The relevance of John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath Today. A History of Hostility and Hysteria Toward Immigrants. Is culture a Smelting Pot, Melting Pot or Stew Pot? We have much to Fear from the Fear of Fear Itself.

The relevance of John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath Today. A History of Hostility and Hysteria Toward Immigrants. Is culture a Smelting Pot, Melting Pot or Stew Pot? We have much to Fear from the Fear of Fear Itself.

Burton Weltman

“Well, you and me got sense.  Them goddamn Okies got no sense and no feeling.  They ain’t human.  A human being wouldn’t live like they do.  A human being couldn’t stand it to be so dirty and miserable.  They ain’t a hell of a lot better than gorillas.” 

A gas station attendant in The Grapes of Wrath to his colleague, commenting on the nature of Dust Bowl migrants.

Precis: A Fear of Heterogeneity – Difference as Potentially Dangerous.

How is it that in a nation of immigrants – except for Native Americans, everyone or their ancestors came here from somewhere else – so many people are so susceptible to anti-immigrant sentiment?  I think that an expectation of cultural homogeneity is a big part of the answer.  The belief that the mantra e pluribus unum, our national motto for most of American history, means that diversity will give way to uniformity and differences will be swallowed up in conformity.  I think that belief is wrong, both as an interpretation of the motto and as social policy.  I think the motto means that we can be both one and many, unified and diverse, at the same time, what could be called a stew pot culture.  And I think that an insistence on cultural homogeneity is a big part of our current political problems.

As I am writing this in April, 2024, the country is in an uproar over immigrants coming from Central America, with xenophobes and racists like Donald Trump and his MAGA followers howling about an invasion of murderous aliens.  Vile as this anti-immigrant bigotry is, it is not really new.  Hostility to immigrants and fear of alien influences have been recurrent themes in American history.  This seems strange for a nation of immigrants but it is, nonetheless, true. 

Conventional explanations of anti-immigrant sentiment focus on competition for jobs and cultural conflicts.  Historically, businesses have imported low-wage workers from other parts of the world to replace native-born workers and thereby lower their costs.  And historically, there have been cultural conflicts between newcomers and native-born Americans, often revolving around religious differences. 

But these factors cannot explain anti-immigrant hostility when jobs and religion are not at issue, which has often been the case, and they are not at issue in the present-day case.  Central American immigrants today are taking jobs that native-born Americans aren’t filling.  We have a labor shortage in this country.  In addition, like most Americans, they are mostly Christians.  As such, they do not represent any clear and present threat to native-born Americans or American culture.  To the contrary, they are needed to fill empty jobs and for the economy to function. 

But immigration anxiety persists among many Americans, and it presents an opportunity for Trump and his MAGA gang to stir things up, to make something big out of virtually nothing.  What is to be done?  The key problem, in my opinion, is not the existence of MAGA bigots.  Bigots there have always been and probably always will be.  The key problem is the anxiety that persists among ordinary people who are not for the most part bigots but whose anxiety can be played upon by Trump and his cohort.

There is a susceptibility to anti-immigrant sentiment among Americans that exists even without conflicts over jobs or culture.  It is seemingly a hostility to newcomers based mainly on their newness.  Newness is threatening because it raises the possibility that the new people may turn out to be different, and difference is deemed dangerous if you think that we all must be the same in order to be safe.  It is a preemptive fear that immigrants may turn out to be fearful.     

The Grapes of Wrath is a story that can both help us understand anti-immigrant hostility and point a way to overcoming it.  It is a story of WASP American migrants from Oklahoma being rejected during the 1930’s by the WASP inhabitants of California.  WASPs rejecting WASPs.  And jobs were not at issue.  The Grapes of Wrath is a demonstration, fictional but based on reality, that the mere newness of newcomers may trigger anxiety and hostility.

The United States is currently in the throes of high anxiety about immigrants and immigration.  Much of this anxiety is the result of an unreasonable expectation that everyone should be culturally homogeneous, something that has never appertained in the country and never reasonably could.  Given this expectation of cultural uniformity, people become anxious any time anyone new comes into the country, even if the newcomers pose no threat to the existing population.  It is nuts, but it has happened over and over again in the course of American history.

High Anxiety: Fear of Fear itself.

President Franklin Roosevelt famously said of the Great Depression during the 1930’s that “We have nothing to fear but fear itself.”  A corollary to that adage is that we need to be afraid of fear.  Fear can lead to distorted decision-making and debilitating defeatism.  But it also follows that we have much to fear from the fear of fear.  Trying to rid yourself of fear can itself lead to fearful consequences, including unhinged hostility toward the supposed source of your fear.  

Fear is a fearsome thing.  It can tinge your life with anxiety.  Fear of fear can be even worse.  It can envelope your life with what could be called high anxiety.  Being afraid of being afraid.  And high anxiety can leave you susceptible to all sorts of angry feelings, ugly ideas and inhumane influences.  We live in an era which is rife with high anxiety, especially with regard to immigrants.  We are bombarded with a fear of the fear that immigrants might be fearful.

High anxiety is a contorted but powerful feeling.  Fear times fear – irrationality squared – equals high anxiety.  As applied to immigrants, it has left many otherwise decent people susceptible to the fearmongering of demagogues like Donald Trump and his MAGA supporters who try to stir up anti-immigrant sentiment for political and financial purposes.  How can this be? 

I think that John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath can help us understand what may seem like an unfathomable phenomenon.  It is a novel about the high anxiety that Californians felt during the 1930’s when an influx of Dust Bowl refugees moved there from Oklahoma.  It was not fear of the immigrants per se, but fear of the fear that the immigrants might become fearful.  They were afraid they would find cause to become afraid of the immigrants.  It was a case of high anxiety. 

Like Californians in the 1930’s, we live at a time in which many Americans are not merely afraid of people who are harmful, they are also afraid of people they think might become harmful.  It is a preemptive and presumably preventive fear.  If you are not one of us, you might be against us.  If you are unfamiliar, you might become fearful.  It is an expectation of cultural conformity and ethnic homogenization as opposed to an expectation of the diversity that actually pertains in American society. 

It is a formula for fear that applies to many sorts of people.   Americans are afraid of almost anyone who is different than they are, including most fellow Americans – but since immigrants are inherently unfamiliar, it leads to a presumption of fearfulness about them.  Rooted in a fear of difference as dangerous and diversity as divisive, high anxiety is aimed today at immigrants.  But it affects and harms us all.  We have much to fear from the fear of fear itself.       

High Anxiety and The Grapes of Wrath

The Grapes of Wrath is a story about immigrants being viciously vilified and rejected by the residents of an area in which they seek to settle.  This is an all-too-common situation in the world today and a recurrent scenario in American history.  Native-born Americans have repeatedly been opposed to the immigration of new people, even when their own families came from elsewhere.  The present-day hysteria about Central American immigrants is reminiscent of similar anti-immigrant outbursts in the past.  Only this one threatens to upend and undermine our democratic system.  That makes it a particularly serious state of affairs.

The Grapes of Wrath was written in 1939 in the midst of the migration of Dust Bowl refugees from Oklahoma to California.  It is a historical novel.  A movie of the book was made in 1940.  The novel is widely regarded as one of the best in American history.  The movie is similarly regarded.  What makes the story and the history in the novelparticularly interesting is that the immigrants in the book are not from a foreign country.  And their treatment, or rather mistreatment, flies in the face of most explanations of anti-immigrant hostility. 

The conventional explanations of anti-immigrant sentiment generally stress economic factors, such as competition for jobs, and cultural factors, such as racism, chauvinism, nationalism and other cultural differences between the newcomers and their persecutors.  But the immigrants in The Grapes of Wrath were not taking jobs away from the residents of California, and they were not ethnically, linguistically, religiously or otherwise culturally different in significant ways from the Californians who were reviling and rejecting them. 

