanguard for the missionaries, he does not convert the Muscovites to Christianity: he demolishes the idol and punishes them for worshipping it, but then quickly leaves them without providing any substitute for the religious practices he destroyed. As Everett Zimmerman points out, Crusoe “uses the absence of an authoritative civil order as an excuse to attack,” although there is no other need for the violence.26 The native people do not threaten Crusoe, and he receives no special sign from Providence to indicate that attacking the idol-worshippers is his duty. Markley reads this scene as “a revenge fan- tasy for the imagined insults of Dutch torturers and shrewd Chinese mer- chants,” but Crusoe gives no indication of a logical motive besides wanting simply to destroy idolatry.27 No longer merely acting as an agent of Provi- dence, as in the first volume, Crusoe takes upon himself the task of doing Providence’s work where Providence seems to neglect to provide for non- Christians, masking his violence with Christian righteousness. Crusoe never solves the second major conflict in his religious system, between a generous Providence that allows all to be saved, and a merciless Providence that has predestined most of the world to damnation. In Seri- ous Reflections, he again takes up the issue, with increased bitterness toward God:

What the Divine Wisdom has determined concerning the Souls of so many Millions, it is hard to conclude, nor is it my present Design to enquire; but this I may be allow’d here, as a remark: If they are received to Mercy in a Future State, according to the Opinion of some, as having not sin’d against saving Light, then their Ignorance and Pagan Darkness is not a Curse, but a Felicity; and there are no unhappy People in the World, but those lost among Christians, for their Sins against reveal’d Light. (3:127)

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This is not the Crusoe of The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures, who believes simply that Providence “order’d every Thing for the best” (1 :127). In Serious Reflections, Crusoe doubts that Christians are happiest in their belief in God, for the ignorance of pagans saves them from the spiritual throes true Christians must endure (as Crusoe himself did) before feeling assured of salvation. He distrusts the wisdom of a God who allows unbelievers to be happy in their lives and still perhaps enjoy the rewards of heaven, while Christians consider themselves sinners against the “reveal’d Light.” If God is merciful and the pagans are not automatically damned, they can feel happy in their lives with a confidence that Christians like Crusoe can never have. Even if the pagans are to be damned, they escape earthly sufferings of conscience because they do not know about the Christian afterlife. In Serious Reflections, Crusoe attempts to resolve his doctrinal difficul- ties by returning to the reliance on a secret divine plan he had at the beginning of Farther Adventures. He wonders why God created people who were not born true, believing Christians, but then he declares, “God alone, who for wise and righteous Reasons, because he can do nothing but what is wise and righteous, has otherwise order’d it, and that is all we can say of it” (3:168). Humans are incapable of understanding Providence, so they should simply accept God’s actions without questioning his motives. Crusoe ends his discussion of Providence with two assumptions about God: “1. That this Eternal God guides by his Providence the whole World, which he has created by his Power. 2. That this Providence manifests a particular Care over, and Concern in the governing and directing Man, the best and last created Creature on Earth” (3:207). Again, he cuts short his questioning of problems he sees in the world by attributing them all to Providence’s incompre- hensible divine plan. The “particular Care” Providence takes in “governing and directing Man” would, presumably, make unnecessary Crusoe’s efforts to convert Friday and to destroy the Muscovites’ idol. If Providence has a plan for the world, humans should pay attention to signs from Providence so that they might know how to guide their actions accordingly. In the third volume, Crusoe explains that humans have an obligation “to learn to understand the End and Design of Providence in every thing that happens, what is the Design of Providence in it, respect- ing our selves, and what our Duty to do upon the particular Occasion that offers” (3:211). To become fully converted, Crusoe believes one must pay attention to Providence, for “He that listens to the Providence of God, lis-

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tens to the Voice of God” (3:216). This is the difference between pagans and Christians: pagans, ignorant of Christianity, may or may not be saved, but only Christians can understand “the Voice of God” by correctly interpreting the actions Providence wants them to take. Since only Christians can hear the voice of God, Crusoe believes that only the environment of Christian culture can imbue people with a sense of the divine that they exhibit at key moments. At the beginning of his tale, he does not pray as a Christian or incorporate religion into his daily life, but he still turns to God for help during his first experience of a storm, and he thanks God for saving his life when he initially arrives at the island (1:52). While Crusoe stops feeling any sense of the divine as soon as the imme- diate problem disappears, he nevertheless considers the superior morality of Christians to be an absolute truth: when the crew aboard his nephew’s ship sights drifting boats in Farther Adventures, Crusoe remarks that “the Laws of God and Nature would have forbid that we should refuse to take up two Boats full of People in such a distress’d Condition” (2:26). Chris- tians understand a set of obligations to each other, a moral code that does not need to be stated, hence his later claim that “the Christian Religion always civilizes the People and reforms their Manners, where it is receiv’d, whether it works saving Effects upon them or no” (2:273). Even if he does not apply his religion to his actions, Crusoe’s English culture automatically gives him a sense of Providence that makes him more “civilized” and more knowledgeable about divine order than pagans would be. Crusoe’s belief in the power of Providence exposes disturbing challenges to the omnipotent, merciful God he worships in volume 1. Critics who have discussed Crusoe’s relationship with God have largely overlooked these contradictions. Focusing only on Crusoe’s actions in The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures, Starr concludes that Crusoe “comes to acqui- esce in what Providence determines as his lot, and to depend upon divine support and protection” (Defoe and Spiritual Autobiography, 118). Similarly, Richetti comments, “We can say that what happens is Crusoe’s conversion of God from an antagonist to an ally” (Defoe’s Narratives, 42). This explains a portion of his changing belief in the first volume, but does not fit his experience in the rest of the trilogy. Even critics who acknowledge the complexities of Crusoe’s conversion in the first volume tend to see that conversion as a linear progression, as Hunter does when he concludes that “Crusoe finds in God’s grace the power to overcome a hostile world of hun- ger and sickness, animal and human brutality” (201). This reading provides

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narrative closure, but does not account for Crusoe’s rejecting his faith in the power of Providence in the second volume. God may be able to surmount “human brutality,” but unless he agrees with Crusoe about the pagans, he certainly does not appear to exercise his “grace” when Crusoe commits acts of violence in the name of Christianity. The two main tenets about Providence that Crusoe learned in volume 1 — God is omnipotent and God favors Christians — face serious challenges in volume 2 when Crusoe real- izes that God needs human assistance and has created people whose religions are contrary to Christianity. Defoe does not seem to depict Crusoe’s inconsistencies ironically or invite us to critique his religious doctrine, but the discrepancies definitely exist across the trilogy and produce problems for him that he cannot resolve through simple faith or religious practice.

