Implosion of Individualism: The Life and Writings of Wallace Thurman

Wallace Thurman

Wallace Thurman blasted onto the Harlem scene on Labor Day, 1925 and “almost overnight he became the kingfish of Aframerican literature” (Watson 86). He was seen by many young artists as their leader, “the fullest embodiment of outrageous, amoral independence among them” (Lewis 193). But the acclaim was not enough to halt the tragic downward-spiral that Thurman’s life had already undertaken. This essay contends that Wallace Thurman attempted to exemplify the all-American ideal of individualism through his life and writings, but his well-intentioned attempt fantastically failed. His individualism lapsed into disillusionment and eventual self-destruction.

            As an intellectual, theorist, and literary critic, Wallace Thurman was more independent, radical, and on the edge than any other member of the young generation Harlemites. Amritjit Singh, a respected literary critic who is quite sympathetic to Thurman and his writings, said Thurman was in search of himself as an artist and deeply committed to individualism and racial transcendence (9). Thurman once said there was no such thing as “colored America.” There was no place in the country where a black person could be either an individual or a vital factor. They only contributed to social problems (Thurman, “Quoth” 88). This quote is particularly enticing. If there was no place in this country supposedly full of opportunity for an African-American person to be an individual, that leaves Thurman—who was completely devoted to individualism—on the edge as a radical and a bohemian. It is not difficult to sense an amount of bitterness in his words. That bitterness, and as a result Thurman’s lifelong focus on individualism, may have roots in his upbringing.

Thurman as a baby in Salt Lake City

            Thurman’s awareness of his own “otherness” began very early in his life. Born in Salt Lake City, Utah in 1902, Thurman was part of a glaring minority. Much of his life in Utah was spent with his grandmother, “Ma Jack,” who was a key figure in his life and development as a young man (Singh 3). Daniel Walden, a Professor Emeritus of American Studies and English from Penn State University, cites the widely unknown fact that Thurman’s paternal grandmother was of Native American descent and married a Jewish peddler (230). The web of Thurman’s own racial composition adds a complicated twist to his struggle for identity. The struggles of a young Black man growing up in the white-dominated Utah, he had to deal with the idea of his own mixed race. This idea had the potential to set Thurman apart, possibly further than other African-Americans in Utah at that time.

The social tumult that was present for Thurman in his community also made its way into his family. Thurman’s father left when Wallace was an infant, and they did not meet again until Wallace was thirty years old. It seems as though his mother was not very fond of him either, which may explain why Thurman was so connected with his grandmother (Encyclopedia 328). As a young man Thurman not only experienced estrangement out in his community, but at home within his family. The tumult he found at home bred introversion: the beginnings of Thurman’s obsession for independence

            Thurman’s early family history and minority status made him very lonely as a child and a teen. He moved around as a child, and attended grade school for varying periods of time in Boise, Idaho, Omaha, Nebraska, and Chicago, Illinois. During these early years, Thurman plagued with sickness and infirmity. He returned to Salt Lake City to attend high school and two years of college at the University of Utah, when he had a nervous breakdown and dropped out of premed studies. “Thus is my checkerboard past,” recalled Thurman (“Autobiographical” 91-92). This history is what, according to Singh, caused Thurman to rely heavily on books (4). His reliance on literature was both a blessing and a curse. It was this love of literature that led to his desire to write, but it was also a catalyst in his further estrangement from others. Long periods of sickness such as Thurman’s make it difficult to foster associations with others, further influencing him to turn inward.

            All of these experiences as a young man influenced Thurman’s individualist ideology. He felt strongly that the pursuit of individuality would provide the tools needed to overcome racism, and that it was an artist’s duty to “shake off psychological shackles” and pursue an “egoistic philosophy”. He rejected the methodology of the “old guard” as a waste of time and effort. Thurman’s views were at odds with the emerging black middle class, which held fast to the ideology that all art and literature by and about blacks needed to project them in a positive light. To Thurman, this ideology was based on the very dangerous premise that all of his race must think, act, and write the same way. Fighting against this ideology and premise became the “consuming passion of his life” (Singh 10, 18). Thurman’s life experience did not reflect the perpetual-positive image being portrayed by the older generation. Life was often negative, and to deny that would be to deny his own experience.

Thurman felt that many of the New Negro writers were too self-conscious and needed to be more objective (Encyclopedia 328). Thurman mocked the sunny picture painted by many artists and writers of the period, and became increasingly distressed by it. According to one scholar, though Thurman satirized on the aesthetic of the black middle class, he still wrote under the influence of its integration position (Davis 90). I am inclined to agree with this claim, because it is impossible to deny such an obtrusive influence. In this case, the influence that surrounded Thurman pushed him the other way.  

            Thurman believed that the pursuit of individualism would have far reaching effects on the African-American population. Individual “salvation,” as he put it, would lead to general emancipation from the racial shackles still binding his people’s future. Thurman’s two novels The Blacker the Berry and Infants of the Spring both dealt with the challenges of achieving—to use Singh’s words— “black personhood” and Thurman’s own individuality (10, 13). “The time has now come,” said Thurman, “when the Negro artist can be his true self and pander to the stupidities of no one, either white or black” (quoted in Singh 19). It is most important, Thurman claimed in Infants, to choose your own path, find yourself, and remain true to yourself (240). Daniel Walden stated in connection with this passage that in Thurman’s mind, only in letting each person choose his or her own path can anything be accomplished. Individuality is the thing to strive for, each person seeking his own salvation (Walden 234).

            Ironically, the man who argued so fiercely for individualism is rarely viewed today as an individual. Many people see Thurman simply as the embodiment of the Harlem Renaissance, and study him for this reason alone. His unique portrayal of common themes such as black personhood, the nature of blackness, and artists’ roles in society sets him apart from the rest. As others saw his as one apart in a positive way, over time he became increasingly disillusioned with himself and his role as an individual, and he began to drown his disillusion with drink (Singh 14).

            Thurman’s otherness became apparent to everyone who came in contact with him. He lived an “erotic, bohemian” lifestyle and “flaunted his otherness.” He was a “gay rebel,” and was brilliant, consumptive and desperate, drank heavily and pursued public sex (Singh 5, 14, Watson 85-88, Walden 230). Thurman said of himself, “Perhaps I am the incarnation of the cosmic clown” (quoted in Watson 86). David Levering Lewis, back-to-back Pulitzer Prize winner and Professor of History at New York University, observed that Thurman was seen by many of the emerging black middle class as gauche and immature (236). In the words of Langston Hughes, “He was a strange kind of fellow, who liked to drink gin, but didn’t like to drink gin; who liked being a Negro, but felt it a great handicap; who adored bohemianism, but thought it wrong to be a bohemian.” (quoted in Walden 235, Watson 87). Thurman was an outsider, even to himself, and said he felt no spiritual connection with others (Thurman, “Notes” 236).