The immigrants in The Grapes of Wrath were moving to California to take vacant jobs that Californians weren’t occupying and to do farm work that Californians weren’t doing.  They were white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant, native-born Americans, that is WASPs, just like most of the Californians.  Nonetheless, the newcomers were repulsed by the inhabitants.  WASPs being rejected by WASPs.  Without jobs at issue. That doesn’t fit the usual matrix.  So, why all the hostility?  There must be something involved here that doesn’t fit the usual explanations but that may, in fact, underlie the usual explanations.   

I think that something may be high anxiety, the fear of fear itself.  As it is portrayed in The Grapes of Wrath, anti-immigrant hostility seems largely to be a product of the fear of newcomers just because they were new.  The Okie immigrants were unfamiliar, literally not part of the family, and that made them a potential source of fear.  A high anxiety.

The Grapes of Wrath: The Story.

The Grapes of Wrath is a heartrending story of Americans brutalizing Americans because they were from a different part of the United States.  It is in its essentials a true story.  Steinbeck traveled and lived with Okie immigrants.  He portrayed what he saw.  Migrants traveling some fifteen hundred miles on short rations in ramshackle vehicles, taking with them all they could pack into a car or pickup truck.  

As such, the book is first and foremost a brilliant and moving account of the migration, looking at events from the Okies’ point of view.  It is dramatic without being melodramatic, and detailed without being boring.  The descriptions of how the migrants maintained their rickety motor vehicles and sustained themselves physically and emotionally are captivating.  As readers, we feel as though we are undertaking the migration ourselves.

The storyfollows the Joad family as they lose their farm in Oklahoma and move to California to try to find work and land.  As the story begins, the family consists of twelve people, with a thirteenth on the way.  Three generations with a fourth in embryo.  In addition, an ex-preacher joins the family in their migration.  They lose two aged grandparents to death on the way and two adult males to desertion.  And the baby is born but then dies. 

Ma Joad is the emotional center of the family and the story.  She keeps the family together and keeps their hopes alive, and ours as well.  The ex-preacher Casy is the moral center of the book and personally lives the “one for all and all for one” ethic that he conceives to be a universal rule and that is the main message of Steinbeck’s novel.  Tom Joad is the center of the action in the story and represents a model of pragmatic strength through humility. 

The story of the Joads is interwoven with chapters that describe the social and economic situation in the United States during the 1930’s, and especially in Oklahoma and California.  The book proceeds in a hopscotch pattern with chapters that describe the social and economic conditions of the time alternating with chapters that portray the doings of the Joad family as they make their way through those conditions.

The book is usually read as a harsh critique of the capitalist economy of the times and as a testament to the courage and strength of people who suffered under it.  Which it is. But it is also a book about immigration and Americans’ reactions to immigrants.  It illustrates the hostility with which many Americans have responded to newcomers just because they were new.  The book portrays what it was like for local people to have immigrants move into their midst.  It speaks to us as local people faced with immigrants today. 

Immigration History and Hysteria: Déjà vu all over again.

A typical riff on immigrants: They are indigent, indolent, illiterate, ignorant and, worst of all, violent.  They are an invasion that threatens public safety, undermines workers’ wages, and degrades American culture.  Sound familiar?

Unfortunately, it does.  It is the sort of hysterical rant against immigrants, and especially Latin American immigrants, that you hear these days from Donald Trump and his MAGA movement.  Trump has recently (I am writing this in early April, 2024) even used near genocidal rhetoric while viciously haranguing against immigrants.  Given that the United States is a land of immigrants – everyone except for Native Americans has their roots somewhere else – it might seem strange, even perverse, that this sort of anti-immigrant virulence would be so widespread

It is perverse, but not strange.  Complaints that immigrants constitute a blight on the United States have historically been common, even if Trump’s rhetoric today is especially vicious and vile.  It was a complaint that native-born colonial Americans made in the eighteenth century against the immigration of Germans to the colonies.  It was the same complaint that native-born Americans, including the descendants of those now integrated German immigrants, made against Irish immigrants in the mid-nineteenth century. 

The same complaint was made by native-born Americans, including the descendants of those Irish immigrants, against Eastern and Southern European immigrants in the late-nineteenth century.  The same complaint was made by northern Whites against Blacks migrating from the South during the early twentieth century. 

And in The Grapes of Wrath, we see the same complaint being made against migrants moving from Oklahoma to California during the 1930’s.  Several hundred thousand Okies sought jobs and land in California after having been evicted from their homes and farms in Oklahoma.  And then they were rejected in California by people most of whose families had immigrated there since the mid-nineteenth century, who were relative newcomers themselves.

The United States has from the start been a country of immigrants and anti-immigrants.  In almost every generation, there has been a major immigration of people to America or across America from somewhere else.  And each of those cohorts of immigrants has been met with widespread scorn and opposition, even from the previous generation of immigrants now integrated as native-born citizens.

Invading Hordes of Indigent Immigrants?  Some facts might help.

We are surrounded today with hysterical fears of invading hordes of immigrants.  These fears have repeatedly echoed down the halls of American history to the present day.  They are nonsense.  In fact, there has never been an invasion of immigrants either in the past or in the present day, and despite the frenzied rhetoric of the anti-immigrants today, the United States is not currently overwhelmed with immigrants. 

What is overwhelmed is the inadequate governmental systems for processing immigrants.  Understaffed and underfunded, they are badly malfunctioning, albeit not much worse than many times in the past.  In any case, the immigrant population today is not particularly large.  Immigrants currently make up around 14% of the population of the United States, which is pretty much what it has been for the last one hundred years and considerably less than in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

Hysterical fears of immigrants failing to fit in as Americans and wrecking American society have also invariably been false.  Each of the maligned immigrant cohorts has eventually been integrated into American society, and the newcomers have made major contributions to the economy and the culture of the country.[1]  And that has continued to the present day. 

Hysterical fears of immigrants ending up on welfare are also false. Immigrants are not indolent and are, instead, a boon to our economy, not a drag.[2]  They come for jobs, not handouts.  There is good reason for this.  Emigrants from elsewhere are generally among the most active people in their native populations, which is generally why and how they left their homelands.  Emigrating has never been easy, and it is usually easier to stay put and endure difficult existing conditions than to strike out to someplace new to start over with your life.  Emigrants are literally movers and shakers.  Their energy and ambition are reasons that the United States has historically been so successful. 

Immigrants to the United States are also generally enthusiastic about democracy.  It is one of the attractions of the country.  They are often more enthusiastic than native-born Americans who tend to take democracy for granted or even reject democratic principles, as we seem to be seeing in Donald Trump and his MAGA followers.

Contrary to the fearmongering of Trump and the MAGA movement, crime rates for immigrants, particularly for violent crimes, are lower than for native-born Americans, and employment rates among immigrants are higher.  Unemployment in the United States is currently at near record lows.  American farms and businesses want more workers.  They need immigrants. 

In turn, immigrants do not require more social services than native-born Americans and they pay their fair share of taxes.  Historically, immigrants who have not succeeded here have generally returned to their original countries, about one-third of all immigrants.  They have not become an indigent burden on American society. 

Logically, Americans should be welcoming immigrants.  But as we see in The Grapes of Wrath, logic can fail in the face of high anxiety.[3]

The Grapes of Wrath and the Oklahoma to California Migration System.

The Grapes of Wrath is the story of a family caught up in what could be characterized as an Oklahoma to California immigration system.  It was a system that provided large-scale corporate farms in California with cheap and submissive labor during the 1930’s.  It was very similar to the systems organized by American manufacturers for recruiting Irish and Eastern and Southern European immigrants during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.  The goal was abundant cheap and submissive labor.  It can also be compared to the immigration system that funnels Latin American immigrants to the Southwestern United States today. 

