Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz: The Phoenix of America

Hey, #FeminstFriday fanatics! It’s the second Friday of the month, and that means a new honoree to celebrate! For those who don’t know me, let me tell you a little something about myself: I love learning about women from the waaaaay back. My favorite historical periods to read about are the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Now I know that when most people think of feminists, they think of suffragettes like Susan B. Anthony or Elizabeth Cady Stanton, or women marching in the 70s like Gloria Steinem and Angela Davis. And technically, you’re right. Feminism is a fairly modern concept. However, there were plenty of people before the 1800s who fully believed in feminist concepts, despite living in times where women were seen as barely more than objects. These people are called protofeminists. Feminists before feminism was feminisming (new word! You’re welcome, Merriam-Webster!) I tell you all this as a rambling preamble to today’s honoree, a personal favorite icon of mine, and a personal favorite icon of the country of Mexico. Lovely readers, say hello to Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz, “The Phoenix of America”.

Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz, doing what she loved: Writing. And yes, the broach was something Mexican nuns actually wore...

Early Life

De la Cruz was born Inés de Asbaje y Ramírez de Santillana on November 12, either in 1648 or 1651 (there are conflicting records) in San Miguel Nepantla (what is now Nepantla de Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. See, I told you she was important!), in Spanish controlled Mexico. She was what is called a criollo, someone born in a Spanish colony. Her father was a Spanish officer, and her mother was a Creole woman from a wealthy family. Well, some reports say her mother’s family wasn’t that wealthy, but I tend to lean towards them having money; her grandfather had a private library of around 3,000 books; not something people living in poverty had back in those days. Anyway, de la Cruzs’ parents were not married when she was born; in fact, they didn’t marry each other at all. Which, if you know your women’s history, was not a common occurrence, no matter how much money your family had. In my reading, I could not find any mentions of how mama Santillana was treated for having a child out of wedlock.

Little Ines spent her childhood as we all do: sneaking into her grandfather’s private library, teaching herself Greek logic, Latin, Nahuatl (an Aztec language), and teaching Latin to other children. Seriously, she was an incredible child prodigy that could not get knowledge into her head fast enough. At one point, she begged her mother to let her dress as a boy and go to university. Instead, in 1664, she was sent to Mexico City to join the court of the Viceroy Don Antonio Sebastián de Toledo, Marquis of Mancera. She continued to study privately and made quite the impression on the Viceroy. A year after joining the court, the Viceroy gathered around 40 scholars, theologians, philosophers, and poets to test her knowledge. She took those old dudes to school. The other thing Ines got to be known for was her beauty. Apparently, her milkshake brought all the boys to the yard. But she was having none of it. So, to the surprise of pretty much everyone, she decided to join the convent.

Her milkshake brought all the boys to the yard, and she told them to gtfo.

Religious(ish) Life

It was in 1667 that Ines took her vows, and changed her name to Juana Ines de la Cruz (Sor is Spanish for the honorific “Sister”, her title). After a short time at the Monastery of St. Joseph, she moved to the Convent of Santa Paula of the Hieronymite order; they weren’t as strict. Here is where de la Cruz really began to flourish. She collected tons of scientific and musical instruments and she amassed a library of some 4,000 books (like, I’m a book collector, but I’ve got nothing on Sor Juana!). Her apartment became a salon for the great thinkers and composers of the day. She gained the patronage of Countess María Luisa Manrique de Lara y Gonzaga (and maybe more; we’ll get to that in a minute). Thanks to her literary merits, she was celebrated throughout Mexico and Spain, called the Tenth Muse of Mexico.

Literary Works

De la Cruz wrote music, poetry, plays, and religious services. She became most known for her poetry; particularly for the fact that it tended to explore secular themes, as well as strong, clever, independent women. Her poetry especially dealt with love, knowledge, and even the patriarchy. Take for instance her famous (and my favorite) poem “Hombres necios que acusáis” (“You Foolish Men”). Check out the first stanza:

Hombres necios que acusáis (You foolish men who lay

a la mujer sin razón, the guilt on women,

sin ver que sois la ocasión not seeing you’re the cause

de lo mismo que culpáis: of the very thing you blame)

This is the writing of a women who is DONE with masculine nonsense! Now check out my favorite stanza:

Queréis, con presunción necia, (With foolish arrogance

hallar a la que buscáis, you hope to find a Thais

para pretendida, Thais, in her you court, but a Lucretia

y en la posesión, Lucrecia when you’ve possessed her)

