Margaret Cavendish: Writing a Female Mode of Rhetoric in Blazing World
If the world of rhetoric wasn’t complicated enough in the seventeenth century, Margaret Cavendish’s own position as an uneducated woman attempting to enter in conversation with intellectual males in the seventeenth century added complexity to her rhetorical situation—a complexity seamed through her writing that leaves rhetoricians a knotty puzzle to tease apart in determining which rhetorical methods Cavendish advocated, what she actually used, and why.
Since its codification under Aristotle, rhetoric has alternated between the darling and the demon of the intellectual society—at times embraced as the key to unlocking truth through logic, at others rejected as the primary barrier to truth and honest communication. During the time of Cavendish, rhetoric was going through another “demon cycle”, where many seriously debated its place in communication. Religion, government, and science were all going through a “plain style” revolution, and many writers labeled rhetoric as a purveyor of deceit, rather than knowledge. Rhetoric has always struggled in definition, out of its sheer complexity, so a brief definition for this paper is helpful. Rhetoric is the art of persuasion, but subdivides into the art of 1) creating arguments, 2) arranging arguments, and 3) delivering arguments. During the epistemologists in the seventeenth century, rhetoric increasingly came to refer to simply the “delivery” of arguments, and not a tool for finding truth (Robbins-Tiscione 45-50). Hence, when Cavendish used the vocabulary term “rhetoric,” she likely was referring to its stylistic function, and not its use for logical reasoning.
Most scholars studying Cavendish’s rhetorical style have focused on her rhetorical methods of “delivery,” or her stylistic choice. Scholarship has tackled the perplexing question of how Cavendish viewed rhetoric, whether she agreed or disagreed with her contemporaries on the “demonistic” function of rhetoric and whether she personally preferred the “plain style” touted by her peers. However, scholars’ discussion on Cavendish’s use of rhetoric has been limited to analysis of her stylistic structures, neglecting her use of rhetorical structure, or her methods of argument creation and arrangement. The question of Cavendish’s approach to rhetoric is incomplete when simply considering how she presents herself stylistically—it’s also important to examine how she advocates rhetoric persuasively.
A useful lens for exploring Cavendish’s rhetorical structure comes from Farrel’s theory of “male and female modes of rhetoric” in composition studies. The concept of male and female are not strictly gendered terms, but rather refer to different persuasive methods used with different audiences. The male rhetorical mode is a “direct” approach that views writing as a product of thinking and seeks to convey the mode as directly as possible. The female “indirect” mode begins with the assumption of a hostile reader, and uses more indirect reasoning, delaying a direct thesis until the conclusion. Writing in the female mode is seen as a record of thinking and a process for strengthening bonds between author and reader. As Farrel describes, “The female mode seems to obfuscate the boundary between the self of the author and the subject of the discourse, as well as between the self and the audience, whereas the male mode tends to accentuate such boundaries” (910). In looking at Cavendish’s Blazing World, it’s interesting to see that her rhetorical structure closely mirrors this described “female mode”—especially in light of her anticipation of a hostile audience. The relationship of Cavendish to her audience is a key point for understanding her choice of rhetorical organization and structure. To understand that relationship, this project will first look at the scholarly conversation on Cavendish’s vacillation between rhetorical styles and how that was influenced by her relationship to the Royal Society. Finally this paper will analyze the rhetorical structure found in Blazing World to argue that Cavendish, facing a hostile audience and trapped between her own views “against a linguistic elitism” (Nate 410) and her staunch anti-Royal Society position, chose to find her own rhetorical structure, making her one of the earliest female authors to write in Farrell’s indirect “female mode” of rhetoric.
Royal Society’s Rejection of Rhetoric and Advocacy for Plain Style
As mentioned, Cavendish lived in the rebirth of plain style, in the wake of the ornamentation that had laden Queen Elizabeth’s era. Where Humanism embraced rhetorical flourishes as a linguistic ideal, after the Restoration, scientists argued for a plain style. Scholars such as Francis Bacon and Rene Descartes rejected “rhetorical logic” as it could only bring “probable knowledge” (Robbines-Tiscione 48), favoring observation instead as a more empirical source. The Royal Society, in particular, advocated this style of writing in their dialogue. Thomas Sprat, in his History of the Royal Society (1667) argued to avoid “amplifications, digressions, and swellings of style” in writing, as they create “many mists and uncertainties” in “our Knowledge” (112-13). On the one hand, this distrust of elaborate style is reflective of the era. Stark noted that the correlation between “swollen styles and bad manners” matches to the sixteenth and seventeenth century anxieties about “excessive styles and social discord” (268), and Nate describes the Royal Society’s attitude as the “rhetoric of anti-rhetoric” that has cyclically re-occurred in European intellectual history since Plato’s rhetorical criticism of the Sophists (406).