As described in The Grapes of Wrath, the system during the 1930’s began with the eviction of small farmers from their lands and homes in Oklahoma and ended with the former farmers desperately looking for work as fruit and cotton pickers on large corporate farms in California.  Not a happy ending for the hardworking and formerly independent farmers.

Oklahoma was settled by small farmers in the latter part of the nineteenth century.  In retrospect, it was probably an economic and environmental mistake.  Much of the land was only marginally fertile, better suited to bison than farmers, and when rainfall began to decrease, the soil became depleted and crop yields fell short.  Eventually the dry soil erupted into huge dust storms that gave the area the name of Dust Bowl.  Farmers weren’t able to grow enough to pay their mortgages or sharecropping fees.  As a result, they were evicted from their lands and homes.  The lands were subsequently combined into large-scale corporate farms that were mechanized and needed few workers, which left the displaced farmers without land or jobs.  The fictional Joads among them.

Meanwhile, large corporate farms in California needed workers to pick and plant crops.  So, as detailed in The Grapes of Wrath, they advertised that need throughout the Midwest, attracting to California hundreds of thousands of displaced farmers like the Joads looking for work.  The corporate farm owners deliberately lured many more workers to California than they needed so that the workers would compete with each other for work and would accept ever lower wages.

The corporate farm owners conspired to keep the workers submissive by denying them any sort of job security, and pitting them against each other so that they wouldn’t organize labor unions.  Steinbeck describes heartrending situations in which hungry striking workers are pitted against starving strike breakers so that the owners can lower workers’ wages.  The owners also stirred up hostility to the Okie immigrants among local Californians so that the immigrants could not join with local people to improve wages and conditions for the workers which would result in more sales in town stores and redound to the economic benefit of town folks.

Being denied long-term employment contracts and long-term housing, the Okies had to move around the state every few weeks looking for work, essentially becoming permanent migrant workers.  It was a desperate situation for most of the immigrants.  The Joads, for example, were repeatedly faced with the choice of spending their meagre earnings on food or on gas to get to the next place where they hoped to find work.  It was a vicious cycle and a lose/lose situation.

As a consequence of making so little money, the workers could not afford regular housing and had to set up temporary homeless camps on the outskirts of towns, living in tents, makeshift shelters, cardboard boxes, and their cars.  Keeping the workers homeless was encouraged by the corporate farm owners.  They did not want workers to settle together in permanent housing because that might facilitate their organizing labor unions and otherwise demanding higher wages and better working and living conditions.     

Logically, local citizens might have welcomed the immigrants if the workers had been paid decent wages, because that would mean more shoppers with more money to spend at local stores.  But local citizens were encouraged to fear the immigrants by the mass media and demagogic politicians who were controlled by the corporate farm owners.  Steinbeck describes how the media and politicians spread false rumors that immigrants were going to compete for work with native Californians so that wages would drop and the newcomers would eventually replace the natives, leaving them as homeless migrants in their own state.  This scenario was a 1930’s version of what is today called “Replacement Theory” when applied by MAGA demagogues to Latin Americans.

Meanwhile, local townspeople resented having their nice neighborhoods invaded by homeless and penniless immigrants.  The net result was that fearful and angry local people, egged on by agents of the corporate farm owners, physically attacked the immigrants and wrecked and burned down their migrant camps.  That happened repeatedly to the Joads in the book.

Constantly on the move, camping in unsanitary quarters and living on below-starvation wages, immigrant workers and their families were often chronically hungry and sick.  Many did not survive, dying from malnutrition and illnesses brought on or exacerbated by malnutrition.  But there were always more immigrants where the dying workers came from.  

This was the system of immigration and immiseration, exploitation and brutalization in which the fictional Joads and their fellow real-life Okies were trapped and in which they seemed to be doomed to die.  Not too different from the immigration system of today?

The Grapes of Wrath: A Migration of People but also Ideas. 

Immigrants like the Joads were recruited for their bodies – they were going to be hired hands – but they also brought their ideas.  Fear of the ideas that immigrants might bring with them has been a consistent theme in the history of anti-immigrant hostility.  In the early nineteenth century, there was widespread fear of the Catholicism of Irish immigrants among the predominantly Protestant Americans.  In the later nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, there was fear among capitalistic conservatives of the socialistic ideas that European immigrants carried with them. 

In the present-day, it is clear that one of the main reasons that Donald Trump and his MAGA colleagues are so opposed to Latin American immigrants is their fear that the immigrants will support the Democratic Party if they become citizens.  It is a source of high anxiety for political right-wingers.

The Grapes of Wrath takes place at a time that in retrospect we can see was a changing of political orientations in Oklahoma and California, a change that was helped along by the migration of the Okies.  Oklahoma was going from politically progressive to regressive.  California was going from conservative to progressive. 

During the early twentieth century, Oklahoma was home to the largest percentage of Socialist Party members and voters of any state in the country.  Large numbers of hard-up small farmers favored the socialists’ theories and practices of cooperative farming, banking and marketing, along with government control of banks, constraints on foreclosure, and regulation of railroad shipping rates.  The Dust Bowl emigrants carried these progressive ideas and a generally progressive ethos with them. 

You can see these ideas and ethos in practice in The Grapes of Wrath as the migrants form cooperative associations in the camps they set up along their way to California and as they traveled around looking for work in the state.  Most of the migrants in the book seemed to adopt a cooperative attitude toward their emigration, an ethos of “we are all in this together.” 

It is an attitude that could be described as socialism of the heart, a cooperative sentiment, which the immigrants in the book carried with them even if they did not all identify as card-carrying Socialists.  Hard-up migrants frequentlyhelped each other on the road west, sharing scarce food and other resources, and fixing each other’s cars. 

This sort of activity worried the corporate farm owners and the book depicts how they sought to counter the cooperative efforts of the immigrants by keeping them constantly on the move and stirring up the local population against them.  With red-baiting and black-listing immigrant leaders, and even murdering the progressive preacher Casey who was traveling with the Joads, the corporate farm owners denounced cooperation as un-American.      

But despite the best and worst efforts of defenders of the status quo, emigration and immigration have almost invariably had political effects.  In this respect, the migration of Okies during the 1930’s seemingly had a long-term political effect on both Oklahoma and California. Some 500,000 emigrants left Oklahoma, which soon became the economic backwater and politically regressive state that it largely remains today.  Meanwhile, Okie immigrants soon made up some 15% of California’s population, and the state’s political orientation went from conservative to progressive, as it remains today.

Demonizing Immigrants: Exclusion and Segregation.

Facts don’t faze fanatics.  That immigrants are in fact a win-win proposition for the country can’t alleviate the high anxiety of hard-core haters.  They still insist on segregating and excluding immigrants so that they won’t infect our society with baleful influences. 

Infection is a key word among anti-immigrants.  Speaking of immigrants as though they are diseased or are vermin is common.  Donald Trump has recently said that at least some of the immigrants aren’t even human.  This is extremely irresponsible and dangerously ominous rhetoric.  It sounds as though not merely the exclusion of immigrants but their extermination could be on Trump’s mind, or could be taken as such by some of his violent followers.

Immigrants were subject to exclusion and segregation at various times in American history.  Chinese laborers during the mid-nineteenth century, for example, were recruited to work on building railroads in the West, segregated into camps while they were here, and then shipped back to China when the work was done.  Likewise, Mexican laborers were recruited during the mid-twentieth century to work on farms and railroad construction, were segregated into camps, and then sent back to Mexico when their work ended.

We can see both the exclusion and segregation of immigrants in The Grapes of Wrath.  Okie immigrants were stopped at the California border by state troopers and turned back if they looked too needy or unable to work.  California did not want newcomers who might end up as public charges.  This was a form of selective exclusion.  In turn, those immigrants who were allowed across the border were channeled into migrant labor camps and kept from settling with the native population in the cities, which is a form of segregation. 