III. Religion in the Crusoe Trilogy For Crusoe, organized religion offers a higher level of religious experience than just faith in a divine being. In The Life and Strange Surprizing Adven- tures, he states that God is “the Consequence of our Nature; yet nothing but divine Revelation can form the Knowledge of Jesus Christ” (1:259). Providence, he feels, should be self-evident, but accepting Christ as a savior requires the intervention of God (and the reading of scripture). As a Prot- estant, Crusoe seems to feel that this is the best way of being Christian — yet he encounters many Catholics and pagans, forcing him to articulate his views on other religions and even to reevaluate his original condemna- tion of the Catholics in light of his positive experiences with them. How does he reconcile his religious views with his widening experience? Over the course of the three volumes, he becomes more open-minded about Catholics, but more pessimistic about the possibility of peaceful coexis- tence between Christians and pagans, enabling him, by the end of Serious Reflections, to envision a religious war against the pagans. The extremity of his religious thinking should give us serious qualms about taking Crusoe’s views for those of Defoe. At first, Crusoe largely follows the Protestant traditions of the culture in which he was raised. He has bibles and prayer books, and he keeps track of the days in order to observe Sunday (1:74). When given the opportunity of killing some cannibals, he talks himself into leaving them alone because “This would justify the Conduct of the Spaniards in all their Barbarities

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practis’d in America” (1:203).28 This is an informed statement: as Diana de Armas Wilson rightly points out, Defoe routinely wrote about colonial possibilities in Spanish South America with reference to Spanish colonization.29 Although Crusoe’s criticism of the Spanish is not necessarily aimed at their religion, he sees them as having no moral code to prevent them from slaughtering native people. He makes very clear that he does not want to be like the Catholics. For instance, at the end of the first volume, he sells his plantation and returns to England because of the Catholic presence in Brazil. He had pretended to be Catholic in order to live without persecution, but as he grows older, he “began to regret my having profess’d my self a Papist, and thought it might not be the best Religion to die with” (1:341). He states that he “had rather be deliver’d up to the Savages, and be devour’d a live, than fall into the merciless Claws of the Priests, and be carry’d into the Inquisition” (1:290). Regardless of his friendliness to the Spaniard he saves from the cannibals, the Crusoe of volume one does not like the Catholics. In Farther Adventures, however, Crusoe befriends a Catholic priest, who drastically alters his negative view of Catholics. Crusoe and the priest agree that they can talk about religion without trying to convert each other, and the priest tells him that “tho’ we differ in some of the doctrinal Articles of Religion, . . . Yet there are some general Principles in which we both agree, (viz). first, That there is a God; and that this God having given us some stated general Rules for our Service and Obedience, we ought not willingly and knowingly to offend him” (2:145). Since they both believe in the same God, they accept their dual responsibility to serve God by con- verting the native people and the unbelieving English seamen. Crusoe is perfectly willing to tolerate his friend’s differences because of their similar beliefs. In some instances, in fact, the Catholic interpretation of Christian obligations seems to Crusoe more true to scriptural dictates than the Prot- estant version. Traver makes a convincing argument that Farther Adventures “undermines the habitual identification of Crusoe’s religious experience with Protestant spirituality,” and Crusoe begins to understand Christian- ity more universally (545). After the priest explains his view of a Christian’s duty to carry out missionary work, Crusoe hugs him and exclaims, “How far . . . have I been from understanding the most essential Part of a Chris- tian! (viz.) to love the Interest of the Christian Church, and the good of

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other Mens Souls” (2:150 – 51). His support of evangelism as an imperative for all Christians creates difficulty for him when the priest proposes Cru- soe stay on the island to ensure the further conversion of the native women. Not wanting to remain on the island, Crusoe passes the task back to the priest, who accepts it joyfully (2:154). The priest fulfills his Christian duty more fully than Crusoe, who self-interestedly prefers to keep sailing with his nephew rather than become a missionary. By representing Catholics positively, Defoe effectively suggests a holistic idea of Christianity based on individual faith and virtue rather than on a specific religious practice. Once Crusoe has come to see Christian charity behind the actions of the Catholics, he allies himself with them. On leaving the island, he speaks to the English and Spanish who remain and makes “them promise, that they never would make any Distinction of Papist or Protestant, in their exhorting the Savages to turn Christians; but teach them the general Knowledge of the true God, and of their Saviour Jesus Christ” (2:194). He defines Christianity more broadly as a belief in God and Christ, rather than in an organized system of ritual and practice. As for the Spanish Inquisition, Crusoe regards it as a governmental institution, rather than as a central part of the Catholic religion. In Serious Reflections, he writes more explicitly of his universalist view of Christianity: “If all Men would be honest to the Light they have, and favourable to their Neighbours, we might hope, that how many several Ways soever, we chose to walk toward Heaven, we should all meet there at last” (3:172). Despite his idealistic belief in universal Christianity, Crusoe really tolerates Catholics and other Chris- tian groups only after his conversations with the French priest in Farther Adventures. Crusoe’s open-mindedness toward other kinds of Christians devel- ops simultaneously with an increased prejudice against pagans. In Serious Reflections, he reverses his previous position when the very idea of imitating the Spanish “Barbarities” deterred him from attacking the cannibals. Here, he defends the actions of the Spanish, claiming that the cannibalism of the native people was a crime that deserved punishment:

