Kempe and Christ

When we read the anti-semitic passages in class today, I was bothered when Kempe says to the Jews, "You cursed Jews, why slay you my Lord Jesus Christ? Slay me rather, and let me go" (140). Doubtless this plea is a strong emotional response to Christ's passion, but it perhaps betrays a serious misunderstanding of Christian theology for Kempe. According to Catholic doctrine and the Bible, Christ had to die for the salvation of the world, and only Christ's death could achieve this. God would only accept Christ's death because Christ lived a sinless life. Kempe, by her own frequent admission, is a sinner, and whatever special grace God has bestowed on her, she is not Christ. Yet, in this passage, she is offering herself as a substitute for Christ. She should know that Christ's death, as horrible as it was in her imagining, was absolutely necessary for salvation. If she really wants the Jews to crucify her instead, is she suggesting that her death will atone for the sins of the world or is she forgetting that if Christ doesn't die, there is no hope for her?

This is not the only place where Kempe tries to be a stand-in for Christ. Throughout the text, she mentions how people malign her, accuse her of being demon-possessed, and being a radical. Christ’s contemporaries spoke similarly of him. Kempe also challenges the religious authorities of her day, just as Christ did. She endured increasing hardships later in life, being abandoned by loved ones and her followers, just as Jesus was. Jesus called his disciples to be like him, and Kempe, like many aspiring saints, is striving to imitate her Lord. But at what point do they stop trying to be like Christ and think they have become equal with him or even surpass him? In Kempe’s case it is difficult to tell, but the fact that she went to such lengths to get her biography written done shows she wanted someone to know of her efforts.

Epileptic and Anorexic

Julius Cesar was an epileptic. There are many evidences about it and there is not any author I know who actually denies it. Of course the Romans did not say that he was epileptic, but said he had a sacred illness that put him in contact with the gods. Julius Cesar probably believed this himself, and it is very probably that epilepsy was one of the reasons to actually increase his self esteem. Nowadays, however, there is not any author who argues that he was actually touched by the gods and that epilepsy is just a modern interpretation of the phenomenon. Of course none of us actually believes in the Roman gods, they are just poetic figures used time to time as metaphors…

In the case of Margerie Kempe, however, her evident anorexia is read as some spiritual other thing. Of course she and her contemporaries read it as some religious fast and put much of spiritual content in it, but, even with its spiritual content, that was anorexia. Nowadays, anorexia is socially encouraged with the name of “diet” and actual diets really become alimentary disorders with enough similarities with Margerie’s disorders. Fasts were also socially encouraged during the Middle Ages, and the line that separated the pious fast from the alimentary disorder was equally thin.

Why we cannot say that Margerie had anorexia in a pious version, just as we say that Cesar had epilepsy in his own Roman version, but epilepsy on the bottom line?

Margery Kempe's Monstrous Otherness

At first I didn't find anything odd about reading a book by a woman in a class about the monstrous and the other. Femininity was a massive point of othering, so of course it makes sense to read something exploring that group. But the more I read of Margery's book, the more clear it becomes that Margery is not really a part of 'that group.' She is not othered just because she is a woman, she is othered even from women by being almost monstrously different.

A large part of what makes Margery 'not quite right' to those whom she writes as her contemporaries is the fact that she does not behave as a woman should. She screams in church, she refuses to sleep with her husband, she goes off traveling, she claims knowledge of God. Some of what she does may even be slightly less weird because she is a woman - we would all be raising our eyebrows a little higher if a man was writing about being wedded to the Godhead. But most of Margery's oddities would be a problem for a man as much as for a women. Pilgrims who want a jolly supper would probably have been just as unfriendly to a man trying to talk about solemn church things all the time, and they probably would have been even less gentle kicking him out of their company. If a man screamed in church, the parishioners would be just as annoyed. If a layman was claiming direct access to God, he would have been dubbed just as much a false Lollard as Margery was.

Margery's experience is not what anyone would call that of a normal or average woman in late medieval England. So if she is not part of an othered group, can she still be an other? Or is it when a definite other cannot be grouped in with others of its ilk that it becomes - as perhaps Margery does - a monster?