Excluding and segregating immigrants are literally inhumane practices as they deny our common humanity.  They are also costly practices in lives and liberty and are ultimately unsuccessful. The United States is a big country with a border of some four thousand miles, much of it in uninhabited areas.  Trying to completely stop immigrants from getting in to the country m would entail enormous resources and require militarizing the country.  The same is true of segregation, as we have regrettably seen in American history.  That sort of repressive regime is seemingly what Donald Trump and his MAGA supporters want, but it is not what the Founders of the United States wanted or what the Constitution envisions.  It is flatly un-American.

Racism and chauvinism from Trump and his MAGA followers are reprehensible but predictable.  Bigots are bigots.  It is also reprehensible but predictable that demagogic politicians, sensation-seeking mass media and greedy business people might want to stir up and take advantage of anti-immigrant hostility.  There are voters, viewers and profits in bigotry.   But I don’t think that it is the inveterate haters and their facilitators who are the real danger to this country.  The real danger is the otherwise decent people who the demagogues can influence.

The real danger is the people, including many who are not otherwise racists or chauvinists, who may even sympathize with the plight of immigrants escaping from troubled lands, and who may have initially been in favor of integrating immigrants, who end up supporting the anti-immigrant bigotry of Trump and his supporters.  How can this be and what can we do about it?

Integrating Immigrants: Smelting Pot, Melting Pot, Stew Pot.

I think that the underlying problem, the root of most high anxiety about immigrants in this country, is an expectation, even an insistence, that the integration of immigrants should lead to homogenization.  Different people have different ideas as to what the standardized American should be like, largely a function of their political orientation.  At the extreme end of the spectrum, there is the MAGA crowd who exude paranoia that people like them – white, Christian, English-speaking – will be wiped out and replaced by aliens.  Their goal is to make America safe for gun-toting archconservative Christians.  Freedom, in their view, means the right to carry assault weapons and worship Evangelical Christianity in public schools, and that means anyone who doesn’t fit or support that goal is unfit to be an American. 

More liberal groups have more liberal ideas about what is an American, but most Americans still have an idea that we should all be basically the same, irrespective of our backgrounds.  Most Americans feel – and it seems to be more of a feeling than a rational belief – that everyone should end up the same, and that no ethnic groups or ethnicities should stand out.  As the history and sociology of America show, this is ultimately an unreasonable and unreachable expectation.  The problem is that the failure of that expectation can lead to antagonism toward immigrants and high anxiety about immigration.  And it leaves people susceptible to the rantings of the extremists.   

Even as successive cohorts of immigrants have been acculturated, remnants of ancestral cultures invariably remain.  Most Americans still identify with the cultures of their ancestral homelands and adhere to at least some ancestral ideas and customs.  Some of these ideas and customs stand out and raise the perennial question of whether the members of a given ethnic group owe more loyalty to their ancestral homeland than to the United States.  As a result, many otherwise well-intentioned people founder on an expectation of cultural homogeneity, and end up turning against immigrants when the immigrants don’t just completely blend in with everyone else. 

The rantings of xenophobes, racists and chauvinists notwithstanding, cultural homogeneity is not feasible now and never has been.  And the ravings of Donald Trump and his MAGA gang notwithstanding, the United States did not begin as a so-called Christian nation or with a homogeneous population.  Chauvinists have historically opposed each wave of immigrants on the grounds that the original purity of our society was being polluted, just as Trump and his supporters are doing today with respect to Central American immigrants. 

Their claims are false in every respect.  America has been a conglomeration of cultures from the landing of the Mayflower – which carried a diverse population and not just Pilgrims – to the present day.  It is, however, an unfortunate fact of public life that when demagogues say something loud enough and long enough, their lies can sink into the public consciousness and, even more important, into the public’s unconsciousness. 

People end up with preconceptions they aren’t even aware of.  And a failure to arrive at cultural homogeneity may lead some people to think that the resulting heterogeneity is a problem, that integration has been a failure, then blame immigrants for that supposed problem, and turn against immigration and integration.  This is something we have to get past.  The expectation of homogenization has got to be overcome. Our models of integration have to include diversity. 

Integration with diversity is not a contradiction in terms.  Among the different models of integration, three types can be characterized by the three metaphors of “smelting pot,” “melting pot” and “stew pot.”  The first two have cultural homogenization as their goal, and they cannot ultimately succeed.  The third aims at pluralism and diversity, and it can work. 

“Smelting pot” integration is premised on the idea that the cultural differences and the distinctive characteristics that immigrants bring with them are disruptive.  They should for the most part be eliminated so that the newcomers end up becoming the same as the existing population.  Intense pressure should be placed on them – turning up the heat so to speak – so that their differences from the existing population will be smelted away.

For most of the period from the founding of the first European colonies in the 1600’s through the early 1900’s, the predominant approach to cultural integration in this country was the smelting pot view.  Harkening back to the English origins of the first colonies, this view has generally portrayed White Anglo-Saxon Protestants, or WASPs, as the ideal Americans.  Immigrants are welcome, but they have to give up their ancestral cultures and adopt, whole cloth, a WASP culture.  

Smelting pot integration was official policy in many places in this country up through the first half of the twentieth century.  It was considered a compliment to immigrants that they were deemed capable of adopting all-American ways.  But it was a coercive compliment.  Early twentieth century immigrants from Eastern and Southern Europe and their American-born children, my father and his father included, were, for example, prohibited from speaking their native languages in school or on the job.  Only English was allowed.  And immigrants like my grandfather were repeatedly exhorted to Americanize themselves.

There is an oppressive chauvinism built into the smelting pot approach to integration.  The expectation of conformity is stifling and prone to provoke violence against recalcitrant immigrants.  It was expected of the Okies in The Grapes of Wrath who, despite being WASPs moving in among WASPs, were taunted for their Midwestern accent, clothing and manners.

This smelting pot view is still widely held by people who consider themselves politically and socially conservative.  It is not as extreme as the right-wing, hate-filled approach of Donald Trump and his followers, but in its emphasis on cultural homogeneity, it is a view that can warp into anti-immigrant sentiment and spiral into high anxiety if its goals are not met.  Which, almost inevitably, they won’t be. 

“Melting pot” integration is premised on the idea that most of the distinctive characteristics of immigrants are either helpful or harmless and, in any case, should be mixed in with the mainstream culture of the existing population to make for a new and better homogenized culture.  It is a metaphor that was seemingly first used in 1782 by Hector St. John de Crevecoeur to describe the United States.  The melting pot view was later popularized during the 1910’s in a play called “The Melting Pot” by Israel Zangweel, a Russian Jewish immigrant. 

Melting pot integration is a more tolerant approach to the differences that immigrants bring with them.  In this view, most cultural differences don’t make a difference.  And they should be either ignored or blended into the existing cultural mix to make a slightly new and better culture.  It is a progressive view of differences among people in which social evolution is seen as a good thing.  Melting pot integration gradually became the predominant view of self-styled liberals during the course of the twentieth century and especially after World War II.

But it is an approach that is more superficial than substantive.  It mainly deals in celebrations rather than ideas and practices of cultural significance. It is the approach that was taken by most schools when I was young.  We had, for example, “International Days” in which we would dress in quaint clothes and bring in foods that were characteristic of our ancestral homelands.  There were similar community-wide celebrations of people’s ancestral homelands that were open to everyone to join in the fun.  In this view, difference was fun for all to enjoy.  Everyone, for example, was expected to identify as Irish on St. Patrick’s Day.  And Christmas became more of a national celebration than a religious holy day. 