            An exemplary black Bohemian, Thurman was also a homosexual. Though in some of his letters he denied his homosexuality, his close friends and associates knew him as bisexual. His view of his own homosexuality was ambiguous, and he described it as abnormal and pathological (Singh 5, 16). He was married for a short time, roughly six months, to Louise Thompson. Thurman always stated that the marriage did not work out because their personalities did not mesh, but Thompson claimed the turbulent issue was Thurman’s homosexuality (Lewis 279). Other members of the New Negro movement have written about Thurman’s boyfriend, Harold “Bunny” Stephanson, a white, blond-haired man seen with Thurman around town (Watson 89). Homosexuality played a behind the scenes role in much of Thurman’s life and writings (see Paul in Infants), but such a lifestyle connected with his alcoholism, his effeminate nature, and very dark complexion perpetuated his deeply ingrained image as an outsider (Watson 86).

            Though perhaps the most radical and uncompromising figure of the Harlem Renaissance, Thurman often acted from the middle-ground. Many of his peers saw Thurman’s boiling self-hatred stemming from his black skin (Singh 9, 13-15). Interestingly, Thurman fit in better with, and spent more time with whites than the other, lighter-skinned blacks. This was not, however, a universal experience for him. He was often unhappy when he was with blacks, and rejected when he was with whites. He exhausted himself in his efforts to please the public, while trying to write with New Negro honesty (Walden 236). The man was intensely conflicted and stuck in the middle (Thurman, “Notes” 238). From this middle-ground, Thurman chose radical and often forbidden themes for his work: intraracial color prejudice in The Blacker the Berry, forced sterilizations in his screenplay for the film Staatsgewalt—which was banned upon release. He wrote to express his otherness in an attempt to become a true artist and representative of the young generation of African-Americans.

            After a failed effort to turn his individualism into artistic genius, Thurman remained bewildered. “Stability of thought eluded him. His poetry was tortured and verbose. Mental chaos promised insanity.” It was then that he chose to dive into the varied aspects of life and experience (Thurman, “Notes” 236). Thurman took the idea of breaking racial barriers through personal success to the extreme. He thought that failure to become a great artist meant failure to transcend being a Negro (Lewis 278). Amritjit Singh claims that Thurman was not so much disappointed in the New Negro Renaissance, but hopeful of something more (20). Most other scholars, and I, disagree. Disappointment with himself was compounded by Thurman’s impossibly high standards he set for himself as a writer. Thurman, who wanted to be a truly great writer, stuck out from the group of young New Negro writers like a sore thumb. He was a jack-of-all-trades, and never had the opportunity to hone the techniques of any one style or genre. In the words of Langston Hughes, Thurman “found his own pages vastly wanting” (quoted in Lewis 236).

            Disillusionment poured into every part of Thurman’s mind, work, and life. He had a love-hate relationship with Harlem. He hated the “world in general, and all of [his] friends” (quoted in Lewis 279). Desperation, despair, alienation and struggle permeated every aspect of his life. He could not resolve the tension he felt between his love for the energy of the city and his need for the quiet of the country. He was not happy in either (Singh 5, 16, Davis 109).

The novel Infants of the Spring was a portrayal of Thurman’s disillusion. The title came from Hamlet by William Shakespeare. The quote from which the title came refers to the vulnerability of early blooming flowers. Thurman compared these young buds to the young generation of the New Negro Movement, part of whom Thurman included himself as the character Raymond. “Canker galls the infants of the spring,” said Shakespeare, and to Thurman the canker took two forms in the New Negro Movement. First, the writers who wrote simply because they were literate and wanted to show whites they were capable of doing so, and second, the writers who thought that if their work was considered “Negroid” it would be automatically inferior (Lewis 280). Infants was also a commentary on the Harlem Renaissance, which Thurman thought had failed. No foundation had been laid, and the movement was destined to die. The one redeeming trait of the movement was the art, which would survive beyond the lives of the artists (Thurman, Infants 62, 284). Thurman said that he began to feel “an immense discouragement, a sensation of unbearable isolation, a perpetual fear of some remote disaster, an utter disbelief in [his] capacity, a total absence of desire, and an impossibility of finding any kind of interest.” (quoted in Lewis 279).

Thurman’s disillusionment deteriorated dramatically into self-destruction. He found himself to be, to his own chagrin, “merely a journalistic writer.” He became melancholy and suicide prone (Thurman, “Notes” 237, Davis 109). As Walden put it, “If he had the talent, his heavy-handedness, mixed with equal parts of disillusion and despair, of himself and the alleged achievements of the 1920s, overcame his native ability” (236).

Cover Art for Thurman's The Blacker the Berry by Aaron Douglas  

Thurman’s self-destruction was paralleled by that of one of his characters. According to Lewis, Emma Lou from The Blacker the Berry was “obviously Wallace Thurman.” (237). Singh, on the other hand, states that Lewis’s observation is too hasty and does not take into account Thurman’s biting wit and his articulate and bohemian intellect (Singh 14). I agree with Lewis, for the parallels are too complex to ignore. The black heroine in the novel is not portrayed as beautiful. As was mentioned above, Thurman used this character to point out the discrimination found within the black community, and it is evident that Thurman was most angry at blacks who discriminated against other blacks (Davis 110). Black was not fashionable, but was seen as quite the opposite. Therefore the title must be read ironically when compared with the old adage from whence it came: “The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice.” Emma Lou was too black, and tragically too aware of her blackness (Walden 233).

Much like in Thurman’s life, Emma Lou’s tragic circumstance is perpetuated by her own thoughts and actions—for even she began to believe that “her luscious black complexion was somewhat of a liability” (Thurman, Blacker 9). Emma Lou exhausted herself trying to impress the right sort of people, but if anyone were to ask her what that type was, she would not be able to give an answer (Lewis 237). Similarly, Thurman was conflicted between his efforts to please the public and sell his novels and his efforts to be a forward thinking New Negro. Emma Lou’s depression deepened when she thought the darkness of her own pigmentation caused the separation of her mother and step-father (Thurman, Blacker 19, 21). It is likely that Thurman’s ability to portray these feelings so eloquently stemmed from his own feelings along the same vein—his mother was married six times, leaving little record of why each marriage split up. Emma Lou, like Thurman, went to California in an attempt to escape the pain caused by internal and external racial tensions. For Emma Lou, like Thurman, this was a failed attempt. She was rejected by white schoolmates and went to extreme measures to try and look whiter. She was used and abused as a result of her obsession and preoccupation with blackness, which eventually caused her demise (Davis 110).

