The Pastoral: A Gloss for Social Inequality?

I stumbled across perhaps my favourite argument that I have read in research so far earlier this week. In Terry Gifford's "Pastoral", Gifford introduces the question as to whether pastoralism in literature constitutes a gloss for social and political inequality. This post isn't going to be overly formal but I found this idea so interesting to think about that I thought I'd try and explore it a bit more. 

Firstly, what is the pastoral? 

Well, it's not very clear cut. Or at least, not anymore. Gifford talks about this a lot in the first chapter and identifies three key ways we might approach the term; 

- The earliest definition of "pastoral" is the literary tradition largely intended for urban audiences which would regale cool stories of shepherds chilling on the hillsides and living in harmony with nature. This developed into a broader tradition whereby characters would "retreat" into nature and bring back some insights and knowledge for the urban crowds. Gifford calls this "retreat and return". 

- The next definition of "pastoral" is to simply mean "in nature". Gifford identifies that a number of texts that locate themselves in the pastoral tradition simply focus on nature, or are predominantly set in the outdoors. This definition (and the previous) finds itself under increasing scrutiny because there is a belief that a lot of pastoral settings don't exist in their complete or pure form anymore - the countryside finds itself, at least by critics Barrell and Bull, as an extension of the town. 

- The final, more contemporary understanding of "pastoral" is more negative. Through this understanding, the pastoral is perceived to be a somewhat wishy-washy gloss that covers over the realities of the planet; increasingly fraught with social inequality, damaged by climate change and pollution, and not the stage for the harmonious interactions with nature that earlier literature helps allege. 

This final definition of the "pastoral" is what this article will largely focus on. The extent to which pastoralism in its first definition - some sort of harmonious, insightful catharsis - has been used to brush over class inequality is what I am particularly interested in. 

How exactly might presentations of the pastoral, then, relate to social equality and classicism? 

It's difficult to see the immediate link. I had been anticipating just reading about the trees and the rolling hillsides and the gentle mewing of sheep but was pleasantly surprised to find some biting Marxist analysis! And, once you see it, it certainly makes sense. 

Critics such as Roger Sales and John Lucas argue that the presentation of the countryside as an idyllic place subtly reaffirm the status quo of class structure. As the land-owning classes were those most likely to be reading, pastoral literature consolidated their lifestyles and the beauty of their domains, thank you very much. The pastoral, therefore, seems a lot more insidious; by presenting the shepherd's labouring life as peaceful and romantic and by bestowing the landowning classes' guardians of this tranquil landscape, the form underlines a rigid social order. So, although it is lovely to read about the rolling hillsides... the gentle humming of the wind in the grass... it's important that we critically investigate how the pastoral form might be underpinned by or uphold certain aspects of class structure. 

What books might we see this in? 

Although I can't give the fully in-depth and insightful analysis I might like to of this book (given that I haven't written my research on it yet), I suggest that there are perhaps (quite strong) inklings of this "pastoral gloss" (as I'm coming to call it) in The Secret Garden. 

By no means being the least problematic book ever written for a number of reasons, in the novel nature is a lovely and revitalising respite for our central figure, Mary Lennox. It is in nature that Mary learns compassion and revels in the eponymous garden with her best mate, Dickon - completely forgetting that she probably owns 1289481094802x the wealth he ever will. There's a myth perpetuated in this book, then, that nature is a great equalizer where rich and poor alike may play. Dickon, who is worldly, humble, and able to communicate with animals is in some ways a human manifestation of the grounding and emotionally-fufilling role that nature assumes in the novel. He is a romantic figure. What is less romantic, however, is the fact that he's poor and that Mary doesn't really seem to care about that too much beyond acknowledging it with a slightly bewildered, confused air.  The dominant order of the book is very much that which stems from privileged Mary, the stately home she runs around, and the tortured, moreso rich and privileged Cravens. Yes, it's unlikely that a children's book would tackle the brutality of the class-system head on (unless it's by Dickens, for example). But -  there is some latent inequality to think about. Unadressed under the pretence that everyone may come to the natural splendour of the secret garden and find the same respite is the fact that social inequality is pervasively there. The myth of equality that the garden sustains placates everybody - crucially the landowning class (represented here by Mary) - into comfortable passivity. 

So, that's just one way you might think about pastoralism in the third, more critical and pejorative sense. I believe there is definitely some legs to the theory - it makes sense that people would want to justify their wealth, after all. And what better way to do that than romanticise the other guy's life, too. Of course, it is important to recognise that authors are separate to their works. Equally, a broader, further reaching application of the argument isn't something I have read into particularly yet. But even within the universe of a novel, it's fruitful to unpack just how idyllic, pastoral scenes cast a lovely, hazy glow over some more insidious themes.