But the only acceptable differences were those in which everyone could share and which were fun for everyone.  And these differences did not make much of a difference.  Bagels versus baguettes was a big competition in my school.  The problem with melting pot acculturation is that every time some new peoples show up, you cannot be sure that their differences will be superficial and that they will blend in.  Their differences may be too great or too significant.

Given that the melting pot model starts with an expectation of homogenization, there is almost inevitably going to be anxiety about new people.  Even if every previous cohort of immigrants fitted in, maybe this new group won’t.  Natives will almost inevitably feel anxiety about the anxiety generated by the newcomers.  And with anti-immigrant demagogues stirring the pot, tolerance among ordinary people could spiral into high anxiety and anti-immigrant intolerance.  This is the situation we are seemingly witnessing today in this country.         

What could be called the “stew pot” model of integration was promulgated in the early twentieth century by Horace Kallen, another Russian Jewish immigrant.  Stew pot integration is premised on the idea that many important cultural differences among people should not, and in any case cannot, be completely eliminated.  Different groups should be expected to retain some of their distinctive ways, blending together enough with the general population and sharing enough important things in common – most importantly a commitment to democracy and the Constitution – so that they can participate in a pluralistic culture. 

In the stew pot model, there is an expectation of diversity so that newcomers don’t automatically trigger an anxiety reaction.  The expectation of cultural homogeneity that underlies both the smelting pot and melting pot approaches to integration leads them to the brink of anti-immigrant sentiment and high anxiety.  The stew pot approach avoids this problem.  In this view, a commitment to democracy and the Constitution are the chief commonalities that make all of us Americans.  Given that a desire for democracy is one of the things that motivates most immigrants, we have good reason to presume good things from them rather than fearfulness.   

A respect for diversity is, in fact, one of the key underpinnings of democracy and our Constitutional system.  Democracy can be defined as majority rule with minority rights, the most important of which is the right of a minority to become a majority.  It’s the welcoming of diversity that makes democracy.  Democracy thus entails tolerance toward the tolerant and intolerance for intolerance.  A presumption of heterogeneity, rather than a presumption of homogeneity, is a basic principle of a democratic culture.

Diversity also should be recognized as not only fair but efficient.  It provides a variety of resources and perspectives to help solve the social problems we all face together.   It derives from a world view in which people are seen as able to recognize and negotiate their differences.  The stew pot model has become the view of the multicultural and diversity movement among liberals in recent decades.  Respect for diversity was represented by the Joads in The Grapes of Wrath and promoted by Steinbeck in the book.

Finally, diversity should be recognized as not only fair and efficient but inevitable.  The stew pot model is not merely an ideal, it is a reality.  Despite the best and worst efforts of the proponents of cultural homogeneity, historically the United States has been a cultural stew pot.  The country has never even approximated the homogeneity that the smelting pot and melting pot approaches to integration seek to achieve.  And yet the country has survived and thrived.  Homogeneity is clearly not necessary for the country to flourish. 

Throughout the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, for example, at least a score of different languages were spoken in the country.  Within whole neighborhoods of big cities, whole towns and agricultural areas, people would speak only some language other than English.  Not merely immigrants just off the boat, but their children and grandchildren for several subsequent generations.  And the same went for other customs and practices that immigrants brought with them.  Where diversity flourished within the democratic and Constitutional system, the country thrived.  Where diversity was stifled or enslavement was practiced, those areas degenerated.  There never was anything to fear from diversity and no good reason for high anxiety.

The United States is less diverse today.  English is almost universal.  The mass media and the internet have broadcast a common culture.  The educational system has propagated a core cultural curriculum.  But for better and for worse, cultural differences exist in different parts of the country.  And the worst differences, battles over race and religion, stem mainly from conflicts between WASPs in the North and WASPs in the South.  Immigrants are not the problem.

Immigrants are, instead, responsible for most of the best cultural developments over the last century.  Blacks migrating from the South have been the major source of jazz, blues and other musical forms that define American music.  Jews from Eastern Europe are largely responsible for developing the movie industry and distinctly American comedy.  American food tastes are largely a result of Italian influences.  And so forth.  Cultural diversity is a fact and not a fault in the country.  It is probably about time that we Americans learned to live with the situation.  And to accept the diversity that already exists and that new immigrants will bring to us.

Based on statistics and my own experience as a professor of young people since the 1960’s, it seems to me that every generation of young people, at least since the 1960’s, has become more open-minded than the last.  And not merely more tolerant but more welcoming of diversity.  That may be one of the reasons that Donald Trump and his MAGA gang of mainly older people have become so vile and violent in what we can only hope is a spasm of their last gasp desperation.  If we survive this wave of old timers’ hate and high anxiety, the country’s future may be brighter.

The title of Steinbeck’s novel The Grapes of Wrath comes from the Biblical Book of Revelations, Chapter 14, Verse 19 through Julia Ward Howe’s Civil War song “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”  Both the Bible and the song refer to God crushing grapes, a symbol of the luxury of the rich, in the course of making people free.  In the novel, a senile Grandpa Joad fantasizes about crushing grapes all over his body when they get to California, which he imagines as a Promised Land.  Grandpa dies before they get to California, which turns out to be anything but a Promised Land for the Joads and the other Dust Bowl immigrants.  No grapes for them.

At the end of the story, as all seems lost, Tom is having to light out to escape arrest, and the rest of his family are literally starving, Ma Joad gives Tom a pep talk to try keep hope in him alive, and not let their persecutors get him down.  It’s a pep talk that Steinbeck seemed to want give to us readers to help us carry on in whatever may be our desperate times.  “Why, Tom,” she says, “us people will go on livin’ when all them people is gone.  Why, Tom, we are the people that live.  They ain’t gonna wipe us out.  Why, we’re the people – we go on.”

                                                                                                                                    BW 4/24


[1] The Uprooted. Oscar Handlin. Grosset & Dunlap Publishers: New York, 1951.

[2] “The Economy is roaring.  Immigration is a key reason.”  Rachel Siegel, Lauren Kaori Gurley & Meryl Kornfield. The Washington Post. 2/27/24.

“The U.S. Economy Is Surpassing Expectations. Immigration Is One Reason.” Lydia DePillis. The New York Times, 2/27/24.

[3] Keys to Successful Immigration. Thomas Espenshade, ed.  The Urban Institute Press: Washington, D.C. 1997.

James Thurber’s “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.” What you don’t realize can hurt you. Humor and Moral Equivocality.

James Thurber’s The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.

What you don’t realize can hurt you.

Humor and Moral Equivocality.

Burton Weltman

The Story: A schlemiel, a schlimazel and a hero for his times.

The hero of this story is ridiculously pathetic.  A complete schlemiel and also a complete schlimazel.  A schlemiel has been defined as a guy who invariably spills the soup.  A schlimazel is the guy on whom the soup is invariably spilled.  The hero of this story is both a schlemiel and a schlimazel and more.  He invariably spills the soup and spills it on himself, but he also spills it on others around him.  That makes him a danger not merely to himself but to others as well. 

That doesn’t bother our hero.  He doesn’t care about what he is doing to others, only about himself.  Chronically feeling sorry for himself, he feels put upon by everyone and everything around him.  And he is.  But it is his own doing.  Because he is foolish, clumsy, inattentive, and incompetent at almost everything he does.  And he is not merely inept, he is almost fatally inept and fatally irresponsible. 

In this story, for example, the hero does a lot of driving around in his car.  And does it badly.  He is a terrible and reckless driver.  The story opens with him speeding dangerously too fast down a highway and not paying attention to how fast he is going.  Then, despite having a green light, he idles his car at a standstill while daydreaming in the middle of traffic.  Then he drives the wrong way against oncoming traffic up a ramp into a parking garage.  All the while, he is thinking only about himself and not about what he is doing or what the consequences of his careless driving might be to others.