Davis and Walden claim that The Blacker the Berry failed because of its lack of subtlety, and according to Davis “surely, no Negro was ever as color-struck as Emma is depicted, no one quite so foolish.” Thurman wrote as an outsider, seeing starkness between the two sides, but it needs to be looked at in shades of gray (Davis 110-11, Walden 233). Davis’s statement is much too harsh and too broad. Though there may not have been many who went to such extremes as Emma Lou in action, it is likely that many may have felt just as color-struck. It seems that Thurman himself was, and his faith in the power of the arts to ennoble the individual was ultimately not enough. He was not sure he had the genius enough to do it. Having failed, like Raymond in Infants of the Spring, the painful question was asked, “Is there no way out?” (Lewis 280-81).

In a mental-whirlwind of self-destruction, Thurman wrote in “Notes on a Stepchild,” “Perhaps self murder was the easiest way out after all” (237). An individualistic life marked with despair, self-hatred, and a reliance on bad gin led to an early death and an abrupt end to a promising career. Thurman spent the last six months of his life in the hospital on Welfare Island, a tragically ironic ending considering his work to bring to light the terrible circumstances therein (see Interne by Wallace Thurman and Abraham L. Furman). He lived it up at the end and finally collapsed. He died, destitute, in a tuberculosis ward (Walden 230-36, Watson 165-67).

The abrupt and tragic end to Thurman’s life and career is perhaps the greatest expression of the life he lived. In his “Autobiographical Statement,” Thurman stated that “three years in Harlem have seen me become a New Negro (for no reason at all and without my consent)” (91-92). He played a central role in the development of Harlem’s artistic opinions and ideas. He believed strongly that individual salvation would lead to general emancipation from racial oppression (Singh 2, 10). But his ultra-focus on individualism spiraled out of control, leading to an obsessive focus on his acute otherness and a general disillusionment with his prospects as an artist. Disillusionment deteriorated into self-destruction, and that self-destruction made Thurman’s work much more powerful and meaningful in hindsight. Many scholars feel that Thurman failed in the initial goals he set for his own works, which is true. But the real meaning and power of his work came about because of his failure. “He failed,” Walden and I contend, “but he failed magnificently” (236).

Works Cited

Davis, Arthur P. From the Dark Tower: Afro-American Writers 1900-1960. Washington, D.C.: Howard U.P., 1974. Print.

Encyclopedia of the Harlem Renaissance. ed. Aberjhani and Sandra L. West. New York: Facts on File, 2003. 328-330. Print.

Lewis, David Levering. When Harlem Was in Vogue. New York: Knopf, 1984. Print.

Singh, Amritjit. “Introduction: Wallace Thurman and the Harlem Renaissance”. The Collected Works of Wallace Thurman: A Harlem Renaissance Reader. ed. Amritjit Singh and Daniel M. Scott III. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers U.P., 2003. 1-28. Print.

Thurman, Wallace. “Autobiographical Statement”. The Collected Works of Wallace Thurman: A Harlem Renaissance Reader. ed. Amritjit Singh and Daniel M. Scott III. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers U.P., 2003. 91-92. Print.

---. The Blacker the Berry. 1929. New York: AMS, 1972. Print.

---. Infants of the Spring. 1932. Foreword by Amritjit Singh. Boston: Northeastern U.P., 1992. Print.

---. “Notes on a Stepchild”. The Collected Works of Wallace Thurman: A Harlem Renaissance Reader. ed. Amritjit Singh and Daniel M. Scott III. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers U.P., 2003. 235-240. Print.

---. “Quoth Brigham Young—This is the Place”. The Collected Works of Wallace Thurman: A Harlem Renaissance Reader. ed. Amritjit Singh and Daniel M. Scott III. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers U.P., 2003. 86-91. Print.

Walden, Daniel. “‘The Canker Galls . . . ,’ or, The Short Promising Life of Wallace Thurman”. Harlem Renaissance Re-examined. ed. Victor A. Kramer and Robert A. Russ. Troy, NY: Whitston, 1997. 229-237. Print.

Watson, Steven. The Harlem Renaissance: Hub of African-American Culture, 1920-1930. New York: Pantheon, 1995. Print.

The Jazz Singers: Tension and Fluidity in Identity

Archibald Motley Jr. was an important figure of Harlem Renaissance art. His painting titled The Jazz Singers is a good representation of the cultural tension and issues of identity that pervaded the movement. This tension is made especially clear through the appearance of the individuals in the painting and Motley’s reference to Jazz music. Five men stand side to side, each with his mouth open singing in apparent harmony. The man on the left strums a guitar and has his hat tipped to one side. The other four men’s arms are to their sides and seem to be stretching to hit a note. All of the men except one, second from the left, are wearing ties and slacks. The man second from the left appears to be wearing jeans and a shirt open all the way down his chest. The man second from the right is bald and is the only one without a dress hat on. The man on the far right, who appears to be slightly behind the others, has a hand up to his mouth as if to channel his voice toward the listeners who are not depicted.

            The first visual representation that sticks out is the physical appearance of the men in the painting. Motley exaggerates the size of each man’s lips. This is especially pronounced, because their mouths are open wide to sing. Motley’s depiction of their lips seems somewhat derogatory, because large lips have long been a stereotypical and racist symbol of people of African descent. In this painting, however, Motley seems to be speaking to a black audience, calling to them to embrace what makes them inherently unique and valuable.

            The depiction of the men’s lips is in stark contrast to the depiction of their clothing. Every man except one is in a suit, tie, and slacks: clothing of the white man. There is tension between the obviously black features of their faces and the apparently white features of their clothing. This tension implies an internal struggle—either within these men or within Motley, or both—between their black heritage and their desire to fit in to white society. Motley further illustrates this struggle in the variety of skin tones among the men. Three men have dark black complexions (the two on the far left and the one on the far right), one man has a comparatively light complexion (the man second from the right), and one man’s complexion is right in the middle of the two (where he also happens to stand in the painting). The spectrum of skin tones and their relative positions in the painting point toward the middle. Identity is in fact mixed. The man standing in the middle not only has the most moderate skin tone, but wears the most proper suit and tie and has his head turned to the side, accentuating the exaggerated size of his lips. He is the most perfect mix of the two cultures portrayed by Motley in this painting.

            The title of the piece, The Jazz Singers, along with the actions of the men depicted, has some powerful ties to African American identity. Jazz music was central to the culture in African American communities during the 1920s. These communities, like Harlem, were often found in large cities. Jazz pervaded night clubs and bars, homes and streets. Progression of the music is based on feeling and rhythm, providing the performers and listeners a new experience every time it is. Jazz music is very free and open in form. Constraints and boundaries common to most genres of music such as rhythm, meter, scale, and timbre are much more fluid in Jazz. The performer decides just how much he/she wants to conform to these constraints during each performance, according to their mood.

             The fact that the men in the painting are playing Jazz music implies their freedom of spirit. The open form of Jazz, combined with the physical portrayal of identity mentioned above, suggests that the identity of the men is open as well. As musicians, the men are able to decide how their piece is to be performed. In connection, these men are also able to decide how their identity is to be portrayed. It would be no contradiction to their personal identity if they felt a little more passion for their African heritage one day, and a little more drive for gain in the white capitalist society the next. It is believed by many that Jazz music is the only truly American art form, and as such, it would be truly American to apply the openness and fluidity of boundaries found in Jazz to one’s own life and identity.