Margery the Loud

Something that we touched on in class yesterday was the volume of Margery's demonstrations of devotion through weeping, crying and roaring loudly during church services a dinners. Even though we addressed how this behavior would have seemed jarring in her church and her larger community, I feel like her loudness is especially interesting within the context of the silent Christian women we have encountered in our previous texts.

Silence seems to be a key characteristic of the literary Christian women, beginning with our encounter with Julianna of The Song of Roland. As a Saracen queen, she had a voice and used it to express her anger against her failed gods, but once she is converted, her voice is not heard again. Similarly, when Silence is publicly returned to the realm of women by marrying the king, we as readers are cut off from her thoughts and words. Margery, who seems to want everyone to hear her feelings, seems to be cut from an entirely different cloth.

In writing her autobiography, Margery is obviously speaking to her book's audience, but she is also implicitly arguing for the value of her voice among the faithful. We can think of this as just a "PR campaign for sainthood," which I am sure it at least partially is, but I think that is too narrow an interpretation. She, and many of the other women mystics at the time, are redressing the tradition of silence around their place in Christian discourse.

Even though, if I were part of her fellowship, I would probably also be put off by her constant weeping through dinner, her daring in publicly and with great volume expressing the truth of her connection to God should not be underestimated.

No Good Wife

There is an almost comical moment in chapter 11 of The Book of Margery Kempe when her husband asks her “whether you [Margery] would allow my head to be cut off, or else allow me to make love with you again, as I did at one time?” When she replies, “Truly, I would rather see you being killed, than that we should turn back our uncleanness,” it seems he is justified in telling her “you are no good wife.”

This small scene evoked from me two responses to Margery’s devotion to God. The first, and more likely intended response was: wow, that’s an intense love of God. However, my second though was: Well, she might resent this guy who got her pregnant 14 times, and not that she’s seeking revenge, but seeing him go might not be a heartbreaker. Of course in the end, Margery cares for her husband preceding his death, thus to a certain extent proving a defense to both my second reaction, and her husband’s allegation that she is a no good wife.

The Book of Margery Kempe seems as much about self-expression as it is self-defense. The third person provides an interesting lens through which to view her spiritual autobiography. While it appears to be a revealing third person account and the reader is aware of emotional struggles etc. the view of a third person narrator gives a sense of remove from Margery that a first person account would not provide. Rather than seeing through Margery Kempe’s eyes, we are focused on Margery Kempe. While I would not argue that this third person account is objective, it does seem to assert authority by at least posing as more than her personal view of the world.

Devout or Delusional?

Margery Kempe can either be called devout or delusional. In her own time, it seems many took the later rather than the former view. In her biography, those who witness her constant prayer and weeping think she is trying to get attention or is neglecting her duties. The few friends she has are frustrated with her. Even Jesus seems exasperated with her at times.

This is all typical for visionary literature of the medieval period. The visionary, especially if it was a woman, was often ridiculed. But the visionary took the scorn and derision as proof that her visions were valid. The more Kempe is criticized, the more fervently she prays and fasts and weeps for her sins. Her love for Jesus becomes more eroticised - she wishes he would come down from the crucifix and embrace her. She prefers her mystical lover to her husband. Again, this was common with such literature. Some of these female mystics would not even look at men so they wouldn't be distracted from their Lord. Some were nuns, literally called "the brides of Christ". The "prayers" and "mystical encounters" with Jesus could be read as love poetry or amorous dialogues. Jesus is all they desire.

For some of these female mystics, it is easy to see what might have caused them to break from reality (or have closer communion with Jesus, however one wishes to see it). For Kempe, I think it is less obvious. She comes from a wealthy family and has married well. It seems after she nearly dies in child birth that the change happens. Is this the effects of postpartum depression? Has her near-death experience caused schizophrenia (or conversion?)Or as with other mystics, did her visions (hallucinations?) come after a long period of extreme fasting, sleep deprivation, and bodily penitence?