Without going into detail about who Thais and Lucretia are (maybe future blog posts?), that’s the 1600s version of “you want a lady in the streets but a freak in the sheets”. I guess we femmes have always had to deal with double standards, huh? De la Cruz was also quite well known for her love poems, which dealt with woman/woman love. Sadly, in my research, there was very little discussion on whether or not de la Cruz was a queer woman. Historical research is notorious for trying to erase queer relationships, which to me does a disservice to history and historical record. I won’t get on my soapbox about trying to keep personal biases out of research, historical or otherwise; nevertheless, de la Cruz’s poetry, on top of the fact that she eschewed marriage for the convent not because of a particular calling to the church, but to be free to continue her studies, could be seen as evidence that she wasn’t necessarily straight (note: I’m not a professional historian, and this is merely my thoughts on what I’ve read about de la Cruz). Until the invention of the time machine, we’ll probably never know for sure.

De la Cruz also wrote several plays, and once again, they mostly fell in the secular realm. She wrote comedies, tragedies, and cloak-and-dagger plays that featured fierce, independent women and poked fun at the rigid gender roles of the time. Her writings reflected the fact that de la Cruz felt women should be given the right to education, bodily autonomy, and basically just to be treated equally to men (we’re still singing this same tune, some 400 years later).

Downfall and Death

Interestingly, it was not her secular writings that brought about de la Cruz’s downfall. Sure, plenty of church officials weren’t thrilled by them, but the public loved her work, so they just had to deal with it (I’m sure her popularity brought all kinds of benefits to the church, as well). It was her critique of a 40-year-old sermon that was the beginning of the end. In 1690, she wrote her thoughts on a sermon that had been given by Portuguese Jesuit preacher António Vieira in 1650. Without her consent, that critique was published by a bishop named

Manuel Fernández de Santa Cruz. Under the pseudonym Sor Filotea de la Cruz, he not only published this critique but included a response stating that Sor Juana should focus more on her religious studies, not the secular world. The painful cherry on top was that de la Cruz had seen Santa Cruz as a friend. Not one to take anything lying down, the next year she published Respuesta a Sor Filotea de la Cruz (“Reply to Sister Filotea of the Cross”), where she staunchly defends all women’s right to knowledge, famously stating “One can perfectly well philosophize while cooking supper”. The church was not amused.

By 1694, de la Cruz was forced to sell her scientific and musical instruments, as well as her personal library. She was also forced to quit writing, with one exception: a document that said she was renouncing her previous writings and would be undergoing a penance. She wrote “Yo, la Peor de Todas”, which means “I, the worst of all women”, and signed her name in her own blood. Because they could take her books, her instruments, and her platform, but they couldn’t take her sharp mind and sharper wit. After this, she devoted herself to charity for the impoverished. De la Cruz died on April 17, 1695, while taking care of her Sisters during a plague outbreak.

De la Cruz was forgotten for hundreds of years, until the 1970s, when women’s rights were once again at the forefront of societal discourse, and her writings were rediscovered. Today, her works are translated and studied by the biggest feminist scholars and she is celebrated as an important figure in Mexican history. Just this year, the Episcopal Church of the United States approved a new feast day in her honor: April 18, the day after the anniversary of her death. I may not be a scholar, feminist or otherwise, but the things I have learned about de la Cruz remind me that as long as I have words, a pen to write them, and a voice to speak them, I can fight for equality; for myself, and for others. Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz, we honor you!

Sor Juana on the 200 Peso note

Sources:

“Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz”, Stephanie Merrim: https://www.britannica.com/biography/Sor-Juana-Ines-de-la-Cruz

“Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz”, Poets.org: https://poets.org/poet/sor-juana-ines-de-la-cruz

“Teaching Women’s History: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, Feminist Poet of New Spain”, Regan Loggans: https://www.nyhistory.org/blogs/juana-ines-de-la-cruz-feminist-poet-of-new-spain

“Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz: Nun who loved a countess in 17th-century Mexico City”, Kittredge Cherry: https://qspirit.net/sor-juana-de-la-cruz-nun-mexico/

“Sor Juana Ines de La Cruz, famous women of Mexico”, Mexonline.com: http://www.mexonline.com/history-sorjuana.htm

“Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz”, Biography.com Editors: https://www.biography.com/writer/sor-juana-ines-de-la-cruz