            Jazz music’s effect on boundaries has the ability to relieve some of the tensions pressing on the men in the painting, and possibly those on Motley. Because Jazz music, and especially the culture that it inspires/derives from, is so fluid, the boundaries of social norms and constraints are able to bend and accommodate the tension within. The identities portrayed in the painting all fit together well, into a single whole. The painting exudes a feeling of completeness despite all the tension within the men, collectively and individually. Because the music comes from within the soul, whatever comes out will be beautiful and significant. Likewise, as long as one’s identity comes from within his/her soul, it too will be beautiful and significant.

            The Jazz Singers is a noteworthy representation of the identity and cultural tensions prevalent during the Harlem Renaissance. Motley’s portrayal of physical appearance and Jazz music combine to convey how identity can be as fluid as the music. Though each man appears very different, they can utilize the fluidity of the music to join voices in perfect harmony. 

Explication of "Baptism" by Claude McKay

"Baptism"  by Claude McKay

Into the furnace let me go alone;
Stay you without in terror of the heat.
I will go naked in--for thus ''tis sweet--
Into the weird depths of the hottest zone.
I will not quiver in the frailest bone,
You will not note a flicker of defeat;
My heart shall tremble not its fate to meet,
My mouth give utterance to any moan.
The yawning oven spits forth fiery spears;
Red aspish tongues shout wordlessly my name.
Desire destroys, consumes my mortal fears,
Transforming me into a shape of flame.
I will come out, back to your world of tears,
A stronger soul within a finer frame. 

Claude Mckay’s poem “Baptism” is an expression of the human desire to face one’s challenges boldly and courageously in the hope of coming out the other side stronger and more able to take on future challenges. The narrator of the poem—hereafter referred to with the masculine pronoun, though it could likely be representative of either gender—is about to enter the furnace, and does so entirely by his own choice, not because of any compulsory means. He enters the furnace alone, leaving behind us as the reader, to look into the furnace with terror. He goes in naked, “for thus ‘tis sweet.” Nakedness is often used as a symbol for letting down barriers and opening one’s soul to the world; he thus goes in as the man he is and nothing more.

            While inside the “hottest zone” of the furnace, the narrator shows no sign of weakness. He does not even flinch at the pain, and we as the observer “will not note a flicker of defeat.” Though he is well aware of his fate at this point, he continues on his predetermined course within the furnace. As he is in the flames, it is desire that consumes his fears and turns him “into a shape of flame.” As he rose to meet his fate among the intense heat and power within the furnace, he was transformed into the very thing that was there to break him down. He becomes empowered, both body and soul, to meet once again the woes that surely await him within the “world of tears” he came from.

            The narrator’s process of growth through tribulation can be applied to any individual at any time in history. This could be an account of any person who has experienced what McKay calls the “world of tears,” but it can be applied, by relation to the author, to the opposition that was present during the Harlem Renaissance. There were many stereotypes, beliefs, and even laws that caused major trials for any African-American who decided to stand up and boldly face the furnace of oppression. McKay’s message is, in part, that showing fortitude and standing up for one’s rights can be a powerful, purifying experience. Or, you may just get burned.

The Shared Experience of A Raisin in the Sun

Loraine Hansberry,
author of A Raisin in the Sun

“Where lectures and slide shows do not work, drama does” (Pitman 171).  Theater has been a powerful form of art and literature in the western world for centuries.  Greeks turned to it for religious expression; Shakespeare turned to it for political expression and comedy.  For many years, dramatic production in America was reserved for white men.  In the late 1950s, Lorraine Hansberry, an African-American woman who grew up on the south side of Chicago, wrote a play called A Raisin in the Sun, which forever changed the landscape of American theater.  Raisin portrays the difficulties associated with deferred dreams and racial issues.  Hansberry’s choice of medium translates and expresses the main themes of the play to the audience more powerfully than would a classical literary text for three main reasons: first, the actors and audience participate in the experience together; second, theater induces emotion in the actors and the audience; and third, theater attempts to influence all to look inward, which facilitates change in the individual.

            Theater is a unique medium that allows both the actors and the audience to participate simultaneously in a shared experience.  Belarie Zatzman, a professor of drama and education at York University in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, focuses much of her work on the concept of shared experience.  In an article entitled “The Monologue Project: Drama as a Form of Witnessing,” Zatzman states that the nature of what she calls the “memory-work” that is created through drama is “designed to locate our own narrative and memory—personal, political, and historical,” that relate to the themes of the work (Zatzman 35).  As the actors and the audience locate these memories, they are able to fill in the spaces left by the narrative with their own experience.  This interaction creates a new landscape, where remembered, forgotten, unknown, and even “invented histories” intersect and cohabitate (Zatzman 35-36).

            The reality of and struggle with deferred dreams expressed throughout Raisin is an excellent example of Zatzman’s concept of shared experience.  Beneatha Younger is a young African-American woman with an insatiable need to do and become something great.  In her pursuit, she dabbles in many different forms of education and expression, but never sticks to one thing.  She gains basic skills and understanding in a number of different areas, but masters none of them.  She feels as though her family, who is supposed to love and support her and her dreams, is tearing them down.  In a moment of frustration, Beneatha’s older brother Walter reprimands her for what he perceives as listlessness.  “I don’t want nothing but for you to stop acting holy ‘round here,” he says.  Why can’t you do something for the family?  It ain’t that nobody expects you to get on your knees and say thank you.”  Beneatha defiantly drops to her knees and retorts, “Well—I do—all right?—thank everybody!  And forgive me for ever wanting to be anything at all!” (Hansberry 21)

            Individuals who have felt denied or belittled by a family member can relate to this powerful scene.  There is a touch of humor expressed by Beneatha, but she uses it to show the hurt that she feels.  Every experience that the audience members can relate to this moment is connected with their personal history.  As the audience watches Beneatha’s pathetic performance for her brother, their experiences fill in the information that is missing about their relationship.  In other words, the information from the play and the experience of the audience intersect.  This is the place where the remembered, forgotten, unknown, and “invented histories” can live (Zatzman 36).

            The unique shared experience provided by theater evokes emotional responses between the actors and audience.  “The aim of theater, like art, [is] to stir or provoke emotion rather than describe emotion,” says Kenneth Macgowan, a prominent theater critic of the early twentieth century (Bloom 96).  Because the provocation of emotion is theater’s aim, emotion contributes to both the creation of each work and its appreciation.  The dynamic between the creator and the observer is called “aesthetic emotion,” which means that there is a quality in the work that provokes emotions of the same kind (Bloom 80).  Referring back to Beneatha’s experience with her brother, the emotion that is evoked in the audience is that of sadness, helplessness, or pain.  As she screams an apology for “ever wanting to be anything at all,” the audience’s shared experience carries her emotion into their own hearts.  The emotion with which the lines were written, and especially performed, is translated to the observer. 

