Defoe, Daniel. Robinson Crusoe, 1719.
A voluminous writer who has been hailed alternately as English’s first novelist and the language’s greatest hack, Daniel Defoe wrote this wildly popular tale of isolation in 1719, just before he turned 60. Defoe adapted the true account of Alexander Selkirk, a Scottish sailor who had lived alone on a remote island for four-and-a-half years and whose exploits had been recorded in “true histories” prior to the novel’s publication. In this the 300 anniversary of the novel, it’s worth noting that Defoe’s book remains staggeringly popular, with too many cultural adaptations (think of Swiss Family Robinson or the film Castaway) to count. The book has given many an economist a fictional representative to help explain a host of basic principles like consumer goods or capital goods in the pursuit of capital accumulation. In it, you can find the very roots of the novel, the dominant literary form of the past 300 years. You can also read the book as a story of redemption and resurrection, one that foregrounds physical isolation and the desire for physical rescue as a way of getting at the human need for spiritual deliverance. I recommend the novel as a seminal volume of English literature, one that shows how close the roots of the English novel are to spiritual autobiography.
God’s providence is the real master.
Robinson Crusoe begins the novel as a prodigal, running away from the advice of his well-meaning father. Believing himself to be his own master, he soon falls into trouble and becomes the slave to pirates who overtake his ship. Though Robinson escapes with the help of a boy named Xury, he fails to learn his lesson. He is in bondage to riches and once again goes out on the seas to participate in the slave trade. It is on this disastrous mission that his boat wrecks and he is left stranded on an island near Trinidad.
While Robinson works to establish control over his external environment, he realizes his real problem is that he cannot control himself. Sick and despondent, he turns to God and begins reading scripture. Through the eyes of the Spirit, he is made aware of God’s providence which has guided him to this point. Redeemed internally, Robinson commits himself to caring for himself and the island.
One of the most problematic parts of the book for many critics is Robinson’s relationship with Friday. Robinson rescues Friday, an Indian, from a band of cannibals. One of the first words Robinson teaches his new charge is “master,” and this rankles readers who see Robinson as a colonial taskmaster. This reading, however, fails to consider the ways in which Robinson’s concept of mastery has changed. Early in the novel, Robinson thought he was in control of himself, and he found himself enslaved and willing to enslave. After realizing the role God’s providence plays in the events of his life, Robinson sees mastery anew. His relationship with Friday is more like a supervisor than it is a plantation master, and Crusoe’s loyalty to Friday is far greater than the loyalty that he shows to any other person in the story. Robinson can only
Spiritual deliverance is more important than physical deliverance.
The most famous part of the book chronicles, in journal form, Robinson’s time on the island alone. He is only afforded the scant unspoiled resources from his wrecked boat and must find a way to survive on his own. More than simply surviving, however, Robinson most longs to return home. He wants to leave the island, to be delivered from his exile.
It is here that Defoe give us the book’s most poignant commonality with contemporary spiritual biographies: the realization that internal deliverance matters much more than external freedom. After reading the Bible and praying to God about his fallen state, Robinson realizes that all of the blessings he was given throughout his life were simply occasions for him to deny God’s providence. He idolized the things that should have pointed him to Christ. At one point in the book, he laments the reprobate mind of sailors, who, though constantly confronted with the terrors of God’s world, become inured to God’s existence. Their bondage is an internal one. While they freely travel on the seas, they remained enslaved to their greed and desire for adventure. Robinson followed their lead.
Robinson finds two passages in scripture that particularly bless him. The first is Psalm 50:15: “Call on Me in the day of trouble, and I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify Me.” It is this verse that leads Robinson to see his travails in a different light. God’s promise to deliver could indeed come to pass even if Robinson made it off the island. That is, the scripture refers to a deliverance that surpasses physical bondage. The other is Hebrews 13:5: ““I will never, never leave thee, nor forsake thee.” This verse is less about gaining freedom than it is a promise that God will always be with Robinson no matter what he faces. It is with this insight that Robinson maintains the lifestyle and attitude of one ready to be physically delivered. Because of his spiritual deliverance, his physical deliverance becomes more probable and meaningful.
Sin has its consequences; virtue has its rewards.
The first part of the novel follows the following pattern. Robinson sins, experiences the consequences of that sin, receives grace, chooses to sin again, falls into deeper problems, receives grace, sins further, etc. in a perpetual cycle. He never learns his lesson. For example, his time in slavery is completely the product of his sinful stubbornness. Rescued from slavery, Robinson has an opportunity to decide to be loyal and stable, but instead of choosing the wise path, he sells Xury, the boy who has befriended him, and passes up a chance to farm in Brazil for an opportunity in the slave trade. He ignores the signs telling him his desires and actions have been wrong. The consequences of his sin should be obvious, yet he remains blind.
The second part of the novel shows Robinson learning the positive impact of virtue. His reliance on God leads him to greater ethical considerations. He works hard: tending crops, raising goats, and making plans to be self-sustaining. He saves Friday from the cannibals at a point which he has fully developed his capacity to help another person. He cares for Friday’s father and the Spanish sailor who he and Friday rescue. He is able to leave the island as a result of the way he helps the captain of a ship. Back in England, Robinson cares for his family and the friends he has met. Accordingly, his financial position increases, and the novel ends with Robinson significantly wealthier than he was at the beginning.
The point is clear. Robinson meant to get gain through evil means: the trading of human beings for money. Instead, he finds that ethical behavior, compounded by service to others, actually yields real benefits. Yes, those rewards are financial, but as discussed above, they are also spiritual. One reason why Robinson begins to gain virtue and money is that he sees that real value is always ethical.
God’s providence can only be revealed to a person in time.
In T.S. Eliot’s estimation, the moral purposes of Defoe’s work were not beyond suspicion. Part of the reason is that the novel, while tendentious and often moralizing, also has complications that prevent it from being an unabashedly declaration of Christian virtue. In short, Robinson stills seems flawed at the end of the novel. On the one hand, critics have found him guilty of spiritualizing his own economic flourishing, putting the stamp of God’s providence on actions that are at base selfish and ethnocentric. On the other, Robinson’s God is too much like the God of Calvinism, one whose very control over all things appears to render meaningless human choice.
The dilemma has two solutions. The first is to remember that Defoe the author is not Robinson the character. While Robinson narrates the tale, we must be careful not to conflate Robinson’s own spiritual journey with the one imaginatively put forward by the book itself. Part of our job as readers of Robinson’s life is to start to see Providence for ourselves, perhaps even in places where Robinson should see it but doesn’t.
The second solution is to see that history is the unfolding of God’s providence and thus, because of its scope, can never be perfectly interpreted by any man. Robinson is perpetually playing catch-up. He can only retroactively see how God was at work in his life, or more accurately, it is only with the accumulation of time and insight that Robinson can begin to understand how providential God has indeed been in his life. One reason why Robinson’s journey seems anti-climactic is that he ends the novel by traveling again. He does not become a missionary or a stable businessman. He travels, seemingly without purpose. The final lines of the book promise a sequel of adventure, not evangelism.
Yet this is the final challenge for the reader. Given the novel’s insistence that God is in control, even at moments where we cannot see Him at work, will we believe that is the case even if at the moment Robinson does not see it?