Religion and Ritual

This book does provide a lens into the idea of mysticism and the Catholic Church's was against heresy in the African provinces. The biggest misnomer of the imperial governments that carved up Africa was that the inhabitants of Africa were heathens lacking any knowledge because they did not subscribe to the same ideas of religion as the Europeans. What Thornton shows us is that prior to Catholic conversion the Kongolese people did in fact have their own religions, governments and laws. Thornton also gives the reader insight into how the Kongolese people took Catholicism and made it their own much as other Africans did when they were exposed to other forms of religion.

The one person that I was at odds with throughout the entire book was Father Marcellino, who had no respect for the rituals of the Kongolese people. He seemed to come form a place of superiority rather than the humility expected of a monk. His insistence on the King of the Kong removing his mpu stating that if he did not take it off he would be "a heretic, a Jew, and not a Catholic Christian if he does not submit and disobeys by keeping his head covered" (p.66). Much as this priest would not insist on the King of Spain removing his crown, he saw no issue with disrespecting this man. I believe that this is just a small incident but it is one inherent to the colonization of Africa and the disregard that Europeans had for the native people and their rituals.

The possession of Dona Beatriz by Saint Anthony which creates this religious movement was one in a series of possession narratives from this time period. Her illness, "death" and resurrection follows the path that Jesus took and is indicative to the idea that she had become Saint Anthony. The idea of possession either good or evil is a topic that has fascinated people for centuries, and Dona Beatriz's possession is just one of many. The thing I believe that makes her unique is that the movement Antonian movement that was created became quite large whereas in other procession stories the person possessed usually is an outcast with a very small following.

I enjoyed the book and its narrative style made it easy to read and follow even though the story line is not specifically about Dona Beatriz. Instead the main themes seem to be Catholicism and the government of the Kongo rather that Dona Beatriz possession by Saint Anthony and the Antonian movement. But I do believe that it provides the reader a lens to look though that gives a better understanding of late 16th century Kongo and its inhabitants.

Thornton, Trouillot, Hollywood, and Morality? (A Rambling)

The Kongolese Saint Anthony: Dona Beatriz Kimpa Vita and the Antonian Movement, 1684-1706 by John Thornton touches on many varying historical themes that has made it hard for me to focus this post on one thing in particular. As a result, this post may be a bit more of a ramble than I intend, however that’s because I find a lot can be said. In my opinion, his purpose was to render an interesting read while at the same time enlightening the reader as to the ‘other side’ of the slave trade. What were the conditions that led to the mass enslavement by Europeans and who were these people? Judging by Thornton’s introduction and conclusion, it would appear that slavery is central to the books narrative, however after reading it the theme seems to take a backseat. It’s also not really even about Dona Beatriz, for her life is only a small fraction of the topics covered. I suppose then we must ask ourselves, as we have with the other works, what is the purpose and importance of the work?

Perhaps this is where microhistories shine. Many, if not all, of the ones we have read focus on the ‘outliers’. Those who cannot speak for themselves and thus must be given voice through other means. Those, as Michel Trouillot would put it, have been silenced.  The peasants, women, Africans, unorthodox, Blacks, poor, and “inconsequential” shine through the microhistories we have read. These authors have draped a thematic vale over their work so thin that in some cases it’s easy to miss. Applying ‘larger’ historical questions to their minute narratives yet ever so slightly nudging the reader in that direction rather than leading them up to the alter. This has made me wonder, are microhistories simply the historically professionalization of Hollywood methodology? Beyond the simple narrative structure, Hollywood has a history of attempting to apply large themes to small stories, yet many times crossing over into ‘Great Man History’ or biography. The story of Dona Beatriz reminded me heavily of the 2009 film Agora with Rachel Weisz. Both tell this story of great transition, an outspoken women, the confrontation of Old World Paganism and rise of Christianity, class, and civil war. The main difference being the professional scholarly integrity of the works we have read, which is big enough of a difference in my opinion to warrant them differently, yet the methodology of conveying the ‘thesis’ is still very similar.

Thornton’s work heavily reminded me of Michel Trouillot and his work Silencing the Past: The Power and Production of History. Both are American historians who write about the silenced in history. Whereas Thornton’s specialization is in African History, Trouillot is Haitian. Both write for an American audience in trying to influence popular conception of their respective historical specialties. They are trying to instill a connection in the (Presumably American or European) reader so they have a better understanding of a specific time and place in history. Thornton’s assumed supplementary reading for the reader appears to me to be a general textbook understanding of Kongonese, and slave trade, history. He attempts to create a connection between the reader and the Kongonese common folk, including but not limited to Dona Beatriz. This is most palpable in his utilization of Christianity as sort of a ‘free play’ card. In the introduction he even states how surprised the reader may be that the Kongonese people were heavily Christian. In some ways it feels initially like low-hanging fruit in creating such a relationship, however as the story progresses its importance becomes immediately relevant. Religion was a huge factor in these events and further illustrates the spring of his sources. Again, the silenced speak to us through those who haven’t been, in this case the Europeans and Italian Capuchin.