            In the example afore noted, the actor’s performance plays a vital role in transferring emotion to the audience. According to Zatzman, when actors compile and reconstruct their own portrayal, “the obligation to witnessing and the performing of the identity is made vivid” (Zatzman 36).  Vivid is a powerful descriptor in this context.  Vivid can mean multiple things: producing a strong and distinct mental image, active or inventive, strikingly clear, or, most powerfully, truth to life when perceived either by the eye or the mind.  One example from Raisin may help illustrate how vividly a character can be portrayed.

            Lena Younger, the mother of Beneatha and Walter, receives an insurance check following her husband’s death.  Walter went out to invest the check, worth $10,000, in a business venture and gets swindled out of all the money.  A large portion of the check was going toward a down payment on a house in a nice neighborhood across town.  Without that money the family has few options.  A representative of the nice neighborhood visits the family to buy the house from them, because the white neighbors do not want any blacks around them.  Walter, a broken man, considers taking the offer despite the complete lack of dignity it would show.  He frantically performs his plan in front of his awe-struck family:

I’m going to look that son-of-a-bitch in the eyes and say—(He falters)—and say, ‘All right, Mr. Linder—(He falters even more)—that’s your neighborhood out there!  . . .  And you people just put the money in my hand and you won’t have to live next to this bunch of stinking niggers!’. . . And maybe—maybe I’ll just get down on my black knees [which he does to the sheer horror of the women in the room]. . . .  ‘Captain, Mistuh, Bossman’—(groveling and grinning and wringing his hands in profoundly anguished imitation of the slow-witted movie stereotype) ‘A-hee-hee-hee!  Oh, Yassuh boss!  Yasssssuh!  Great white. . . Father, just

gi’ ussen de money fo’ God’s sake, and we’s—we’s ain’t gwine come out deh and dirty up yo’ white folks neighborhood. . .’  (He breaks down completely) And I’ll feel fine!  FINE! (He gets up and goes to the bedroom) (128).

            Walter’s performance is strikingly vivid.  His actions provoke powerful mental images of slaves, broken individuals, who rely on the “benevolent hand of the white man” for their lives.  His family’s reaction is “sheer horror.”  Reactions from the audience are not likely to be much more positive.  The vividness of his actions, in the eyes of his family, is expressed in a truth which once was; a truth that has been fought against, by their ancestors, for generations.  As he breaks down, the emotion he exhibits is transferred to the observer.

            Raisin’s shared experience and translated emotion combine to influence all parties involved to look inward.  Professor Emeritus Walter A. Davis of Ohio State University says that “the purpose of serious theater can be stated simply—to challenge the audience to examine everything that they don’t want to face about themselves and their world” (Davis 3).  There is no other public institution, according to Davis, that can publicly air secrets like theater can.  Every other institution is established to celebrate and perpetuate ideology.  “Freedom,” says Davis, “depends on overcoming the vast weight of ideological beliefs that have colonized one’s heart and mind” (Davis 3-4).  The purpose is not to convince the audience to change their ideas.  “Serious drama strikes much deeper.  It is an attempt to assault and astonish the heart, to get at the deepest disorders and springs of our psychological being, in order to effect a change in the very way we feel about ourselves—and consequently about everything else” (Davis 4).

            Robert Nemiroff, the late Lorraine Hansberry’s husband, wrote an introduction to the script of Raisin.  He quotes James Baldwin, who says that Americans suffer from an “ignorance that is not only colossal, but sacred.”  He refers to our seemingly infinite capacity to lie to ourselves about race issues (qtd. in Hansberry xviii).  These farcical ideas become entrenched in the mind and heart.  It takes a major event to shake these ideas loose.  The powerful emotional experience available from Raisin is closely tied to the race issues that are portrayed therein.  It is difficult to feel Walter’s pain with him and not see the degrading nature of his portrayed relationship with the housing representative.  Experiencing this with him can indeed be a traumatic event.  It is through a traumatic event such as this, argues Davis, that we learn something about our character that reveals the lies within us.  More importantly, he claims, we learn that we are the “author of the events that brought us to this situation” (Davis 122-23).  It is then up to each individual to choose to do with that new knowledge.

            Together, shared experience, emotional inducement, and the influence to look inward make Hansberry’s choice of medium powerful in facilitating the expression of her main themes.  Now, over a half-century later, A Raisin in the Sun is still as widely acclaimed as ever.  Not only do the themes penetrate through generations, but the theater instills their perpetuation in all who participate. 

(There is an interesting post by one of my graduate instructors, Brett Sigurdson, that includes some interesting videos of A Raisin in the Sun, both during the 60s and today. It's worth taking a look at. http://english3300.wordpress.com/2011/02/19/a-raisin-in-the-sun-then-and-now/)

Works Cited

Bloom, Thomas Alan. Kenneth Macgowan and the Aesthetic Paradigm for the New Stagecraft in America. New York: Peter Lang, 1996. Print.

Davis, Walter A. Art and Politics: Psychoanalysis, Ideology, Theatre. London: Pluto, 2007. Print.

Hansberry, Lorraine. A Raisin in the Sun: 1995 Modern Library Edition. New York: Random House, 1995. Print.

Pitman, Walter. “Drama through the Eyes of Faith.” How Theatre Educates: Convergences & Counterpoints. Ed. Kathleen Gallagher and David Booth. Toronto: U of Toronto P, 2003. 162-172. Print.

Zatzman, Belarie. “The Monologue Project: Drama as a Form of Witnessing.” How Theatre Educates: Convergences & Counterpoints. Ed. Kathleen Gallagher and David Booth. Toronto: U of Toronto P, 2003. 35-55. Print. 

Contested Ideas within The Federalist

The United States’ first national government during the post-Revolutionary period was short lived. Founders who established the Articles of Confederation did so in response to the sentiment of the people at large: a fear of executive power led to the absence of an executive; distrust for national politicians led to a weak, nearly powerless Congress and strong state governments. These provisions did not provide the structure necessary for a united central government. The states sent delegates to Philadelphia for a convention that would reshape the government as it was then constituted. The convention resulted in a new Constitution that was to be ratified by each state in ratifying conventions.

            Writing a new Constitution was not an easy task for the framers. Forrest McDonald, professor of history at the University of Alabama, studied the wide range of ideological influence that influenced the document created at the convention. Ideological schools which McDonald covered include, among others, the Nationalists (specifically the “Court Party” Nationalists), Republican Ideologues, Puritanical Republicans, and Agrarian Republicans. As the Constitution was sent out for ratification, James Madison, Alexander Hamilton, and John Jay wrote a number of essays arguing in behalf of the new Constitution. The Federalist, as the compilation of these essays was called, was as ideologically diverse in its origins as was the Constitution. Federalist No. 10 and 51, both written by Madison, were good examples of the internal conflict of ideas. No. 70, written by Hamilton, is an example of consistency within.