This Abomination God in his Providence, put an End to, by destroying those Nations from the Face of the Earth, bringing a Race of bearded Strangers upon them, cutting in Pieces Man, Woman and Child, destroying their Idols, and even the Idolatry it self by the Spaniards; who,

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however wicked in themselves, yet were in this to be esteemed Instruments in the Hand of Heaven, to execute the divine Justice, on Nations, whose Crimes were come up to a full Height, and that call’d for Vengeance. (3:248)

Rather than condemning the Spanish for their slaughter of innocent pagans, Crusoe takes a very bloody-minded view of Christian duty, prais- ing the Spanish for their massacre. He displaces any blame for this from the Spanish to “divine Justice,” for they are simply acting out the religious mandates God has given them. Crusoe not only approves of Spanish bloodshed in the New World, but he also presents it as an example of Christians acting out the will of God, which contradicts his position in the first volume, on both Catholics and cannibals. Expanding his vision of Christianity in Serious Reflections, Crusoe sets forth a detailed argument in favor of a grand religious war against hea- thenism. As he sees it, this war will be “a bloodless Conquest, to reduce the whole World to the Government of Christian Power, and so plant the Name and Knowledge of Christ Jesus among the Heathens and Maho- metans” (3:252). This war, he claims, will not actually force pagans to convert, but merely will “set open the Doors to Religion, that it may enter if Men will receive it; if they will not receive it, be that to themselves” (3:254). His plan sounds a lot like the Catholic plan for sending missionaries all over the world. Unlike the Catholics, though, Crusoe is not satisfied with peaceful Christian missions — he wants an actual war. He believes that “though we may not by Arms and Force compel Men to be religious, because if we do, we cannot make them sincere, and so by Persecution we only create Hypocrites; yet I insist that we may by Force, and that with the greatest Justice possible, suppress Paganism, and the Worship of God’s Enemy the Devil, and banish it out of the World” (3:265 – 66). Crusoe makes a subtle distinction between forced conversion and missionary work, promoting violence to eliminate paganism, and then missionary teaching to provide an adequate substitute. Although he calls his war “bloodless,” he plans to use any means necessary — including bloodshed — to eliminate non-Christian religions. Crusoe’s plan clarifies the moral justification for torching the Musco- vite idol and village in Farther Adventures: on a small scale, he was testing this idea for a religious war against “God’s Enemy the Devil.” In the case of the Muscovites, however, Crusoe’s plan hardly succeeds. Rather than realizing that their idol is a man-made creation of wood, and turning to

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the Christian God, the Muscovites form a mob with support from other villages and demand justice from the Russian governor, who barely averts a rebellion. The governor warns off Crusoe and his caravan, so they depart as quickly as possible, leaving the governor to deal with the angry Musco- vites, who nevertheless pursue Crusoe, shooting arrows at the caravan until he and his companions finally outrun them (2:338 – 39). Despite this dismal failure in teaching the Muscovites the error of their idolatry, Crusoe seems to think a similar strategy would work on a large scale for all pagans. Crusoe’s insistence on violent tactics becomes clearer in the third volume as he outlines his plan in terms of colonial expansion, making a prac- tical, economic argument in favor of Christianizing the world.30 He claims that “Europe ought to take Possession of those Shoars, without which it is manifest her Commerce is not secured; and indeed, while that Part of Africk bordering on the Sea, is in the Hands of Robbers, Pyrates cannot be secur’d. . . . This, I say, makes such a War not only just on a religious Account, but both just and necessary upon a civil Account” (3:268 – 69). Crusoe sees his religious war as akin to the Spanish conquest in South America, and he connects Christianity with European economic success, as though they were the same colonial objective. The pagans of the Ameri- cas are no better or worse than the “Pyrates” off the coast of Africa, and both can be conquered by the same means — by conversion to a Christian, European way of life. Crusoe’s connection between religion and econom- ics becomes even clearer in light of comments such as “Rich Men are their Maker’s Free-holders; they enjoy freely the Estate he has given them the Possession of, with all the Rents, Profits, and Emoluments, but charg’d with a free Farm Rent to the younger Children of the Family, namely the Poor” (3:21). Not only does this statement link economic success with moral sanctity, it also justifies Crusoe’s constant search for wealth, even at the cost of abandoning sinners on his island without any real attempt to save them.31 Providence controls wealth, like everything else. Crusoe advocates accepting whatever Providence gives, and if Providence chooses to bestow a huge Brazilian plantation on a deserving Christian, so much the better. By making charity the obligation of the rich, and Providence the source of gain, Crusoe can rationalize his perpetual quest for wealth. Similarly, he can justify his colonial plans for European world supremacy by claiming the virtue of religious imperialism. Crusoe’s increasing support for a religious war against the pagans is a symptom of his growing hostility toward them over the course of his nar-