His attention is focused, instead, on his daydreams.  Beset by feelings of inadequacy and oppression, the man seeks to escape his miserable reality through daydreaming about a heroic alternative life.  And so, the man goes about in a daze of daydreaming which, perforce, distracts him from what he is doing. Being distracted in this way, of course, exacerbates his ineptitude which, not surprisingly, provokes criticism from those around him.  He is henpecked by his wife, harassed by his colleagues, berated by a policeman, belittled by a garage attendant, and mocked by a woman in the street.  Needless to say, being criticized in this way increases his feelings of inadequacy and oppression which, in consequence, provokes more daydreaming.  And so on…

The man lives in a vicious cycle of misfeasance, miscommunication and misery that he tries to escape through day dreaming, which just restarts the cycle.  But the problem with our hero is not merely that he daydreams when he should be paying attention to what he is doing, it is also that the content of the daydreams and their potential consequences are highly problematical.  His daydreams are not ordinary wish-fulfilment fantasies.  This man is dreaming his life away with death-wish fantasies, all the while driving around recklessly.  

In his first daydream, he imagines that he is risking almost certain death by taking off in a hydroplane in the midst of a catastrophic storm, meanwhile he is actually driving dangerously too fast.  Then he dreams that he is on trial for his life as an assassin on a capital murder charge.  Then that he is a bomber pilot on a suicide mission.  And, finally, that he is a prisoner facing a firing squad, on which ominous note the story ends.  

In sum, what we have here is the story of a man who is feeling oppressed and depressed, dreaming about ways of killing himself, and behaving dangerously in life-threatening ways.  All in all, this seems like the plot of a pretty grim story.  Could be, maybe should be, but isn’t.

This is a basic plot summary of James Thurber’s short story The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (hereafter Mitty).  First published in 1939, it is one of the most celebrated comic stories in the literature and the most anthologized short story ever.  As told by Thurber, it is a roller coaster of wry humor.  A real joy to read.  But how can this be?  How can such a grim plot be so funny?  What is the secret of this story?

The Secret to The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.

This essay is about the underside of the humor of James Thurber and particularly Mitty.  Thurber was one of the most heralded comic writers of the mid-twentieth century, and his short stories and cartoons are still highly regarded and widely read today. 

This focus of this essay is on what I think are the underlying meanings and messages of Mitty, and the ways and means that Thurber turns what seemingly should be a grim melodrama into a comic masterpiece.  And the reasons he does this.  Mitty is masterfully crafted.  It is only some six pages long, a paragon of concision.  More laughs per paragraph than most stories have in a page.  Analyses of the story, including this one, are invariably much longer.  As in a work of poetry, there is much to think and say about almost everything in the story.

Including the message of the story.  It is a commonplace that stories have messages.  Whether they are explicit or implicit, and whether or not readers consciously recognize them, stories exude messages.  In the case of Mitty, what I see as the messages of the story do not seem to be generally recognized by readers.  Mitty is superficially very humorous and most readers seem never to get past its surface humor to what I think are its unhumorous underpinnings.  

In the mainstream view, Walter Mitty, the hero of the story, is a man “who escapes into fantasy because he is befuddled and beset by a world he neither created nor understands.”[1]  In this sympathetic and generally empathetic view, the thoughts and actions of Mitty are seen as harmless and cute.  The story is a whimsical tale of heroic escapism, with Mitty as an existential hero who refuses to conform, at least imaginatively, to dull existence in a bourgeois society.  And, in this view, readers are supposed to identify with Mitty and root for him as the hero of his obsessive daydreaming. 

Mitty is recognized in this view as a flawed hero, but a hero nonetheless.  In justifying Mitty’s daydreaming, commentators point to the oppressiveness of his social situation.  He is a loser in a competitive society, and he is repeatedly made painfully aware of it.  Some psychologically oriented commentators point to the precariousness of Mitty’s psyche and claim that he has developed a schizoid personality.  Mitty is, they say, a man so wrapped up in daydreams that he has become dissociated from real life tasks and real life relationships [2]  “Maladaptive daydreaming” one commentator calls it,[3] Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder another claims.[4]  In any case, whatever the social and psychological origins of his daydreaming, commentators almost invariably empathize with Mitty and admire his daydreaming as a means of escape from a stifling existence.

Escape can be a good thing when you are trapped, but many Mitty admirers go further than this and claim that “Mitty is up to something more than mere escapism.”  According to them, Mitty is a creative artist who is imagining new and better worlds.  “His daydreams are miniature works of art,” they contend, and “miniature masterpieces of the mind.”  Mitty, these commentators insist, is “a creative genius.”  And as an imaginative artist, Mitty represents what they see as Thurber’s main message in the story: “that imagination can be the highest form of grace” and that it is what gives meaning to life.[5]  In sum, Mitty may be a schlemiel, a shemozzle and a schizoid but, they conclude, he is living a better life in his fantasies than most people are living in reality.

I don’t agree.  I think this lighthearted interpretation of Mitty is a too shallow reading of the story and a misreading of the underlying messages that it conveys, even to unsuspecting readers, maybe especially to unsuspecting readers.  Mitty is, I think, a dark tale at which we readers laugh at our moral peril, even though we cannot help laughing because the story is so funny. 

Beneath the surface humor of Mitty, I think that the story has an amoral, antisocial, unfunny underpinning, and it is not something you would think people would or should laugh at.  Once you get past the ironic bon homie of the narrator and the inimitable wit of Thurber, and you examine the thoughts and actions of Mitty, I think you find an irresponsible, antisocial egotist who is neither harmless nor cute, and for whom we should not root. 

And this immoral, or at best amoral, underpinning has, I think, an effect on readers, whether or not they recognize it.  Even as we are laughing at the story, I think we are left with a sour and somewhat cynical feeling about the world and about ourselves.  Covering Mitty’s malfeasance with good humor has the effect of desensitizing us to Mitty’s bad behavior, and encourages in us a callousness about what he and his behavior portend.  We are morally compromised in rooting for Mitty and, moreover, I think that is what Thurber intended.  I think that Thurber was playing with his readers in Mitty, playing us for fools and making us complicit with his own misanthropy.

A Misanthrope in Genial Clothing.

James Thurber was not a nice man and he knew it.  He was widely regarded as a mean and misogynistic misanthrope.  Even by his friends.  A self-described curmudgeon, he justified his uncivil demeanor and rude behavior with the excuse that comic writers are chronically insecure and constantly under extreme pressure to be funny.  The moral, in his view, was that if you want humorous stories, you have to put up with obnoxious writers. [6]   

Thurber’s sour attitude reflected his dour life.  Thurber had a difficult childhood followed by a difficult adulthood.  He lost an eye when he was seven and gradually went blind in the other eye as an adult.  He had a dominating mother and an unhappy marriage.  He was a drinker and a notoriously mean drunk.  He was regularly taken to task and made fun of by family, friends and foes because he was hapless at almost everything, except writing and drawing.  So, he spent his life writing and drawing, and taking out his frustrations and bitterness in print. [7]  

In what seems like reality anticipating a Thurber story, Thurber was denied graduation from Ohio State University despite completing all of the academic requirements because as a half-blind person he could not take ROTC and as a male student he could not graduate without having taken ROTC.  This sort of outrage was typical of his life and contributed to his moroseness and misanthropy.  Filled with rage against the universe, Thurber translated his anger into cynicism, his cynicism into sarcasm, and his sarcasm into satirical humor.[8]

The conventional view of Thurber is to portray him as a genial satirist who conquered his own ill humor with good-humored stories.  Dealing with the funny side of everyday life, Thurber’s characters are bumblers who are incapable of dealing with the ordinary problems of the world.  They “look like they are survivors” who are barely getting by “in a world they can’t comprehend.”[9]  In fact, I think they look a lot like Thurber but without the anger.