            The intellectual origins of The Federalist #10 were, to some extent, internally contested. James Madison wrote this essay under the pseudonym of “Publius.” He began the essay with an observation of the history of popular governments. Confusion, violence, and instability were constant throughout many of them, including the State governments during the early years of the Union. Faction, according to Madison, was the “mortal disease” of popular government.[1] Madison derived much of this idea from the Republican Ideologues. Republican Ideologues were horrified by the idea that passions ruled men, groups, and governments.  One of their main concerns was corruption, which made it hard to trust any man with a significant amount of power.[2] Madison defined a faction as a group, whether majority or minority, that is brought together by a common inclination of passion or interest, adverse to individual rights or to the public good.[3] Factions were adverse to the public good, because one of the key principles of puritanical or classical republicanism was public virtue. According to this sentiment, men should be independent and individualistic toward the end of communal good.[4]

            The Federalist #10 was also mildly influenced by Agricultural Republicanism and the “Court Party” Nationalists. Madison saw two options for dealing with factions: remove their causes or control their effects. Removing their causes would require establishing a will that is independent of society.  Diversity of opinions and unequal faculties for obtaining property, according to Madison, were “sown into the nature of man.”[5] Puritanical Republicanism, which sought moral solutions to moral problems, would oppose any such imposition of an independent will in society.[6]  Society must, therefore, control the effects of factions. Agrarian Republicans would say that in order to do so, adequate social, political, and economic institutions needed to be put in place.[7] David Hume, a Scottish philosopher and major influence on Nationalist ideology, also said that these institutions are what set up a nation for success, not morals alone.[8] There seemed to be some disagreement between the Agrarian Republican-Nationalist ideas and the Republican Ideologue-Puritanical Republican ideas found within the text. The disagreement centered around one major point: what was the right way to deal with moral issues within society. The former held to socio-political-economic solutions; the latter held to moral solutions to moral problems.

James Madison, author of Federalist 10 and 51

            Federalist No. 51 was even more ideologically contested than No. 10. James Madison, again using the name Publius, made the argument for a separation of powers within the national government. It was the government’s structure, Madison claimed, that made liberty possible.[9] This claim was strongly backed by the ideas of both Agrarian Republicans and the “Court Party” Nationalists. As was mentioned above, Agrarian Republicans thought that making better arrangements provided the solutions and the “Court Party” Nationalists clung to Hume’s idea of institutions as the pathway to success.  Madison then made the point that the people should elect every position within the national government, but they did not always understand the qualifications for those positions. He cited the example of judges. Everyday voters had no conception of the training and qualifications necessary for such a position.[10] The Republican Ideologues were strong proponents of similar sentiments in regards to direct democracy, though they were more outspoken on the subject. To the Ideologues, excess of democracy needed to be checked by strengthening the central authority. As the central authority was strengthened, more controls would be needed. Separating the three main responsibilities of government would be vital to the controls on the ambitions of individuals therein, according to both Madison and the Republican Ideologues.[11] Ideologues’ fear of corruption gave Madison’s Nationalist-based argument its foundation.

Alexander Hamilton, author of Federalist 70

            Unlike No. 10 and 51, Federalist No. 70 was in generally consistent. Nationalist sentiment was central to each theme of the essay. Alexander Hamilton, who penned this essay, was closely tied to the “Court Party” Nationalists.[12] His affiliation therein was apparent in his argument for an energetic and forceful Executive. He claimed that energy was essential to good government. Administration and execution of the law, especially regarding national security and protection of property rights, required an Executive with adequate power to do so. An Executive with this power would protect liberty when factions, anarchy, or the ambitions of others infringe upon it.[13] Nationalists focused their ideology around the need to reorganize and strengthen the central authority, and this need is what fueled Hamilton’s argument.[14] It was impossible, according to the “Court Party” Nationalists, for public virtue to exist at the levels that puritanical republicanism required. Ambition and avarice were considered “the ruling passions.”[15] Hamilton argued that allowing the Executive to pursue his ambition would give him reason to work hard. Hamilton also argued for a single Executive, in order to protect the public good from infringement by the Executive’s ambition. When there is one Executive, he argued, there would always be someone to blame.[16] This argument tied back to Hume’s notion of institutions as the recipe for success. The very structure of the office of Executive would compel the Executive to work hard and to avoid any usurpation.

            The examples of contested ideas within The Federalist showed the struggle that the founders of the Constitution faced.  Not only were there contesting ideas between individuals and groups, but there were contested ideas within individuals and groups. Forrest McDonald showed that coming to the knowledge of what the founders meant would be exceptionally complex. He argued that there was not a single idea that formed the words of the Constitution. There were multiple interpretations of the political and social ideologies that were present at the time. By studying this contest of ideas, McDonald showed that the desires of the founders, as varied as they were, drove them to compromise.  The fact that a Constitution so short in length, and yet so broad in influence and interpretation even came out of the convention was astonishing. The founders’ desire to protect their liberty and property, however they interpreted them, caused them to work together to create what would become the new foundation for the political structures of the Western World.

---

[1] James Madison, “No. 10: The Same Subject Continued: The Utility of the Union as a Safeguard Against Domestic Faction and Insurrection,” in The Federalist, 1787.

[2] Forrest McDonald, Novus Ordo Seclorum: The Intellectual Origins of the Constitution (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1985) 199.

[3] James Madison, “No. 10.”

[4] Forrest McDonald, Novus Ordo Seclorum, 70.

[5] James Madison, “No. 10.”

[6] Forrest McDonald, Novus Ordo Seclorum, 71.

[7] Forrest McDonald, Novus Ordo Seclorum, 71.

[8] Forrest McDonald, Novus Ordo Seclorum, 210-11.

[9] James Madison, “No. 51: The Structure of the Government Must Furnish the Proper Checks and Balances Between the Different Departments,” in The Federalist, 1787.

[10] James Madison, “No. 51.”

[11] Forrest McDonald, Novus Ordo Seclorum, 202; James Madison, “No. 51.”

[12] Forrest McDonald, Novus Ordo Seclorum,186-87.

[13] Alexander Hamilton, “No. 70: The Executive Department Further Considered,” in The Federalist, 1787.

[14] Forrest McDonald, Novus Ordo Seclorum, 185.

[15] Forrest McDonald, Novus Ordo Seclorum, 191.

[16] Alexander Hamilton, “No. 70.”