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rative. Where in the first volume the chief religious dichotomy is between Protestants and Catholics, by the end of the third volume, Crusoe sees the split occurring between Christians and pagans. Although he always con- demns cannibalism, in volume 1, after he adopts Friday, he concludes that God “has bestow’d upon them [the pagans] the same Powers, the same Reason, the same Affections, the same Sentiments of Kindness and Obli- gation, the same Passions and Resentments of Wrongs, the same Sense of Gratitude, Sincerity, Fidelity, and all the Capacities of doing Good, and receiving Good, that he has given to us” (1:248). While Crusoe never goes so far as to promote the “noble savage” idea that would be popularized in natural-man philosophies of the mid eighteenth century, he does see Fri- day as a human being with intellectual and moral capabilities on a par with his own. In Farther Adventures, Crusoe loses the tolerance for pagans he devel- oped from his contact with Friday in the first volume. His friendship with the priest had led him to develop a more charitable view of Catholics than he had held before, as we have seen, and he transfers the hatred he formerly felt for the Spanish onto the pagans. According to Turley, “The repressed violence that Crusoe had shown toward the cannibals in Robinson Crusoe [volume 1] in the years before he rescued Friday is unleashed by Friday’s death” (145). This does not sufficiently explain the motivation for Crusoe’s religious war: his crusade against pagan religions is more ideological than vengeful. The native people he encounters in Farther Adventures are not all cannibals, but he treats them as though they were actively working against Christianity. His reactions to the Asian cultures he meets are even more extreme: by the time he lands in China, he declares bitterly that “the Con- version as they call it, of the Chineses to Christianity, is so far from the true Conversion requir’d, to bring Heathen People to the Faith of Christ, that it seems to amount to little more, than letting them know the Name of Christ, and say some Prayers to the Virgin Mary, and her Son, in a Tongue which they understand not” (2:288 – 89). As Markley argues, Farther Adven- tures “depicts and seeks to counter nightmare visions of an embattled Eng- lish identity in a hostile world,” and the negative depiction of China indicates larger worries about England’s place as a colonial power (Far East, 178). Crusoe’s hostility to the Chinese, therefore, has a global significance that goes beyond his general aggression against pagans. He has little faith in the ability of pagans to convert of their own volition, which may, in his

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mind, justify using violence to conquer them. This is the same attitude he has in Serious Reflections, where he describes the Chinese people as “doing their Reverence not to the Work of Mens Hands only, but the ugliest, bas- est, frightfullest things that Man could make,” one of which he calls “a kind of celestial Hedge-hog” (3:135, 137). As Crusoe becomes more accepting of variations in Christian practice, he becomes much less tolerant of other religions. Looking at Crusoe’s religious experience, we can see four serious issues at the end of volume 1 that challenge the standard explanation that his conversion is complete: (1) He believes in an omnipotent God, but this God depends on human agents for power; (2) His merciful God has doomed the innocent pagans from birth; (3) His God favors Christians but grants the pagans a happy ignorance of damnation; (4) His God, whose divine plan created the world, also allows cannibalism to continue unpunished. Unable to reconcile the contradictions implicit in these beliefs, Crusoe proposes a religious crusade against the pagans in the second volume. In the third volume, Crusoe’s argument, without irony, in favor of a genocidal religious war does not mean we should criticize him from a modern stand- point. Instead, we should see Defoe as using a fictional character to explore Christian theology in daring and original ways.

IV. “Crusoe/Defoe” and the Problem of the Narrator What is Defoe’s purpose in presenting Crusoe’s religious beliefs as changing and contradictory? Many scholars have read Crusoe as though he were a mouthpiece for Defoe; we have little direct evidence of Defoe’s religious views, so the fairly straightforward conversion narrative of volume 1 is often taken as a welcome piece of evidence for Defoe’s belief in God.32 Watt con- tended in 1957 that while Crusoe is clearly a fictitious character, his narrative “fits in very well with much of what we know of Defoe’s outlook and aspirations” (90).33 Yet many of our assumptions about Defoe’s religious ideas come from the first Crusoe volume. Starr’s argument that Crusoe’s initial conversion follows the tradition of spiritual autobiographies further blurs the distinction between narrator and author by mingling fictional and nonfictional texts. This has led some later scholars, including Pat Rogers, Backscheider, and Novak, to treat the novel as though it were a spiritual

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autobiography, albeit expressed through a fictional character. Reading the trilogy as though it expresses Defoe’s personal religious struggles implies that Defoe presents contradictory religious ideas because he, like Crusoe, was confused. Scholars writing critically about Defoe’s fiction, such as Zimmerman, David Blewett, and Michael M. Boardman, have been careful to distin- guish between Crusoe and Defoe in order to emphasize Defoe’s adept handling of a fictional voice — but these studies largely focus on the first Crusoe volume, not the sequels. Except for Turley and Markley, the few scholars who have paid serious attention to the third volume have read it apart from the Crusoe story, as though Defoe, not Crusoe, were the speaker. Backscheider asserts, “In writing of Crusoe’s experiences, Defoe drew upon his own emotions and created symbolic parallels,” though in fact we really have no evidence for Defoe’s “own emotions” outside of his writings (Daniel Defoe, 414). Novak cites Serious Reflections as a source for what “Defoe believed in,” taking the fictional narrator’s viewpoint for that of his author, and elsewhere describes the narrator as “Crusoe/Defoe.” 34 In his introduction to the 2008 Pickering and Chatto edition of Defoe’s novels, Starr argues, “Much of the Preface comes across plausibly as Crusoe’s, but parts of it are spoken in a voice, or express a point of view, that seems to be Defoe’s rather than Crusoe’s.” 35 He then reads the rest of Serious Reflections as an expression of Defoe’s own views. Watt, Novak, and Starr all refer to “Robinson Crusoe’s Preface” to volume 3, in which the narrator states “I Robinson Crusoe . . . do affirm, that the Story, though Allegorical, is also Historical,” which they read to mean that Crusoe is an allegory for the historical Defoe. In fact, this preface is ostensibly by Crusoe, the fictional narrator, who claims that his tale is “historical” in the fictional world of his life, not the exterior world of Defoe. The conflation of narrator and author is a problematic issue.36 I argue that we should read Serious Reflections as an imaginative work of fiction, not a representation of Defoe’s religious thoughts. The narrator adamantly maintains that he is Crusoe, signing his name as such and refer- ring to his adventures from a first-person point of view. While he does add anecdotes that are new to Serious Reflections, Crusoe also repeatedly uses examples from the experiences he describes in the first two volumes to support the moral ideas he presents in the third. In “A Vision of the Angelick World,” for example, he recalls the “abundance of strange Notions of my seeing Apparitions” while on the island, such as his encounter with the

