Frederick Douglass was truly a unique oddity of his time. Well educated, profoundly intellectual, and black in the heart of an era when slavery was truly the fulcrum of our nation’s economic and moral prosperity. Douglas had found the avenue to better his circumstances through knowledge and inward reflection, but in the footsteps of his own, uncommon individual liberties followed a stampede of unrelenting oppression and scrutiny. He was one of only a few black men employed by white society, and the society’s most privileged would often condescendingly insist that Douglass merely relate the “facts” of his experience, and leave the philosophy, rhetoric, and persuasive argument to others. Yet Douglass’s 1845 Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave, can be seen as a response to both of these types of resistance. It is made all tooo clear that Douglass is The Narrative’s sole author, containing two prefaces from William Lloyd Garrison and another abolitionist, Wendell Phillips, who confirm this detail. Douglass’s use of the true names of people and places further silenced his detractors who questioned the truthfulness of his story and status as a former slave. Additionally, the Narrative proved to not only provide personal description of his own slave narrative, but recounted the emotional baggage that followed the experiences’ end trails. Douglass demonstrated his ability to be not only the teller of his story, but its interpreter as well. He took advantage of the popularity of slave narratives while expanding the possibilities of those narratives. In its somewhat unique depiction of slavery as an assault on selfhood and in its attention to the tensions of becoming an individual, Douglass’s Narrative can be read as a contribution to the literary tradition of American Romantic individualism. It celebrates the essence of what it means to live with the same self-hood echoed in the works found outside the “confines” of the coined: slave-narrative genre in literature.
Comparatively speaking, when exploring Douglass and Jacobs’ narratives we see a divergence of many of the rhetorical styles we’ve encountered in this class. We see the narrative depiction of slavery, or more generally speaking the concept of “confinement” (which we saw in Women’s Indian Captivity Narratives, and The Conquest of Spain) while also shedding some light on a philosophical reflection/argument to such circumstances, and such narrations (as we see in Emerson and Thorough, and even a little bit in The Coquette). This ultimately leads us to a first-hand re-telling of an off-hand, collective human experience. The story really vibes on its historical accuracy (that kinda exists in Witch Trial narratives we covered week 2…but not really) but, within this historical narrative lies the human investment in what is being clarified to his audience.
One passage that really stands out in my mind can be seen in the second chapter of the book….
“I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear.”
This passage is part of Douglass’s long discussion at the end of Chapter II about the songs that slaves sing. As he often does in the Narrative, Douglass takes his personal experience of hearing slaves sing on their way to the Great House Farm and analyzes this as a common experience among all slaves. He uses his conclusions about slave behavior to correct white readers’ misconceptions. In this instance, Douglass explains that many Northerners mistakenly believe that the singing of slaves is evidence of their happiness, yet Douglass explains that the songs are actually evidence, on an almost subconscious emotional level, of the slaves’ deep unhappiness.
Douglass makes a distinction between the literal and the “deep” meaning of the songs. Douglass explains that the songs were difficult to understand—“apparently incoherent” to outsiders—but that the slaves themselves understood the literal meaning of the words they were singing. However, the “deep” meaning of the songs is not apparent to Douglass until he becomes an outsider to the group. Douglass implies that the “deep” meaning becomes clear only with distance and after applying tools of analysis. This distance explains Douglass’s particular position of authority in the Narrative. Douglass not only experiences life under slavery, but he now also has the tools and the distance with which to interpret the practices of slavery for outside audiences.
The quotation further provides an example of the tension inherent in the Narrative. Douglass must abandon his former slave self in order to become a narrator capable of interpreting the experiences of that former self. Implicit in this quotation is the idea that a culture remains invisible to those who are raised within it; while, our everyday practices may seem normal—they have little meaning and therefore cannot be interpreted. As such, Douglass does not understand the symbolic meaning of the slave songs when he is one of the singers. Douglass suggests that only after moving away from his culture can he gain interpretive distance from it.
Building on this idea, can you think of anything that found meaning to you only from a distance?