Slave Cabin Narratives: Stowe and Tom vs. Eastman and Phillis

Political and social discourse in the mid-eighteenth century was charged with the issue of slavery.  The nation was divided between pro-slavery sentiment and anti-slavery sentiment, with some staking out the middle ground.  Harriet Beecher Stowe stakes her claim among the anti-slavery sentiment in her novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin.  With literary proficiency, Stowe claims the diabolical inception of slavery as an institution, describes the horrors of the slave trade, and pleads for freedom to all individuals.  Many Southern authors write in direct response to the negative claims made in Uncle Tom’s Cabin.  One significant example is Aunt Phillis’s Cabin, by Mary Eastman.  Eastman claims the divine origin of slavery, portrays the improved and happy state of black slaves, and points out the unethical, indeed hypocritical, nature of abolitionists.  Stowe and Eastman exhibit many opposing, and some similar views.  This analysis will consider some of the main differences between the two opinions, followed by a consideration of some of their similarities.  A few significant topics will then be reviewed from each author’s point of view: slaveholders, opponents to slavery, the societies of the North and the South, and the idea of freedom.

            There are a few key differences in the way Eastman and Stowe analyze the institution of slavery.  Mary Eastman’s argument is based partially on a certain interpretation of the Bible.  Ham, the son of Noah, brought the wrath of God upon himself because of sin.  God cursed Ham and his posterity to forever be a subservient race to God’s chosen people (E, 13-15).  According to Eastman’s interpretation, this curse has existed since that time.  Southerners enslave Africans, because they are direct descendents of Ham.  Eastman says there is no reference in the Bible condemning those who enslave the “heathens” (E, 15-16).  On the contrary, God’s Biblical Prophets held slaves.  When Jesus came he did not free the slaves, though he encountered many, nor did his Apostles after he died (E, 18-20). 

            Along with her argument that slavery is sanctioned by the Bible, Eastman claims that Southern slaves are much better off as slaves than they would be otherwise.  Once they finish their daily chores, the slaves can enjoy their evening pleasantly.  In Eastman’s words, they are “all at ease, and without care.”  Their cabins are neat and clean, where they can relax in their scene of real enjoyment (E, 30).  When they are freed, slaves are never as happy or comfortable as they were with their master.  Susan is Eastman’s runaway example.  “Poor Susan!” Eastman laments.  She has absolutely no means, no money.  Her guilt for leaving her mistress is piling on her and her feelings are constantly agitated.  Truly, according to Eastman, Susan feels she is “out of the frying pan and into the fire” (E, 58-61).  At least with her mistress, Susan was well provided for and she was at peace.

              Stowe argues that slavery has a much more sinister birth than that claimed by Eastman.  According to Stowe, slavery comes from the devil himself.  The devil provides slavery as a tool for men to use in worldly pursuits.  Planters use it to make money—the love of which, according to the Bible, is the root of all evil.  Clergymen use it to please the planters, who in turn do favors for the clergymen.  Politicians use it to rule by, and are sustained by the planters and clergymen (S, 331). 

Because the devil himself is at the root of the peculiar institution, Stowe claims that “it is impossible to make anything beautiful or desirable in the best regulated administration of slavery.” Kentucky is seen as one of the most virtuous regions for slavery, yet slaves in that region must always fears the possibility that they will end up down South with a vicious planter (S, 51). 

Eastman and Stowe do have a few areas in which their analyses of slavery overlap.  One major similarity between the two is their view of the slave trade, primarily the splitting up of families.  In Aunt Phillis, the main planter, Mr. Weston, tells a story about Lucy, a slave woman whose children have all been sold away.  She is immensely distraught and heartbroken, and her story has a powerful impact on Mr. Weston.  He says that he looks upon this act, namely the splitting up of families, with “horror.”  In his opinion, “it is the worst feature in slavery.”  According to Weston, this act is quite uncommon, because most men have more virtue than that, and those who don’t would lose their reputation in the neighborhood (E, 44-45).  Stowe likewise cites the sale of a child away from its mother.  After Tom, an exceptionally pious slave, loses his kind master he is put up for sale to the highest bidder.  The night before the auction, all the slaves are locked in a large warehouse.  All through the night and into the morning, slave owners and traders come in to check the selection.  They do so as they would a piece of livestock: checking the hands and feet, inspecting the teeth, having them perform small tasks to prove their soundness.  Tom is sold to a gruff man, who also buys a young woman and her new child.  They board a ship to head for their new home, and as the woman sleeps the man sells the child to a man as he disembarks.  The woman is absolutely distraught (S, 467-479).  Stowe uses this example to show the barbarity and selfishness that is involved in such an act.

Another similarity between Stowe and Eastman’s analyses is the effect of slavery on slaveholders.  Often, according to Eastman, slavery is just as hard on the master as it is on the slaves.  Mr. Weston looks at the “grieving, throbbing souls” and wonders that God has not provided a solution.  It is true, he acknowledges, they did sin, but what a terrible punishment.  If there was an easy way, and a just way, for emancipation and colonization he would do it; unfortunately there is no easy way (E, 234-235).  Stowe uses St. Clare as an example of how slavery impales slaveholders.  After his cousin, Miss Ophelia, accuses him of defending the institution, he says to her that if the whole country would sink as a result of this horrible sin of slavery, “I would willingly sink with it” (S, 332).  He was born into the chattel system as the son of a planter.  When his father died, he inherited half of his slaves, and seeing no rational or worthy way to rid himself of the horrible system, he has stayed.  It hurts him every day to think that these people he holds as servants are not, and most likely never will be, free (S, 329-344).

As can be seen in the previous analyses, Eastman and Stowe portray slaveholders in some interesting ways.  Eastman argues that discipline and redirection are handled much more humanely than many Northerners think.  It is common for a slaveholder to talk issues through with their servants, rather than always resorting to violent measures.  Mr. Weston explains issues to his servants and lets them know exactly what he expects of them.  When his servant Phillis admits to him that she let a local runaway sleep in her cabin, he tells her that he understands why she did it, but makes it clear that she is not to do it again.  He explains that the runaway is nothing but a trouble maker, and that the laws of the land must be respected.  With that, he sends her back to her work (E, 116-119).  This interaction portrays slaveholders as fathers to their servants, trying to show them the way.  Thus it is in the slaveholder’s best interest to make keep his slaves happy (E, 45).

Stowe’s view of slaveholders is less idealistic than Eastman’s.  Stowe admits that there are likely many slaveholders who are good men.  They are a part of the slave system simply because they were born into it.  The example of St. Clare has previously been mentioned.  He is good at heart, and wishes there was more he could do to effectively improve the slaves’ position (S, 329).  According to Stowe these are not, however, the majority.  A system which was founded by the devil, as Stowe claimed, has a greater tendency to corrupt men, and lead them to as much temptation as possible.  These men are more likely to run things by force and fear.  Any slave who chooses to defy the master’s decision or direction is beaten into submission.  The master enjoys it, and is proud of his accomplishment (S, 483-484).  It is a slippery slope, according to Stowe’s narration.  If slaveholders feed the passion for and enjoyment of beating slaves into submission, that passion can lead a man to kill out of sheer passion (S, 539-540, 557-558, 578, 582-585).  Thus, slavery has an astonishing ability to corrupt men.  Corruption can, however, also come from the opposition: the abolitionists.

