I really should have picked another time to start a blog. The end of my senior year of college, with its research papers and exams, is not the ideal time to have a distracting hobby.
The better part of my focus now is on my 20-page paper on fairies in seventeenth-century English literature. You'd think that would be specific enough, but no, there are a lot of possibilities to be narrowed down. I'm comforted by the fact that my authors were in something of the same predicament. You see, they lived in a time when understanding of the world was becoming increasingly scientific - or trying to. Alchemy, magic, philosophy, and natural history were all intermingled with theology and ancient literature, all trying to find a Theory of Everything. The medieval world had gotten it down to a fine art, explaining how the influences of the stars, plants, angels, animals, elements, and humans all interrelated and danced to the music of Divine Providence, to the rhythm of the music of the spheres. Copernicus had hammered this worldview in the sixteenth century. Philosophers began to question their fundamental premises, and came away frightened by the realization that many things could be explained by "secondary causes" - not everything was a divine miracle kept going only by the constant direct intervention of God. An attempt began to restructure everything, to take the pieces and put them back together in a new shape.
There was little division of labor in academia at this time. One man might be physicist, chemist, biologist, theologian, psychologist, sociologist, economist, historian, linguist... the list goes on. On one hand, it meant that any given writer tends to have a wide range of expertise. On the other hand, it means that any given writer tends to have a wide range of expertise. This is how a doctor creating
An Anatomy of Melancholy (basically, a treatise on clinical depression) came to be one of my sources on fairies, in his Digression of the Nature of Spirits. (This doctor was named Richard Burton, but wrote under the pseudonym Democritus Junior. We'll call him DD, for Dick Democritus.)
DD is pretty clear on the subject of my thesis, i.e. the nature of fairies. Quite simply, they are devils. In fact, it's rather hard to discern the spirits known as fairies amidst the demons, pagan gods, classical heroes, and ghosts. Among his (demonic!) water spirits, for example, DD lists succubi, Diana, Ceres, "water Nymphs or Fairies," and the witches with whom Macbeth and Banquo had their friendly chat. "Terrestrial devils, are those Lares [Roman household gods], Genii, Faunes, Satyrs, Wood-nymphs, Foliots [DD claims they're Italian sprites], Fairies, Robin Goodfellowes, Trulli [trolls], &c."
Linnaeus would be proud. Each kind of spirit known to man is neatly categorized and labelled. (There are also sections on fire and air spirits, as well as subterranean and superlunerary; I'll leave that digression to DD.)
All, however, are demons. It doesn't matter that brownies and Lares seem to exist only to serve humankind without serious reward. Nor does it matter that a great many of the water Fae in medieval and Renaissance literature are portrayed as helpful to mankind, rewarders of virtue (think the Lady of the Lake).
Is this a universal trait? Do we take all people who don't readily fit into our preexisting categories of "angels" and "humans" and consign them to be "demons"? I don't want to demonize DD. He had likely never met a brownie and might have revised his opinion of them if he had. But demonizing is so easy, so natural with that which we don't understand.
How many people would demonize God if they understood how little we understand Him?
EDIT: I find that I misremembered the name of my source. Democritus ought to be ROBERT Burton, not Richard, and therefore Bob Democritus. Or Bob Burton, BB. Or whatever.