Personally, while I am a full time student here at Otterbein, I’ve also been trying to maintain a steady profession as a working musician. Although college makes it rather difficult at times, playing gigs, making music, and trying to leave myself a chance to do it for a living one day is a major priority in my life. And songwriting, might just be the absolute perfect depiction of saying/feeling something without fully understanding it: or “the deeper meaning” that I mentioned earlier. I find new meaning in old song lyrics that I wrote pretty much every time I play a show. And while I may have a set goal, or, conscious intention, or premeditated image that I try to share and express to myself or an audience, I can never predict the emotional/physical responses, or interpretations a song or a lyric will deliver on an individual or collective basis. But I accept this, knowing that as long as I write with honesty, my material will have genuine interpretations and meanings. I feel that Frederick Douglass is speaking about this same degree of recognition.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Baaaa
I usually take it as a compliment when my father tells me I’m thinking too much. Every time my mother gives her patented, almost practiced to perfection, ‘follow your heart speech’, I’d be lying to you if I said I was convinced more than a fraction, even a fraction of a fraction of a percent of the time.
I guess that makes me stubborn, or a pretty lousy son at any rate. But that’s just it, I wasn’t always like this.
When I was in the eighth grade, like essentially every American adolescent conceived sometime after 1989, my parents got a divorce. Granted, to say that I wasn’t exactly dumbfounded by this gaping development in my life would be an understatement; but it wasn’t like it just happened overnight. All the same, the aftermath of their split left quite the imprint on my middle-childhood development. Before the split, like most children growing up in central Ohio (where there’s really nothing better for accomplished adults in their 30’s to do but raise a happy family) my parents were actively involved in my life and in my judgments. I knew that every dumb mistake I made and every gold star I got would be taken in and sized in the hands and supervision of my parents. They were like my social barometer, my life-management supervisors. As late as my early teens, I could always count on my decision supervision database that was “mom and dad” to reinforce my own values, that I guess were yet to be identified.
Then, all of the sudden, I had this unforeseen culture shock. My parents, my crutches, were suddenly separated from my limp stature. I was forced to not only recognize that I had never truly learned how to stand on my own two feet, but more, to actually learn how to be “self-reliant”. All of the sudden, it became very clear to me just how much of a sheep I was. From one day to the next I could face hellish scrutiny or delighted appraisal for the same act, thought, opinion, state of mind, sense of humor, everything was suddenly under review but in a different light than before. I was suddenly thrusted into an odd circumstance; I had to stop being a bystander in the midst of my decision making. It was either that, or face inevitable hesitancy that would haunt me for the rest of my days. By the time I was a sophomore in High School, I had finally made the transition to a self-governing, independent, man-boy taking almost every opinion with a grain of salt and a hint of reserve. I’m not saying I had it all figured out at 16, I’m saying I had finally learned that I was the one who needed to figure everything out for myself.
And while I still possess the same amount of confliction, indecision, and hesitation as the next clueless, 20 year old caffeine addict, I know that the end trails of my life would support the makings of Emerson and Thorough. Yet I admit, the line between independence and self-righteousness remains thin, and this observation can compromise the general reception of this concept of self-government. It’s no secret that the appeal of nonconformity holds within it the baggage of certain impulses, impulses that resist and even deprecate the interpretation of our neighbors.
Oh by the way....this is my feeble attempt at a youtube post. So not looking cool but it is applicable to the topic at hand. The other is hilarious.
I guess that makes me stubborn, or a pretty lousy son at any rate. But that’s just it, I wasn’t always like this.
When I was in the eighth grade, like essentially every American adolescent conceived sometime after 1989, my parents got a divorce. Granted, to say that I wasn’t exactly dumbfounded by this gaping development in my life would be an understatement; but it wasn’t like it just happened overnight. All the same, the aftermath of their split left quite the imprint on my middle-childhood development. Before the split, like most children growing up in central Ohio (where there’s really nothing better for accomplished adults in their 30’s to do but raise a happy family) my parents were actively involved in my life and in my judgments. I knew that every dumb mistake I made and every gold star I got would be taken in and sized in the hands and supervision of my parents. They were like my social barometer, my life-management supervisors. As late as my early teens, I could always count on my decision supervision database that was “mom and dad” to reinforce my own values, that I guess were yet to be identified.
Then, all of the sudden, I had this unforeseen culture shock. My parents, my crutches, were suddenly separated from my limp stature. I was forced to not only recognize that I had never truly learned how to stand on my own two feet, but more, to actually learn how to be “self-reliant”. All of the sudden, it became very clear to me just how much of a sheep I was. From one day to the next I could face hellish scrutiny or delighted appraisal for the same act, thought, opinion, state of mind, sense of humor, everything was suddenly under review but in a different light than before. I was suddenly thrusted into an odd circumstance; I had to stop being a bystander in the midst of my decision making. It was either that, or face inevitable hesitancy that would haunt me for the rest of my days. By the time I was a sophomore in High School, I had finally made the transition to a self-governing, independent, man-boy taking almost every opinion with a grain of salt and a hint of reserve. I’m not saying I had it all figured out at 16, I’m saying I had finally learned that I was the one who needed to figure everything out for myself.