Abolitionists are treated differently between Eastman and Stowe.  Eastman portrays abolitionists as hypocritical, telling southern slaveholders to give up what is rightfully theirs, but “does he offer to share in the loss? No.”  According to Eastman, these “fanatics” will never bring about the emancipation of the slaves.  Indeed, it will never happen by force, but by God’s will only (E, 51).  Abolitionists “seduce” slaves to run away, but that is as far as their Christian virtue goes.  They are otherwise concerned about their own time and money (E, 58, 60).  Eastman says that the abolitionist cause would be much more respectable with “a few flashes of truth” (E, 119).  This view of the opponents of slavery comes off quite harsh, and that is Eastman’s point.  Abolitionists are seen by Southerners at the time as sinister little devils, trying to concoct a way to ruin the entire Southern way of life. 

Stowe’s portrayal of abolitionists is much less harsh overall.  Early in the book, Stowe introduces a kind hearted woman in Kentucky that believes that slavery is wrong.  All she wants to do is help the “poor creatures” by giving them a place to sleep, some food to eat, and some clothes to wear.  She does not intend to hide them there at her home, but simply to be a good Christian, indeed a Good Samaritan (S, 142).  Her husband, a Senator, had voted to pass and uphold the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850.  However, upon personal experience with a ragged runaway slave, the Senator’s heart is touched and he himself helps the runaway (S, 147-161).  In an attempt to avoid oversimplification, Stowe points out that many abolitionists are just as racists as any slaveholder.  They want freedom for the slaves, but beyond that they want nothing to do with them.  Miss Ophelia is astonished that St. Clare lets his children kiss the servants.  She is thoroughly disgusted with the sight (S, 255-256).  This portrayal is similar to Eastman’s, but employs a slightly softer tone, suggesting Stowe’s concern for offending good-hearted abolitionists. 

Eastman and Stowe agree that Northern society is not as virtuous as its citizens claim it is.   Eastman revealed the secret of Northern emancipation: they were “relieved from the necessity of slavery” (E, 23).  If the Northern economy was still based on large-scale agriculture, they would likely still have slaves to do the work.  Because of the shift toward manufacturing and commercialism in the North, there is very little need for a workforce of slaves.  Yet the Northerners feel they have a right to judge the actions of the South, which judgments, Eastman claims, are based on false information (E, 71).  These hypocritical Northerners turn around and treat those of Irish descent worse than Southerners treat their black slaves (E, 73-74).  Stowe gives an example of Northern hypocrisy.  Miss Ophelia, St. Clare’s cousin, is from New England.  She has come down South to stay with her cousin, because his wife is sick and cannot run the estate.  Miss Ophelia constantly talks about what she would do if she were a slaveholder.  She would be kind, and try to teach them right.  As a playful test, St. Clare buys Miss Ophelia a slave girl named Topsy, and tells her it is her opportunity to teach her.  Miss Ophelia is horrified, and says that she does not want anything to do with “that thing,” which is so “heathenish” (S, 351-353).  If emancipation were to take place, Northerners would need to change the intense racism they exhibit, and that is as hard a task as emancipation.

Southern society is exemplified by both Eastman and Stowe largely through women.  Eastman describes Southern society as virtuous and decent.  Southern women, according to Eastman, have a lot of class and are very understanding of others.  They are very kind to their servants.  At the periods of the day designated for rest, white slave owners do not call on their slaves for help, because they respect the fact that the slaves have very little that brings them pure joy (E, 163).  Indeed, Eastman argues, the South is much more virtuous and humane than many Northerners think.  If they would but come to the South, they would see it (E, 206).

Stowe’s view of the South is very different from Eastman’s.  When people are surrounded by servants their entire life, they become selfish, cynical and harsh.  Marie St. Clare, the slaveholder’s wife, is the woman onto whom Stowe packs all of these unfortunate traits.  Because she grew up wooing all the men within her society, Marie thought St. Clare was very lucky to have her.  She takes and takes and does not give anything back, especially when it comes to love (S, 242).  Marie is very cynical about other people and their motives, especially slaves, due to her extensive experience with the chattel system (S, 257).  Marie, and through interpretation Southerners as a majority, have become rather harsh.  Marie believes that the only way to keep a good slave is to break them: put them down and keep them down (S, 265).  This portrayal shows some major defects within Southern society, and suggests a possible flaw in Southern ideology.

The idea of freedom, and the way in which that idea is portrayed, is very different in each of the two works.  Eastman portrays freedom as an ambiguous thing.  Abolitionists, Eastman argues, want to give slaves their freedom, namely the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  When they remove these slaves from the plantation, they provide them with no means to accomplish those pursuits.  How could emancipating the slaves provide them with these liberties if they have absolutely no means of accomplishing the ends described (E, 66-68)? On a religious note, Eastman returns to her point that slavery was instituted by God.  Because it was a commandment of God, only he can emancipate the slaves.  Freedom is something that no man should take, even for himself.  Eastman uses her character Phillis as an example.  Phillis’s master takes her North with him on business, where she is encountered by abolitionists.  They ask her why she does not just leave, and take her own freedom.  She replied that if her master were to give it to her, she would be more than happy, but she would never take anything, including her freedom (E, 103-104). 

Stowe’s view of freedom is very different from Eastman’s.  To Stowe, freedom is not ambiguous.  Freedom is what every man yearns for.  After St. Clare tells Tom he will set him free and let him return to his family Tom is ecstatic.  St. Clare asks him if he has not been well provided for, because in fact Tom clothing and home would not be nearly as nice as they are now if he were a free man.  Tom said that he had been very well provided for, but he would rather have poor man’s clothing, home and everything, “and have ‘em mine” than have nice things (S, 441).  For Tom, freedom is the most desirable thing in the world.  Stowe asks, “What is freedom to a nation, but freedom to the individuals in it?”  Freedom to Stowe is not identified by a nation.  If a nation claims to be free, it means nothing unless the individuals therein are free: individuals with “the right to be a man, and not a brute;” men free to protect their wives and educate their children (S, 544-545).  Freedom is for individuals.

Overall, Stowe portrays the institution of slavery as fundamentally flawed and immoral.  As a result of its wicked inception, individuals and societies that allow and revere the institution are negatively affected.  There is no easy solution to the problem; nevertheless, the problem needs to be dealt with.  Eastman suggests that the peculiar institution is established by God, and though there are some vices connected with this way of life, the virtues and humanitarianism found therein greatly outweigh them.  Both works conclude with an appeal to a higher power, calling on the North and the South to remember that they will be held responsible before God for their actions (S, 629, E, 281).  Ultimately, Stowe seeks action to eventually end the slave system; Eastman seeks action, from the North and the South, to take care of their own poor.  These opposing views translate into a larger, socio-political sphere where discourse of this nature continues throughout the eminent war between the two regions.