Thurber’s work is not without controversy.  Critics complain that Thurber’s stories and cartoons are misogynistic, and that they invariably portray women as bullies and men as milquetoasts.   Thurber’s supporters counterclaim that you have to approach his work with a sense of humor that his critics apparently lack.  His supporters acknowledge that in real life Thurber did generally hate women and felt that modern women emasculated men, but these supporters insist that Thurber’s work did not reflect these prejudices.  

To the contrary, his apologists claim, Thurber “undermines sexism through comic irony.” Thurber successfully sublimated his anger into humor and dissipated it thereby.  He turned his unhappy private life into happy public comedy.  While admitting that Thurber was a sexist and a misanthrope, they claim that his work is neither sexist nor misanthropic.[10] 

I don’t agree.  In the persons of Mitty’s nagging wife, the rude woman in the street, and other minor female characters in the story, misogyny and misanthropy pervade Mitty, as they do in many of Thurber’s other works, albeit in clever comic disguise.  That Thurber was cleverly able to cover his rage with comic converse does not diminish the anger and scorn that underlay the humor.  And it is anger and scorn that are directed not only at his stories’ characters but at us readers as well.

Comedy isn’t always fun even if it’s funny.

A professor is pontificating in front of a classroom of thirty bored students.  Striding back and forth as he speaks, the professor is puffing a pipe (this is before there were “No Smoking” rules), with one hand on the bowl of the pipe and his other hand in the side pocket of his sport jacket (this is when there was still an informal dress code for professors) in which he had stored a book of matches.  In the midst of the professor’s peroration, a student in the front row of the class (this is when students still sat in rows) spots some smoke emanating from the professor’s pocket.

Oblivious to the commotion that is building in the classroom as more and more students become aware of the conflagration that is building inside his jacket pocket, the professor plods on with his lecture.  Until, suddenly, he cries out, strips off the jacket, throws it to the floor, and stomps on it until the fire is out.  Then he calmly hangs the jacket on the back of a chair, gives an embarrassed half-smile to the students, almost all of whom were laughing uproariously, and plods on with the lecture.

This scene is a prime example of humor.  Like much humor, it is based on the discomfiture of others whom we think deserve it.  In this case, it is the pompous professor who is made to look foolish.  It is a scene which I personally witnessed and in which I participated as one of the laughing students, thankful for a break in the tedium of the class.  It was also before I became a professor myself and could empathize with the pathetic professor.  

Comedy can be cruel.  It often is.  Thurber’s comedy in particular.  In much of Thurber’s comedy, someone is paying the price in discomfiture for the laughter that readers enjoy.   The key questions are at whose expense is the laughter and to what effect is the humor. 

Every story starts with a status quo situation that is disrupted by a problem.  The story then tells how people deal with the problem.  Depending on the type of story, be it, for example, melodrama, tragedy or comedy, the problem and its solutions will take on different forms. 

Melodrama generally takes the form of Good versus Evil and Good Guys versus Bad Guys.  In melodrama, the problem is generally created by the bad actions of bad people, and the solution is to defeat and/or eliminate the bad people.[11] 

Tragedy can be described as too much of a good thing leading to a bad result. In tragedy, a character generally pursues a too narrow end too far until it all falls down.  The character’s “tragic flaw” is hubris and/or a lack of perspective, failing to see things in a broader context.[12]  

Comedy can be described as a story of wisdom versus folly and wise people versus fools.[13]  In comedy, the problem is created by someone acting from stupidity or ignorance, or what has been called “the intervention of fools.”[14]  The solution is generally some sort of educational process in which the wise teach and/or gain control of the fools.  Comedy usually promotes a hierarchical view of the world in which the fools need to be wised-up by the wise people.

In understanding a comedy, it is important to identify who are the wise and who are the fools.  Authors have many different options as to whom they will elevate as the wise and whom they denigrate as the fools.  And it may sometimes be difficult for us readers to see who is what, and sometimes to the joke is on us.  Depending on the nature of the story, wisdom could come, for example, from wise characters in the story who wise-up fools in the story, or from a wise narrator of the story who shows us readers the foolishness of characters in the story, or from a wise narrator who shows us readers our own foolishness. 

In turn, the fools could be characters in the story who are wised-up or at least shown-up by other characters who are wise, or the fools could be characters in the story who are shown-up by a wise narrator, or the narrator could be a fool (a so-called unreliable narrator) who is shown-up by events in the story that we readers can see but that the narrator doesn’t comprehend, or the fools could be we readers even if we don’t know it. 

In some cases, the wise person could be the invisible author who makes fools of everyone connected to the story, including the characters in the story, the narrator of the story, and us readers of the story.  I think that Mitty is this last kind of story, as are many of Thurber’s other stories.

In Mitty, there are layers of foolishness.  There is the foolishness of Mitty that is ironically described by the narrator, who is wise to Mitty’s idiocy and makes us readers aware of it.  But there is also, I believe, the foolishness of the narrator who seems to think that Mitty’s reckless actions and death-wish fantasies are harmless and cute.  But reckless driving and suicidal thinking are not harmless or cute, and the narrator is a fool to seemingly think so. 

Finally, there is our foolishness as readers to the extent that we go along with the narrator’s misguided affection and support for the irresponsible and egotistical Mitty, and accept the narrator’s light-hearted description of Mitty’s dangerous thoughts and actions.  We are fools if we have eyes to see it, but we are caught in Thurber’s moral trap whether we see it or not.  It is hard not to laugh at Mitty and it would be hard-hearted not to feel some sympathy for him. 

So, we laugh our way headlong into the morally equivocal position that Thurber has prepared for us.  In sympathetically laughing with the narrator at the pathetic Mitty, we become complicit in Mitty’s dangerous driving and death-wish daydreams.[15]  We are, in effect, condoning and even fostering his dangerous behavior and thoughts when we should be thinking about ways to get his driver’s license suspended and get him into counseling or psychotherapy.   Thurber has manipulated us into compromising our moral values for the sake of a good laugh, and he has, thereby, essentially made fools of us.
You can’t tell a book by its cover story.

Mocking his main characters, his narrators and his readers, and manipulating us into a morally compromised misanthropy, is a Thurber stock-in-trade and is characteristic of many of his stories.  As another example, In the Catbird Seat (hereafter Catbird), which was first published in 1942, is another of Thurber’s most famous comic stories.  It is even morally more equivocal than Mitty, though you would not know it from the conventional commentary on the story.

A catbird is an aggressive bird that likes to interlope on other birds, smash their eggs, and wreck their nests.  “The catbird seat” was a phrase used by Red Barber, a well-known mid-twentieth century baseball radio announcer, to denote when a team had the other team at its mercy.  Thurber’s story describes the way an employee deals with a troublesome new boss who is threatening to play the role of a catbird.

In the story, a new manager is appointed as the head of a business bureaucracy.  The new manager is a woman, and she likes to quote Red Barber and refer to being in the catbird seat.  She also threatens to play catbird in the office by wreaking havoc on long-established practices of the bureaucracy, and upending long-time comfortable routines of the bureaucrats. 

The hero of the story is Mr. Martin, a mild-mannered middle-level bureaucrat, who cannot stand having his routines disrupted.  So, he decides to kill the new manager in order to safeguard his customary ways.  He devises a very devious plan to murder her and is in the last stages of implementing it, moments from striking her down, when he discovers that, by unlucky chance, he does not have at hand a weapon with which to clobber her. 

Thwarted and having to retreat and regroup, Mr. Martin comes up with a clever way to get the manageress fired.  He concocts a story that disparages her in the eyes of the owner of the business and, convinced by the story, the owner fires the lady.  In the end, she is removed from the scene without having to be murdered, and the hero of the story gets to plod on as usual.  To which we readers are led to applaud.