  
With the religious overtones comes an interesting aspect of Thornton’s work that I haven’t really noticed in the other works we read. There seemed to be a sort of para-religious moral overtone to it. The themes of greed, corruption, humanism, and altruism seep deep into the work in ways our other authors have not. (Thornton, 53-54, 138) Part of this must come from the conclusions of Thornton’s religious sources. But if this is the case, he seems to lack or consciously ignore the historical filter perhaps in an attempt to tailor towards general audience’s interests. I feel as if it goes beyond this, I feel that if Thornton’s sources did introduce such moral overtones, he ultimately made them his own. At times, in regards to the moral overtones, it seemed as if I was reading a piece written by an ancient Greek historians rather than one of the 21^st century. Thornton’s personal standpoint is anything but opaque. Perhaps this is simply an instance of a ‘historian loving too much’? In any case, if we are to believe that microhistories attempt to provide a more intimate narrative of history, one that conveys the minute and the large simultaneously, Thornton’s work is a huge success. Coming from somebody who has next to no knowledge of Kongonese history or the opposite end of the triangle slave trade, Thornton helped immensely.

The Kongolese Joan of Arc (sorta)

Thornton’s writing about the political and religious turmoil in Kongo at the close of the 17^th c., and the chronicle of Kimpa Vita (Kongolese), or Dona Beatriz if you prefer the Portuguese variant, is written to appeal to a large, non-academic, readership.  Indeed, the author writes that his primary goal “is not to break new interpretive ground but to present a narrative account of the movement in a way that is accessible to a non-academic audience.” (p. 7)  It seems that most of what is known about the Kongolese Saint Anthony and her [Antonian] movement, is through the accounts of Italian (Capuchin) priests.  These missionaries were certainly not impartial observers, and it is certainly understandable that a certain amount of guesswork is needed – as we have seen time and again throughout this term – and as we see in many places in The Kongolese Saint Anthony and what Thornton thinks is likely to have happened, as opposed to what we know happened based on evidence.  Thornton addresses this by saying “the modern scholar has little choice but to try to read between the lines and hope that the Kongolese viewpoint can be surmised.” (p. 3)  This book is a narrative based largely on eyewitness observations of the primary sources, and Thornton hopes the reader can “see beyond the prejudices of the missionary sources.” (p. 5)  It seems to me that a common theme of microhistories has developed as, forgive the comparison, “fill in the blank, ” at least when and where it’s necessary to interpret sources.  I did like this book, especially since I thought there was a strong tie to the Annales School in the detailed descriptions of landscape, ordinary life and work, and religious beliefs and practices.  This book really (fondly) reminds me of Le Roy LaDurie’s Montaillou.

          In side reading about Thornton’s Kimpa Vita, and Kongo, I came across an interesting comparison of the Kongolese Saint Anthony to Joan of Arc.  Considering Kimpa Vita’s prophetic mission to restore the politically and spiritually fragmented Kingdom of Kongo,  Simon Bockie at UC Berkeley compares the two heroines and their “prophetically inspired crusade to throw off foreign influences” as complementary.  I thought it was an interesting idea and thought I would share it.

Saint Anthony: Micro or Macro?

The question that occurs to me after reading The Kongolese Saint Anthony, at least with regard to the subject of our class, is how this book fits into our evolving concept of microhistory.

I felt like most of the book focused on setting out the historical context of the Dona Beatriz movement.  In the first half of the book, there were brief references to her in each chapter, but those references were infrequent and seemed forced, as if trying to place her in the story before she became relevant (for example, stating that while Dona Beatriz was "undergoing initiation" as a nganga, such and such else was happening  -- page 59).  The facts of her story do not begin until page 105 of a 214 page book.  Her life ends with 30 pages left in the book, so one can say that the majority of the book does not directly involve her story.  This does not harm the book or make it any less interesting, but it does make me wonder whether this is really a microhistory about Dona Beatriz or rather a macrohistory about a multi-decade period of Kongolese history that involved warring factions, religious conflicts, interfering priests, and a strange religious rebel who threatened both the religious and political establishment.

Does this book meet our definition of a microhistory: a social history that conveys personal experience and serves as a lens for larger issues?  With regard to being a social history, a large part of the book involves background information about Kongolese political maneuvering.  With regard to personal experiences, a majority of the book is a history of the Kongo rather than Dona Beatriz's personal experiences.  Finally, with regard to being a lens for larger issues, Saint Anthony does appear to fulfill this criteria.  The eventual focus on Dona Beatriz leads the reader to better understand what happened at this point in time in the Kongo and shines light on the origins of some American slaves.  If it meets some but not all of the definition, then perhaps this book can be best described as a hybrid microhistory.