And while I still possess the same amount of confliction, indecision, and hesitation as the next clueless, 20 year old caffeine addict, I know that the end trails of my life would support the makings of Emerson and Thorough. Yet I admit, the line between independence and self-righteousness remains thin, and this observation can compromise the general reception of this concept of self-government. It’s no secret that the appeal of nonconformity holds within it the baggage of certain impulses, impulses that resist and even deprecate the interpretation of our neighbors.
Oh by the way....this is my feeble attempt at a youtube post. So not looking cool but it is applicable to the topic at hand. The other is hilarious.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ccenFp_3kq8
“I hope in these days we have heard the last of conformity and consistency. A great man is coming to eat at my house. I do not wish to please him: I wish that he should wish to please me. I will stand here for humanity, and though I would make it kind, I would make it true.” (p. 1169)
“I hope in these days we have heard the last of conformity and consistency. A great man is coming to eat at my house. I do not wish to please him: I wish that he should wish to please me. I will stand here for humanity, and though I would make it kind, I would make it true.” (p. 1169)
But let’s be honest with ourselves, one of the main influences for our impulse to either conform, or resist conformity, is a direct side-effect of our struggle to formulate lasting opinions, and stable value systems. Trying to hold on to my thoughts from one minute to the next is a lot like catching fire flies in the dark. Notions: they’ll shimmer for a second and then fade away; but it’s never just one thought, it’s several of them and they all flicker at different points in time.
Emerson acknowledges this struggle to remain consistent and how it plays into conformist and nonconformist ideologies. Not only does he acknowledge this struggle, he completely dismantles it as a necessity for finding self-satisfaction, “With consistency, a great should has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall.” (p. 1174).
This lack of concern for formulating consistent ideas, dependable interpretations for the conflicts life bestows on us, brings us to some of the discussions we shared in class regarding intuition, what it is, and how often we depend on it as a guide. It seems that because our notions are so variable and under revision, emotional response to life’s circumstances seem to be the most dependable- at least from my own personal experience- given that there is nothing for us to compare an impulse to. The only component that can damage an intuition is a thought. A feeling is a feeling in its truest form, yet it seems that thoughts can vary.
Ultimately, Self Reliance is a work that questions the struggle to find that common ground between intuition and presumption, impulse and preparation. But I would argue that as long as we acknowledge that this struggle and this balance exists we’ll never veer too far from ourselves and our promise for ultimate autonomy.
Emerson acknowledges this struggle to remain consistent and how it plays into conformist and nonconformist ideologies. Not only does he acknowledge this struggle, he completely dismantles it as a necessity for finding self-satisfaction, “With consistency, a great should has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall.” (p. 1174).
This lack of concern for formulating consistent ideas, dependable interpretations for the conflicts life bestows on us, brings us to some of the discussions we shared in class regarding intuition, what it is, and how often we depend on it as a guide. It seems that because our notions are so variable and under revision, emotional response to life’s circumstances seem to be the most dependable- at least from my own personal experience- given that there is nothing for us to compare an impulse to. The only component that can damage an intuition is a thought. A feeling is a feeling in its truest form, yet it seems that thoughts can vary.
Ultimately, Self Reliance is a work that questions the struggle to find that common ground between intuition and presumption, impulse and preparation. But I would argue that as long as we acknowledge that this struggle and this balance exists we’ll never veer too far from ourselves and our promise for ultimate autonomy.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Week 5: The Coquette
I feel like much of the framework of our readings tie in to a very common human familiarity; one that reveals a widespread theme of moral complexity, but more, complexity that is only nourished by simplicity and confinement. Each reading, in its own way, has a very “captivating” aspect that gives it its certain je ne sais quoi. Maybe this “appeal” derives simply through this ongoing imprint of complication within each narrative and, as a result, within each reader.
In The Coquette, we examine a ‘fictionally true’ take on the defining story of a woman; a woman who became a victim of example and a main protagonist of a culturally definitive cautionary tale. Subsequently, Hannah W. Foster’s sole purpose of publishing this story was to embellish the complications that lead to these celebrated, simple, and dismissing conclusions of society at large.