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dying goat in the cave and some instances when his parrot, Poll, fright- ened him in the dark (“Vision,” 6 – 9). The premise for the first essay, “Of Solitude,” is “the Life of a Man in an Island” (3:1). In addition to his island adventure, Crusoe’s encounters with the native people serve as the basis for philosophical musing, and he often refers to various stages of his religious self-education that appeared in the other volumes. His first example of an honest person is the captain’s widow who gave him the bibles in volume 1 (3:19), and he declares that his knowledge of pagans comes from his obser- vation “that in all the Voyages and Travels which I have employ’d two Vol- umes in giving a Relation of, I never set my Foot in a Christian Country” (3:126). All the personal information the narrator provides refers to elements of Crusoe’s life as described in the first two volumes. Like the personal details from Crusoe’s voyages, the topical references in Serious Reflections derive from Crusoe’s supposed lifetime in the mid seventeenth century, not from Defoe’s experience two generations later. Defoe’s name did not appear on the title pages of the Crusoe volumes until 1781, so his contemporary readers may not have known much of his connection with Crusoe: for most of the eighteenth century, he was “famous for politics and poetry, but especially the former” — not for novels or didactic writing, as we might presume.37 Besides “the bloody intestine Wars in the Years 1640 to 1656” (3:174), Crusoe gives an anecdote from “when Prince Vandemont commanded the confederate Army in Flanders, the same Cam- paign that King William was besieging Namure” (3:222), and even adds a footnote claiming, “This was all Written in King William’s Reign and refers to that Time” (3:91).38 While such a note might be a fictional ploy, a more likely explanation is that the text refers to Crusoe’s life, just as it claims, rather than Defoe’s. The best evidence against interpreting Crusoe as Defoe appears in the two later volumes, where Crusoe’s changing religious ideas are quite far from the little we can safely assume about Defoe’s beliefs based on his other writings and life. Defoe himself, as far as we know, was a Dissenter, fiercely anti-Catholic, and interested in colonization only so far as it was profit- able for investors. His Dissenting views are well established: he received an education from Charles Morton’s dissenting academy at Newington Green, and wrote pieces criticizing the Anglican Church.39 Defoe wrote anti-Catholic propaganda both before and after the Crusoe trilogy, and he was vehemently opposed to the return of the Pretender, so we can assume he opposed Catholicism as antithetical to Protestantism.40 Defoe’s argu-

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ments about colonial trade support investment rather than exploration and colonization.41 The persona he adopts in the Crusoe trilogy is a real outlier compared to the personas in his other works. Crusoe, as I have tried to show here, differs from Defoe in all of these points. He is Protestant, but as far he tells us, he does not subscribe to a particular sect, Anglican, Dissenting, or otherwise. Moreover, he vehemently opposes conflicts between Protestant factions, and, after meet- ing the priest in Farther Adventures, he extends this to factions within all Christianity. Although in volume 1 he has few good things to say about Catholics, in volume 2 he learns to accept them as fellow Christians, and in volume 3, he counts them among his allies in his religious war against pagans. Having made his fortune in Brazil, Crusoe presumably favors colonization for financial gain, which would be consistent with what we know of Defoe’s views, but the plan Crusoe outlines in Serious Reflections uses colonization to Christianize the world from a moral rather than an economic imperative — the economic benefits merely help justify his scheme. In short, Crusoe enunciates views on religion absent from Defoe’s other writings. Crusoe is manifestly not Defoe — and this severely limits the extent to which we can attempt to derive Defoe’s own attitudes from the text. We have no evidence that Defoe was trying to represent his own religious ideas in fiction. If Defoe is not using Crusoe as a fictional mouthpiece, but instead is exploring religious ideas through the medium of fiction, what purposes might he have for promoting ideas that differ so widely from each other? He may simply have been interested in spiritual struggle: Defoe took up religious and moral themes in works of varying lengths throughout his literary career.42 Similarly, he may have been exploring the narrative poten- tial of fiction to detail the changing religious experience of a person. Essays cannot show internal change over time the way a narrative can, and dia- logues do not allow for interior monologue as fiction does. The desire to appeal to a broad audience might account for Crusoe’s refusal to differen- tiate among branches of Protestantism: not wanting to limit his readers to those who follow a given creed, Defoe may have deliberately avoided taking sides on religious debate. Most significantly, the nature of Crusoe’s inconsistencies indicates that Defoe may have wanted to expose doctrinal contradictions through fiction without touching on any points that would cause an actual outcry. The publication of the three volumes coincides both

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with serious religious debate about Protestant practice and with the widening sphere of English trade and influence.43 I would like briefly to address two other possible explanations that might account for Crusoe’s religious inconsistencies as I have outlined here: that Farther Adventures was an attempt to replicate the spiritual autobiography model of The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures, or that Defoe was severely careless about how he depicted Crusoe’s religion across the three volumes. Both of these explanations seem to me possible, but implausible. The account of Crusoe’s conversion in part 1 is progressive and logical, though he does have several false starts, and sometimes backslides on his path to faith; by the end, he seems content about his spiritual transforma- tion. This change is, in fact, a crucial element of the spiritual autobiography. If Defoe wanted to repeat this sort of narrative, he would have to start over with a new character — as he does in works like Moll Flanders and Col- onel Jack. Crusoe’s religious thinking in Farther Adventures actually makes him less spiritual than he was at the beginning — so if this was supposed to be a spiritual autobiography like the first volume, it fails spectacularly. The second explanation, that Defoe was careless, seems possible, but also unlikely. He was sometimes inconsistent about political topics, but he rarely contradicted himself when writing on subjects where he had con- victions. To think that he would depict one perspective of Providence and religion in the first part of the trilogy with such assurance that it is presented as self-evident, and then radically contradict these views less than a year later with Farther Adventures, seems improbable. There are certainly some internal inconsistencies in the narrative elements of the work (such as Crusoe stuffing biscuits in his pockets shortly after taking off all his clothes to swim to his ship). The opinions that he voices, however, are logical and make sense linearly within the narrative: his economic motivations before he lands on the island, for example, demonstrate the increasing ambition for wealth we see in the first volume. There is no reason to think that Defoe was less consistent across the three volumes. Defoe did write in a hurry and was sometimes sloppy, but, as I have argued here, he more likely crafted Crusoe’s changing religious experience both deliberately and purposely — not to replicate his own thoughts and beliefs, but to use fiction to explore spiritual understanding. Crusoe’s rethinking of what he believed in volume 1 indicates that the conversion experience of The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures is ulti-