By the way, perhaps I'll save some others the trouble of looking up two things that I didn't know: the word Capuchin is originally from the Italian word for hood, referring to the monk's habit, and the spelling of Kongo was later changed by the Belgians to the present day Congo.

Good Faith and Truthful Ignorance: The Good Wife

By several different standards, Francisco Noguerol de Ulloa was a prize idiot. Not only in political matters - like writing to the king to nitpick him about his policies in Peru - but in personal matters as well. Specifically his marriages - though if he were not an idiot, history probably wouldn't know his name. Now, by the standards of the time in which he lived, he was a fool for marrying his mistress before 100% knowing that his wife was dead. By modern standards, he was not only a fool for marrying where he did not love in the first place, but he was a fool for not divorcing his first wife before going off to sea.  

As with most of the other books, we got a good peek inside the legal system. Though this was different because, for Noguerol at least, this was a kinder legal system than the ones that have been used to judge the peasants that we've read about. This was the system that the nobles were used to, and a wonderful job was done within the text to create the role of the court in his life, and by extension, how the government affected the noble's lives and their standards of decency. 

One thing that I did find disappointing was how supremely the author was on Noguerol's side. To be fair, if one is writing a book about a subject, any subject, there is no doubt there will be an attachment there. But the treatment of Beatriz within the constraints of the text is extremely unforgiving. She is depicted as (how no doubt) Noguerol saw her - a vindictive shrew who, despite not hearing for her husband in 22 years except to finally hear that he is to be married to another woman - is a completely unforgivable road bump to his and Catalina's love. I'm aware that the author is intrinsically biased and the story is, for all intents and purposes, Noguerol's, but wouldn't it be interesting (at least from a historical perspective, if not for fairness' sake) to show how Beatriz must have been treated societally when the news breaks? 

Especially in light of the portrayal of Catalina, who is, again, seen as Noguerol would have seen her - an almost Venus-like savior, lighting his way out of his crappy marriage. This dichotomy reads like a terrible romantic comedy in parts, the way that the women are shepherded into tropes based on what one deeply selfish and extremely biased man thinks.  

The Cooks Found Treasure in the Archives

The Cooks’ use of evidence in Good Faith and Truthful Ignorance was nothing like we have read this semester. Compared to the other microhistories we read, it is clear that the Cooks had the wealthiest source base, and they definitely put it to work. They presented the evidence in the most transparent fashion of all the books we have read so far as well. Unlike Ulrich, who provided snippets of Martha Ballard’s diary to illuminate the issues of the chapter, the Cooks insert seemingly complete letters or full petitions to the court (8, 43-44, 49-50) in to the text. I think this strategy goes a long way to further their argument. Due to this use of sources, the reader gets a much more in depth knowledge of the subjects and the nature of the Spanish legal system.

The difference seems to be driven much by the sources available. Natalie Davis could not have provided near as much detail because she had only two source documents available and they were really secondary sources as well. The Cooks had a wealth of sources at their hands. Most of all, they used them critically. The problems in Noguerol’s story on when he knew that Beatriz was alive, or when problems with testimony that Catalina and Noguerol did not know one another before their marriage are well articulated and defended (82, 97). In short, the documents are brought to the forefront of the text frequently, but not uncritically, or in all reality to actually speak for themselves. They do, however, move the story forward, and provide an engaging prose style, for which one must also praise the translations by the Cooks as well.

Strong Willed Women

  Although Good Faith is based largely on legal records, it is not a legal history.  The book is a great example of how, by looking at daily life and experience (like in A Midwife’s Tale), we can learn about and better understand complex institutions and social customs / processes.  In Good Faith, as in the works this semester by Davis and Ginzburg, the lives of lesser known people (who probably would never have been known) are well documented in the court cases that were argued, in this case, before Spain’s Council of the Indies.  One of the key questions at the heart of this book by Cook and Cook is the question of whether or not an unconsummated marriage constituted a legal marriage.  Or, more simply, what in particular constituted a marriage at all?

  There is great detail of Francisco Nogeurol de Ulloa’s life on both sides of the Atlantic, and good portraits emerge of the women in Francisco’s life, all of whom appear as strong willed individuals with their own personal agendas and (seemingly) the resources to implement them.  For example, Beatriz never fully accepted the invalidation of her marriage.  She lived quietly until she heard of Francisco’s death in 1581, at which time she successfully appealed the ruling against the validity of her marriage.  She then filed suit to demand half of de Nogeurol’s estate.  In a way very familiar to us today, the wives settled to avoid a long battle – complete with Beatriz agreeing not to further pursue Catalina or her heirs.   This work made me wonder if one of the points was to highlight the ability of the rich to influence legal decisions.  Although I'm not sure the book is all about money;  I wonder instead - is Good Faith a 16th century love story, like Davis’s The Return of Martin Guerre?