All the while, the handling of this character, Eliza Wharton, and this narrative, is rather isolated comparatively with other, similar narratives that confront these comparable, contextual hardships. I mean let’s face it, the themes of finding love, the ongoing struggle of the feminist protagonist, overcoming social confinement, the individual vs. society, individuality in the face of conformity….I think you get my point. These are recurring themes in literature, especially in pre-twentieth century literature, common concepts that most any reader has encountered at one time or another. But this is an interesting case. While these comparable themes and morally similar characters like Jane Eyre, or Sinclair Lewis’ flighty Carol in Main Street (even Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman for Christ’s sake) are encouraged by the reader or defended by the author, the landscape behind The Coquette supplies a story that’s less committed and outspoken to direct appraisal of this archetypal circumstance and protagonist. And it is precisely this absence of moral guidance, or appraisal (in regards to any character, any decision, and any judgment of any decision) that leaves the reader with that all too familiar burden: forming our own judgment.
This leaves our mind in a state of wandering, a wandering that seems comparable to the knotty, back and forth nature of Eliza herself. As Eliza put it, we feel compelled even further to search for other questions and deeper meanings, “The mind, after being at home for a while, sends the imagination abroad inquest of new treasures, and the body may as well accompany it, for ought I can see.” (p. 15) Is there anything wrong with this? Where does ambiguity start and assertion end?
Probably somewhere between a nasty note from your best friend and dying in alone in a pub....
Ultimately, this leaves readers a state of confusion, but I think this is a good thing. This guy, Alfred Korzybski said it best, "There are two ways to slide easily through life: to believe everything or to doubt everything; both ways save us from thinking." And all over the place we see this repetition in the use of the mind and its role in the story. Over and over again we hear Eliza in this state of either succumbing or resisting the "wandering impulses of [her] mind..." (p.67) Yet this thought, and her mind seem more associated with the negative or weary concepts that so vividly conflict with the value system and structure of the society in which she is so unwillingly judged by.
But is it not thought that provokes judgement? Riddle me that 18th century society. Hell, I'm fresh out of ideas...
In The Coquette, we examine a ‘fictionally true’ take on the defining story of a woman; a woman who became a victim of example and a main protagonist of a culturally definitive cautionary tale. Subsequently, Hannah W. Foster’s sole purpose of publishing this story was to embellish the complications that lead to these celebrated, simple, and dismissing conclusions of society at large.
All the while, the handling of this character, Eliza Wharton, and this narrative, is rather isolated comparatively with other, similar narratives that confront these comparable, contextual hardships. I mean let’s face it, the themes of finding love, the ongoing struggle of the feminist protagonist, overcoming social confinement, the individual vs. society, individuality in the face of conformity….I think you get my point. These are recurring themes in literature, especially in pre-twentieth century literature, common concepts that most any reader has encountered at one time or another. But this is an interesting case. While these comparable themes and morally similar characters like Jane Eyre, or Sinclair Lewis’ flighty Carol in Main Street (even Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman for Christ’s sake) are encouraged by the reader or defended by the author, the landscape behind The Coquette supplies a story that’s less committed and outspoken to direct appraisal of this archetypal circumstance and protagonist. And it is precisely this absence of moral guidance, or appraisal (in regards to any character, any decision, and any judgment of any decision) that leaves the reader with that all too familiar burden: forming our own judgment.
This leaves our mind in a state of wandering, a wandering that seems comparable to the knotty, back and forth nature of Eliza herself. As Eliza put it, we feel compelled even further to search for other questions and deeper meanings, “The mind, after being at home for a while, sends the imagination abroad inquest of new treasures, and the body may as well accompany it, for ought I can see.” (p. 15) Is there anything wrong with this? Where does ambiguity start and assertion end?
Probably somewhere between a nasty note from your best friend and dying in alone in a pub....
Ultimately, this leaves readers a state of confusion, but I think this is a good thing. This guy, Alfred Korzybski said it best, "There are two ways to slide easily through life: to believe everything or to doubt everything; both ways save us from thinking." And all over the place we see this repetition in the use of the mind and its role in the story. Over and over again we hear Eliza in this state of either succumbing or resisting the "wandering impulses of [her] mind..." (p.67) Yet this thought, and her mind seem more associated with the negative or weary concepts that so vividly conflict with the value system and structure of the society in which she is so unwillingly judged by.
But is it not thought that provokes judgement? Riddle me that 18th century society. Hell, I'm fresh out of ideas...
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