An additional reason for the Royal Society’s adherence to “plain style” was their need to find a new style of expression for what was essentially a new method of knowledge acquisition—scientific inquiry by experimentation and deduction, rather than reasoned dialogue. Previous methods of composition typically were written for beauty and instruction, where the nature of the wording itself often held key points. Early scientists like Francis Bacon found that these models were not supportive of the method needed for their work. When the members of the Royal Society spoke against rhetoric, they were not talking about dumbing down their language. They were referring specifically to the use of figurative language and expression, and advocating a renouncing of deliberately used rhetorical figures. It was felt that such manners of expression were deceptive and cloaked real truth from ready access. In reality, the Royal Society was not arguing for an elimination of rhetoric, but rather a return to classical rhetoric that argued for perspicuitas as opposed to obscuritas, where elegant language is acceptable, but only as used to augment clarity rather than obscure the truth behind elegant display—an age-old complaint against rhetoric. As she began her writing, Cavendish walked into an already passionate dialogue on rhetoric—especially in relation to the Royal Society, who she was particularly vocal in criticizing. As she worked to enter the conversations of the seventeenth century intellectual community, Cavendish found herself similarly embroiled in making that decision for herself: Rhetoric—plain or fancy?
Cavendish’s Stylistic Dichotomy
Part of the reason scholars are divided on so simplistic a question as Cavendish’s rhetorical style is because Cavendish’s own writings on the subject are perplexingly contradictory. On one hand, her preface to the second edition of Philosophical and Physical Opinions (1663) proudly remarks, “It is Plain and Vulgarly Express’d as having not so much Learning as to Puzle the Reader with Logistica, Metaphysica, Mathematical, or the like Terms.” On the other hand, her forward to the biography of her husband, Life of William Cavendish (1667), suggests she liked things a little fancier:
I said again that rhetoric did adorn truth: and he answered, that rhetoric was fitter for falsehoods than truths. Thus I was forced by his Grace’s commands to write this history in my own plain style, without elegant flourishings, or exquisite method, relying entirely upon truth, in the expressing whereof, I have been very circumspect.
The two passages illustrate different points of her opinion, displaying perhaps her own confusion on how she really felt about rhetoric. Cavendish’s writings themselves display no one writing style—varying between plain and highly ornate throughout her writing career. This dichotomy has led scholars to set up opposing camps on Cavendish’s choice of rhetorical style.
Some scholars argue that Cavendish deliberately embodies a fancier form of rhetoric, in rejection of the Royal Society’s rejection of rhetoric, insisting that this is part of what distances her from the peers she seeks to engage with, and concluding that “Cavendish’s stylistic “indiscretions” damaged her reputation as a writer” (Stark 279). In contrast, opposing scholars argue that while Cavendish’s writings reflect non-conformity towards New Sciences philosophical matters, she did in fact conform to their rhetorical preference. In fact, Cavendish uses their stylistic approaches specifically to enter the conversation (Nate 416-17)—after all, to speak against a language, it’s best to be first fluent in it. While disagreeing on whether Cavendish preferred a plain or ornate style, all scholars credit Cavendish’s choice of rhetoric as highly influenced by her intellectual peers and potentially hostile audience.
Using the “Female Mode” to Diffuse an Audience
Farrell credits the origination of the terms “male and female modes” of rhetoric to D’Eloia, and uses them in a full analysis on early female forms of literature to trace out D’Eloia’s theory. As mentioned briefly before, the distinction is primarily one of argumentative arrangement. The male mode typically presents the thesis or main point at the beginning of the argument, with the confidence that he will prove it emphatically by the article’s conclusion. In contrast, the female mode reflects insecurity of absolute opinion. The writer will lead the reader through a series of experiences and/or line of reasoning, not giving the conclusion until it is almost impossible to deny the emotional or logical validity of the claim (909). Gender is not implicit with the “male” and “female” modes, for some male authors use the female method, and some female authors use the male mode. Farrell notes that Queen Elizabeth, for example, wrote often in the direct, male mode of her peers (911). However, Farrell points out that the female mode did develop in trend along with the rise in female authors, perhaps as a defense mechanism from early female writers accustomed to addressing an incredulous audience.
From that argument, Cavendish certainly fits the profile of an author likely to use the female mode of writing. Cavendish was actively attempting to insert herself into a masculine public sphere, particularly through the discourse of new science, and her writings were not positively received. Pepys famously wrote that he did “not like her at all, nor did [he] hear her say anything that was worth hearing,” and Charleton wrote to Cavendish that he was “unable to discover much” in her natural philosophy and advised that it should not be read publicly (Keller 449). This antagonism on the part of her readers made a direct approach less effective for Cavendish, as she was challenged to soften her readers in addition to relaying her point. The rejection of her earlier, more direct plain style prose pushed her then to develop a more indirect method, as can be seen in her key fictional work Blazing Word.