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mately incompatible with the exigencies of real life — and thus we should not read the first volume as a complete picture of a successful conversion. Modern critics seem to assume that Crusoe’s religious ideas in the first volume are exemplary and instructive, but the radical changes in his thinking that we see in the following volumes belie this argument, and indicates that we should read the first volume with some degree of skepticism. Kevin Seidel argues that “Defoe did write Robinson Crusoe with a purposeful, sus- tained irony” (166). I would suggest, instead, that the first volume is simply incomplete in depicting religious experience and conversion, and that it is sincere, not ironic, in depicting Crusoe’s initial turn to faith. His reevalu- ation of his original simplistic belief in Providence indicates his ongoing spiritual struggle with continual challenges to his faith. We can read the first volume alone as a serious representation of a simple conversion to faith, but the two later volumes depict the difficulty of maintaining the position of absolute faith when confronted with real-world problems. If we accept that Crusoe in the latter volumes holds views of religion quite dissimi- lar and even at times antithetical to what he originally believes, then we can see that Defoe’s overall fictional project is considerably more ambitious than we have previously acknowledged. Far from merely using a persona to voice his own ideas, Defoe was using fiction to explore a variety of religious experiences — and perhaps even to expose and critique the concept of a simple religious conversion from sinner to believer.

Notes I am grateful to Robert D. Hume, Kathryn Hume, Philip Jenkins, Marshall Brown, Ashley Marshall, David Wallace Spielman, Patricia Gael, and Nicholas A. Joukovsky for their helpful advice and comments on drafts of this article. An oral version of this article was presented at the first Daniel Defoe Society Conference in Tulsa in September, 2009.

1. For influential readings of Robinson Crusoe as a narrative of conversion and the progressive acceptance of God, see Maximillian E. Novak, Defoe and the Nature of Man (Oxford: Oxford Univ., 1963); G. A. Starr, Defoe and Spiritual Autobiography (Princeton: Princeton Univ., 1965); and J. Paul Hunter, The Reluctant Pilgrim: Defoe’s Emblematic Method and Quest for Form in “Robinson Crusoe” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univ., 1966). 2. [Daniel Defoe], The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York, Mariner: Who lived Eight and Twenty Years, all alone in an un-inhabited Island on the Coast of America, near the Mouth of the Great River of

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Oroonoque (London: W. Taylor, 1719). Since I am discussing a trilogy, of which this is volume 1, I will refer parenthetically to the pertinent volume and page numbers for the rest of this article. 3. The most widely known are Michel Tournier’s Vendredi, ou les limbes du Pacifique (1967) and J. M. Coetzee’s Foe (1986), but the story has had a considerable afterlife in written, televised, and cinematic versions. 4. The year after the first volume was published, Charles Shadwell described its plot in the prologue to his play Rotherick O’Connor, King of Connaught, saying “What need you, for a Tale, so high to go, / Said I, have you not Robinson Crusoe? / There Incidents in full Perfection flow, / (Such a Dramatick, is the fam’d De Foe).” See Shadwell, Five New Plays . . . As they are Acted at the Theatre-Royal in Dublin (London: A. Bettesworth and J. Graves, 1720), 214 – 15. By 1723, the Crusoe story was so famous that Jane Barker, in A Patch-Work Screen for the Ladies; or, Love and Virtue Recommended: In a Collection of Instructive Novels (London: E. Curll and T. Payne, 1723), wrote in her address “To the Reader” for a collection of her own fiction, “I doubt my Reader will say, Why so long about it? And why a History reduc’d into Patches? especially since Histories at Large are so Fashionable in this Age; viz. Robinson Crusoe, and Moll Flanders” (iv). 5. Ian Watt, “Robinson Crusoe as a Myth,” Essays in Criticism 1 (1951): 95 – 119; the quotation is on 96. 6. For an account of how volumes 2 and 3 were eliminated from popular and critical discourse, see Melissa Free, “Un-Erasing Crusoe: Farther Adventures in the Nineteenth Century,” Book History 9 (2006): 89 – 130. Robert Markley, in “Aesthetico-Constructivism: Farther Adventures in Criticism,” Philological Quarterly 86 (2007): 291 – 314, offers a convincing explanation that volume 2 does not receive critical attention because of “the disciplinary tendency to invest only in canonical texts . . . with the power to reshape self and society” (307). 7. [Daniel Defoe], The Farther Adventures of Robinson Crusoe; Being the Second and Last Part of his Life, and of the Strange Surprizing Accounts of his Travels Round three Parts of the Globe. Written by Himself (London: W. Taylor, 1719). This is volume 2 of the Crusoe trilogy. 8. [Daniel Defoe], Serious Reflections during the Life and Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe: with his Vision of the Angelick World (London: W. Taylor, 1720), volume 3 of the Crusoe trilogy. 9. See, for example, Everett Zimmerman, Defoe and the Novel (Berkeley: Univ. of California, 1975); David Blewett, Defoe’s Art of Fiction: Robinson Crusoe, Moll Flanders, Colonel Jack, and Roxana (Toronto: Univ. of Toronto, 1979); and Michael M. Boardman, Defoe and the Uses of Narrative (New Brunswick: Rutgers Univ., 1983). 10. John Richetti, Defoe’s Narratives: Situations and Structures (Oxford: Oxford Univ., 1975), 62. Hunter, Reluctant Pilgrim, ixn2. 11. Maximillian E. Novak, Daniel Defoe: Master of Fictions: His Life and Ideas (Oxford: Oxford Univ., 2001), 562. 12. Kevin Seidel, “Robinson Crusoe as Defoe’s Theory of Fiction,” Novel 44 (2011): 165 – 85, and John C. Traver, “Defoe, Unigenitus, and the ‘Catholic’ Crusoe,”

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Studies in English Literature 1500 – 1900 51 (2011): 545 – 63. For an analysis of the first volume with some mention of the sequels, see Michael Seidel, “Robinson Crusoe: Varieties of Fictional Experience,” in The Cambridge Companion to Daniel Defoe, ed. John Richetti (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ., 2008), 182 – 99. 13. Paula R. Backscheider, Daniel Defoe: His Life (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univ., 1989), 414, and Hans Turley, Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash: Piracy, Sexuality, and Masculine Identity (New York: New York Univ., 1999), 130. The chief negative response was Charles Gildon’s parody, The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Mr. D —— De F —, of London, Hosier, who Has liv’d above fifty Years by himself, in the Kingdoms of North and South Britain . . . In a Dialogue between Him, Robinson Crusoe, and his Man Friday (London: J. Roberts, 1719). 14. Robert Markley, “ ‘I Have Now Done with My Island, and All Manner of Discourse about It’: Crusoe’s Farther Adventures and the Unwritten History of the Novel,” in A Companion to the Eighteenth-Century English Novel and Culture, ed. Paula R. Backscheider and Catherine Ingrassia (Malden: Blackwell, 2005), 25 – 47; the quotation is on 26. 15. Novak, Master of Fictions, 556. For a similar statement, see Ian Watt, The Rise of the Novel: Studies in Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding (Berkeley: Univ. of California, 1957), 89. 16. Jeffrey Hopes, “Real and Imaginary Stories: Robinson Crusoe and the Serious Reflections,” Eighteenth-Century Fiction 8 (1996): 313 – 28; the quotation is on 314. Hopes reads Serious Reflections as a response to Charles Gildon’s criticism of Robinson Crusoe. 17. Crusoe’s definition of Providence, particularly his belief in a secret divine plan, is typical of Protestant thinking in the seventeenth century. See Alexandra Walsham, Providence in Early Modern England (Oxford: Oxford Univ., 1999), 8 – 64. 18. Richard A. Barney, Plots of Enlightenment: Education and the Novel in Eighteenth-Century England (Stanford: Stanford Univ., 1999), 225 and 229. 19. Martin J. Greif, “The Conversion of Robinson Crusoe,” Studies in English Literature 6 (1966): 551 – 74; the quotation is from 551 – 52. Starr, in Defoe and Spiritual Autobiography, presents a classic reading of this sort, and Hunter, in Reluctant Pilgrim, argues that “Robinson Crusoe is structured on the basis of a familiar Christian pattern of disobedience-punishment-repentance-deliverance” (19). 20. Nicholas Hudson, “Secular Crusoe: The Reluctant Pilgrim Re-Visited,” in Eighteenth-Century Genre and Culture: Serious Reflections on Occasional Forms: Essays in Honor of J. Paul Hunter, ed. Dennis Todd and Cynthia Wall (Newark: Univ. of Delaware, 2001), 58 – 78, especially 63. See also Hudson, “ ‘Why God No Kill the Devil?’ The Diabolical Disruption of Order in Robinson Crusoe,” Review of English Studies n.s. 39 (1988): 494 – 501. 21. Starr, Defoe and Casuistry (Princeton: Princeton Univ., 1971). 22. See, for example, Backscheider’s argument, in Daniel Defoe, that “Crusoe’s repentance and ultimate salvation is assured” (418) from his recognition of his own sinning in volume one. For a similar position, see also Michael McKeon, The Origins of the English Novel, 1600 – 1740 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Univ., 1987), 323.

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23. On Crusoe’s rationalization of this in volume 1, see Daniel E. Ritchie, “Robinson Crusoe as Narrative Theologian,” Renascence 49 (1997): 95 – 110, especially 106. 24. For a reading of desire as the driving force behind all of Crusoe’s actions (religious, sexual, and economic), see Turley, Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash, 128 – 58. 25. This is not to say that Crusoe believed fate and Providence were the same; fate is only one aspect of Providence. See Starr, Defoe and Spiritual Autobiography, 86n16. 26. Everett Zimmerman, “Robinson Crusoe and No Man’s Land,” Journal of English and Germanic Philology 102 (2003): 506 – 29; the quotation is on 519. 27. Robert Markley, The Far East and the English Imagination, 1600 – 1730 (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ., 2006), 202. 28. For a detailed analysis of Crusoe’s conflicting views on cannibalism in the first volume, see Carol Houlihan Flynn, The Body in Swift and Defoe (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ., 1990), 149 – 59. On the same topic see also McKeon, Origins of the Novel, 329 – 31; Backscheider, Daniel Defoe; 417, John Richetti, The English Novel in History, 1700 – 1780 (London: Routledge, 1999), 68; and Novak, Master of Fictions, 560 – 61. 29. Diana de Armas Wilson, Cervantes, the Novel, and the New World (Oxford: Oxford Univ., 2000), 64 – 65. 30. Postcolonial critics have focused on volumes 1 and 2. See, for example, Edith W. Clowes, “The Robinson Myth Reread in Postcolonial and Postcommunist Modes,” Critique 36 (1995): 145 – 49; Brett C. McInelly, “Expanding Empires, Expanding Selves: Colonialism, the Novel, and Robinson Crusoe,” Studies in the Novel 35 (2003): 1 – 21; Christopher F. Loar, “How to Say Things with Guns: Military Technology and the Politics of Robinson Crusoe,” Eighteenth-Century Fiction 19 (2006 – 07): 1 – 20; and Daniel Carey, “Reading Contrapuntally: Robinson Crusoe, Slavery, and Postcolonial Theory,” in The Postcolonial Enlightenment: Eighteenth- Century Colonialism and Postcolonial Theory, ed. by Carey and Lynn Festa (Oxford: Oxford Univ., 2009), 105 – 36. 31. This linking of economic success with moral sanctity was not, by any means, unique to Crusoe or Defoe, but was “an historical commonplace.” See James Egan, “Crusoe’s Monarchy and the Puritan Concept of the Self,” Studies in English Literature 1500 – 1900 13 (1973): 451 – 60, especially 458. 32. See Novak, Master of Fictions, 135, on the difficulty of pinning down Defoe’s religious ideas. 33. For similar statements, see Alan Dugald McKillop, The Early Masters of English Fiction (Lawrence: Univ. of Kansas, 1956), 19; Pat Rogers, Robinson Crusoe (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1979), 74; and Paula R. Backscheider’s entry on “Daniel Defoe (1660? – 1731),” in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: Oxford Univ., 2004). 34. Novak, Realism, Myth, and History in Defoe’s Fiction (Lincoln: Univ. of Nebraska, 1983), 102, and Novak, “Defoe as an Innovator of Fictional Form,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Eighteenth-Century Novel, ed. John Richetti (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ., 1996), 41 – 71, especially 50.