Blazing World: Simple Prose in Female Mode
When Cavendish writes Blazing World, she does seem to follow a definite female mode, one that allows her to explore her world without the interrogative of male thesis/antithesis, but one of indirect examination through observation. This can be seen in three key ways: 1) delayed thesis, 2) focus on collaborative reconciliation, and 3) interior complexity.
One of the most interesting parts of Cavendish’s writing is the difference in content from her introduction and conclusion. While very implicit and confident in her concluding note, her preface is couched more timidly and apologetically, skirting around her main objective as she declares it in conclusion. Her purpose—to give her own, authoritative version of natural philosophy—drips into the text in the forward, but is not implicitly stated until the final note to the reader, where Cavendish unashamedly declares her own genius. Cavendish seems sensitive to this because of her audience, aware that she is writing her traditionally scoffed-at views on natural philosophy. Though Blazing World is a fiction piece, it seems to be another attempt for her to enter the natural philosophy conversation. She is sensitive that her fictitious work could be seen as an ill or foolish choice for a serious discussion on natural philosophy. Hence, the preface becomes her excusatory discourse on the concept of fancy and using fiction as a vehicle for rational philosophy. She seems to anticipate resistance, almost apologizing for her genre selection before presenting her piece, as if anticipating resistance. She asks the reader to “think not that it is out of disparagement to philosophy; or out of an opinion, as if this noble study were but a fiction of the mind” (123). In contrast, her conclusion boldly states, “By this poetical description, you may perceive, that my ambition is not only to be Empress, but Authoress of a whole world” (224), which is a much stronger statement. The contrast highlights the principle of a delayed thesis, which is a key distinguisher of the female mode of rhetoric, where any purpose that might be there is not expressed until after the argument is fully established.
Cavendish creates heroines who focus not on destruction, but on collaboration leading to reconciliation. Part of the reason the plot seems frustratingly empty to some readers, is precisely because Cavendish avoids major points of conflict, creating instead a world “so well ordered that it could not be mended; for it was governed without secret and deceiving policy; neither was there any ambition, factions, malicious detractions, civil dissensions, or home-bred quarrels…but all the people lived in a peaceful society, united tranquility, and religious conformity” (189). Even in her concluding “war scene” where the Empress goes to save her country, the course of the war takes only 13 pages of the roughly 100-page narrative; the majority of her dialogue and action focuses on reconciliation. The action itself struggles somewhat, which Farrell notes is a characteristic point of the female mode. He explains, “Because the female mode does not lend itself to combat and closure as readily as the male mode, it does not rely as heavily on antithesis to structure reasoning” (919). Cavendish is more interested in reasoning, exploring, and creating than in creating narrative tension and resolution.
To the concept of interior complexity, Nate argues that Blazing World as a work is a failure because it lacks the male antithesis of a concrete point of plot or reason, he contends “Lacking narrative coherence and being devoid of any fixed point of reference, the narrative stands in sharp contrast to the principle of perspicuity that Cavendish advocated in her philosophical writings” (415). However, the truth is that Blazing World does have a point, but rather than one with “interior complexity” of a single thesis, as Farrell describes the male rhetorical mode (919), Cavendish builds a complex, differentiated whole. Instead of building a world for the purpose of holding a particular narrative plot, she builds a world with the purpose of simply understanding the full range of its complexity and complications.
Conclusion
Despite claims that her works are “just my own fancy”, it’s clear that Cavendish takes her own writing seriously and craves that approval from others. In her writing career, she vacillates between various writing styles in attempt to enter dialogue with her contemporary intellectual community. When her earlier writings are rejected by her intellectual peers, she develops almost a nervous complex towards her audience. Her later writings show her preoccupation with a hostile reception, and, carrying the stigma that women can’t write, she seems to shift towards new methods of argumentation—espousing this “female mode of rhetoric” in her work Blazing World. Cavendish takes the reader on a journey, without first naming a destination, and it is only after arrival that her true genius is obvious. She manages to blend plain and fancy prose in an elegant basket to carry her natural philosophy to the reader in a new, indirect argumentation structure.
That Cavendish uses a unique approach—still decades prior to its adoption in mainstream composition studies—isn’t surprising. Cavendish famously prided herself on her singularity, shown in her every dress and action, even when at personal expense to her reputation. In her writings, she admits constantly craving feeling unique. As she expressed in Blazing World through her character the Duchess, “I endeavor to be as singular as I can; for it argues but a mean nature to imitate others; and though I do not love to be imitated if I can possibly avoid it; yet rather than imitate others, I should choose to be imitated by others; for my nature is such, that I had rather appear worse in singularity, then better in the mode” (218).
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