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35. “Introduction,” Serious Reflections during the Life and Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe (1720), ed. G. A. Starr, The Novels of Daniel Defoe, ed. W. R. Owens and P. N. Furbank, 10 vols. (London: Pickering and Chatto, 2008), 3:1 – 47; the quotation is on 3. 36. For a recent discussion of the problems of inferring biographical information about Defoe from his novels, made all the more problematic by the difficulty of demonstrating his authorship of many novels generally assumed to be in the Defoe canon, see Ashley Marshall, “Fabricating Defoes: From Anonymous Hack to Master of Fictions,” Eighteenth-Century Life 36.2 (2012): 1 – 35. 37. Daniel Defoe, The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. In Two Volumes. By Daniel Defoe (London: Harrison and Co., 1781) is the first edition to include Defoe’s name on the title page. Earlier editions either name no author on the title page or claim the Crusoe trilogy is “by Himself,” meaning Crusoe. This is also the first edition to call the narrative a “novel.” Few eighteenth-century texts link Defoe to Crusoe until long after his death in 1731: see, for example, the passing reference to “the bower of Robinson Crusoe, so well describ’d by the elaborate Daniel Defoe,” in Edward Kimber, The Juvenile Adventures of David Ranger, Esq; from An original Manuscript found in the Collections of a late Noble Lord, 2nd ed., 2 vols., (London: P. Stevens, 1757), 2:71. See “De Foe” in A New and General Biographical Dictionary, 11 vols. (London: T. Osborne and others, 1761 – 62), 4:69 – 72, for a standard eighteenth-century view, describing “The True Born Englishman” in detail but only briefly mentioning Crusoe. 38. This is not to say that Defoe was always careful with his chronology; toward the end of Serious Reflections, he refers to “the late Battel at Belgrade” (3:250), which occurred in 1717 when the fictional Crusoe would have been nearly ninety years old, and also to “the late King of Sweden Charles XII” (3:153), who died in 1718. Still, virtually all of the world events cited in Serious Reflections are supposed to be from Crusoe’s firsthand knowledge, from the mid seventeenth century, and several important events of the early eighteenth century, such as the War of the Spanish Succession or the reign of Queen Anne, do not appear. 39. On Defoe as a Dissenter, see Backscheider, Daniel Defoe, 13 – 21; Novak, Master of Fictions, 40 – 46, 135 – 38, 263 – 64, 522 – 25; and Ashley Marshall, “Daniel Defoe as Satirist,” Huntington Library Quarterly 70 (2007): 553 – 76, especially 558 – 59. Evidence of Dissenting views can be found in The Character of the Late Dr. Samuel Annesley, by way of Elegy (London: E. Whitlock, 1697); An Enquiry into the Occasional Conformity of Dissenters, in Cases of Preferment (London, 1698); and An Enquiry into Occasional Conformity (London, 1702). 40. For anti-Catholic sentiments, see The Danger of the Protestant Religion Consider’d (London, 1701); A Seasonable Warning and Caution against the Insinuations of Papists and Jacobites (London: J. Baker, 1712); and And What if the Pretender Should Come? (London: J. Baker, 1713). On Defoe as anti-Catholic, see Hudson, “Why God No Kill the Devil?,” 499; Egan, “Crusoe’s Monarchy,” 456; Raymond D. Tumbleson, “ ‘Family Religion’: Popery in Defoe’s Domestic Regime,” Genre 28 (1995): 255 – 78; Novak, Master of Fictions, 450, 590, and 667; and Marshall, “Defoe as Satirist,” 557 – 58.

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41. For Defoe’s views on trade, see The Letters of Daniel Defoe, ed. George Harris Healey (Oxford: Oxford Univ., 1955), letters 166, 168, 170, and 171. For critical assessments, see P. N. Furbank and W. R. Owens, “Defoe’s ‘South-Sea’ and ‘North-Sea’ Schemes: A Footnote to A New Voyage Round the World,” Eighteenth- Century Fiction 13 (2001): 501 – 08, and J. R. Moore, “Defoe and the South Sea Company,” Boston Public Library Quarterly 5 (1953): 175 – 88. 42. For example, see Royal Religion; Being some Enquiry after the Piety of Princes (London, 1704); Giving Alms no Charity (London, 1704), and The Family Instructor (London: E. Matthews, 1715). 43. The first Crusoe volume appeared just four years after the Jacobite rebellion in Scotland seriously threatened the dominance of Protestantism in Britain. Carla Gardina Pestana, in Protestant Empire: Religion and the Making of the British Atlantic World (Philadelphia: Univ. of Pennsylvania, 2009), explains the combination of religious evangelism and secular trade (159 – 86).

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