This is, I think, a very devious story.  At least as devious in its effect on us as the story that Mr. Martin invented to get the manageress fired.  In the course of the story, we readers are manipulated into disliking the new manager – she is obnoxious as well as overbearing – and sympathizing with the hero’s desire to get rid of her.  We are ambivalent about his plan to murder her, but we are brought along by the humor of the story and the ironic tone of the narrator.  In the end, we are happy for him that he has succeeded in getting rid of her and that he is able to live happily ever after.  All’s well that ends well.

But, wait a minute.  This guy was a would-be murderer who was only foiled by chance at the last minute in his murderous plans.  We readers have effectively been entrapped by Thurber into rooting for a calculating cold-blooded killer who would have killed rather than be inconvenienced.  That puts us in a morally equivocal position, to say the least, and Thurber has essentially made fools of us. 

Apologists for Thurber argue that most humor is based around the mistakes and misdeeds of sympathetic characters.  But it’s one thing to laugh at the innocent bumbling and bungling of a Charlie Chaplin or my former college professor, or at the relatively harmless shams and scams of Groucho Marx.  It’s a very different thing to laugh at the negligent manslaughter threatened by Mitty’s reckless driving or the attempted first-degree murder of Mr. Martin. 

Lawyers often make a distinction between malum prohibitum and malum in se, that is, between things that are bad because the law says they are and things that are bad in and of themselves, no matter what the law.  Malum prohibitum deals mainly with harm to property, with property rights and property wrongs.  Malum in se deals mainly with harm to persons.  In most comedies, such as those by the Marx Brothers, the misdeeds are malum prohibitum and no one is really harmed or in serious danger.  In Mitty and Catbird, the misdeeds are malum in se, and serious harm is imminent.  Yet we laugh and empathize with the miscreants.  

 The Amoral of the Story.

I don’t know if this essay has a moral or what it might be.  Other than to be aware that comedy can be cruel and that we should be mindful of what we find funny.  Much of the humor that comes our way today incorporates a lot of malum in se at which we are led by the storyteller to laugh and even sympathize.  This kind of callous comedy can possibly be more deleterious to our moral health than even the ubiquitous stories, movies, and TV programs that outright celebrate gangsters and other killers.  Bad as these stories are, comedies in which murder is played for laughs can be even morally more desensitizing. 

Given the current state of the mass media and popular culture, it is hard to avoid stories that seductively celebrate violence.  But I think it is important to try to be aware of the ways in which we are being manipulated so that we can try to guard against their deleterious effects.  It is important for us to recognize what it is that we are laughing at and why, otherwise, as the old saying has it, the last laugh might be on us.  If anyone has a better solution to this problem, it would be great to hear about it.

                                                                                                                     BW 7/23 


[1] “Thurber.” Encyclopedia Britannica.” Accessed 6/14/2023.

[2] C.M. Weaver et al.  “Behavioral, Interpersonal, and Cognitive Patterns.” Encyclopedia of Human Behavior. 2012.

[3] Kevin Dickinson. “The Secret Life of Maladaptive Daydreaming.” Big Think. 1/21/21.

[4] “Psychoanalysis of the Secret Life of Walter Mitty.” Prezi. 10/17/2013.

[5] Danny Heitman. “James Thurber Lost Most of His Eyesight to a Tragic Childhood Accident.” Humanities. Vol 36, No 1. January/February 2015.

[6] Brian St Pierre. “James Thurber’s Comic Brilliance Masked His Dark Side.” SFGATE  12/17/1995.

[7] Danny Heitman. “James Thurber Lost Most of His Eyesight to a Tragic Childhood Accident.” Humanities. Vol 36, No 1. January/February 2015.

[8] Brian St Pierre. “James Thurber’s Comic Brilliance Masked His Dark Side.” SFGATE  12/17/1995.

[9] Peter Tonguette. “The not-so-secret life of James Thurber.”  The Christian Science Monitor.  7/11/2019.

[10] Andrew Jorgensen. “James Thurber’s Little Man and the Battle of the Sexes: The Humor of Gender and Conflict.”  Brigham Young University Scholars Archive. 8/1/2006.

[11] Kenneth Burke.  Attitudes toward History.  Boston: Beacon Press, 1961, 34.

[12] Paul Goodman. The Structure of Literature. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1954, pp. 35, 173.

[13] Aristotle. Poetics. New York: Hill and Wang. 1961, p.59.

[14] Burke, 1961, p.41.

[15]  Note that in the story, Mitty is driving fifty-five miles per hour on what is seemingly an inner-city freeway of some sort.  That may not seem fast to us but the speed limit on a roadway of this sort during the 1930’s when the story was written was normally around forty-five miles per hour.  When Mitty’s wife complains that he is going too fast and that he usually goes only forty-five miles per hour, she was seemingly just telling him to obey the law.

Socialism of the Heart in William Dean Howells’ “Annie Kilburn.” The Common Sense of Socialism at the turn of the 20th Century. Are we witnessing a revival today?

Socialism of the Heart in William Dean Howells’ Annie Kilburn.

 The Common Sense of Socialism at the turn of the 20th Century.

Are we witnessing a revival today?

Burton Weltman

“61% of Americans aged between 18 and 24

have a positive reaction to the word ‘socialism.’”

Axios Poll. 6/27/19

Historical Recycling: Gilded Ages then and now.

“What is the chief end of man? To get rich.  In what way?  Dishonestly if we can, honestly if we must.”  Mark Twain on moral values in the Gilded Age in which he lived.   

Setting the scene: Widespread poverty.  Increasing gun violence.  Enormous gap between the incomes of the rich and everyone else.  A predominant ethos of selfish individualism.  Large-scale uncontrolled immigration and widespread hostility toward immigrants.  Rising racism and ethnocentrism.  Rabid right-wing demagoguery.  Political violence and dangerous threats to democracy.  Widely spreading infectious diseases and deadly pandemics.  Contaminated food and drugs.  Serious and rapidly increasing environmental problems.  And more… 

If this situation sounds much like that in the United States today, it is.  But it is also a description of the state of affairs in the country at the turn of the twentieth century.  It was an era that contemporaries such as Mark Twain derided as a Gilded Age, a time when the rich thrived and gilded their lilies, while the rest struggled to survive.  It was also a time when political discussion turned toward a serious consideration of socialism as a solution to the country’s problems, and when luminaries such as William Dean Howells identified themselves as socialists. 

Howells, who lived from 1837 to 1920, was a literary star whose light has faded but whose gravitational influence can still be felt.  His works are rarely read today except in college English classes, and less frequently even there.  But Howells was a major cultural arbiter for the country during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, what we might today call an “influencer.”  He was widely hailed as “The Dean of American letters,” which was much more than a play on his middle name, and when Howells spoke, people listened.  And that influence lingers to the present day.

Howells came from a politically active family and he was politically precocious as a young man.  He wrote Abraham Lincoln’s campaign biography in 1860 when he was only twenty-three, and remained politically well-connected and active throughout his life.  Over the next two decades, he moved ideologically from a liberal Lincoln Republican to an outspoken Christian Socialist. 

It was a path to socialism that was taken by many in his day, both luminaries and ordinary people.  It was reflected in the rise of the Socialist Party at the turn of the twentieth century, and in the enactment by federal and state governments of progressive legislation based on socialist ideas.  Invented as a political term in the 1830’s, socialism had become a main topic of conversation and controversy by the late 1800’s, with Howells in the forefront of the discussion.

Howells is significant both as an influencer of public opinion in his time and as a reflection of it.  He was the popular author of some forty novels plus several books of poetry, literary criticism and plays over the course of more than fifty years.  A best-selling book by Howells was almost an annual event.  And, as a long-time editor and literary critic at the Atlantic Monthly, the premier magazine of that time, he befriended and promoted many of the most important cultural innovators of the era.  These included Henry James, a founder of the modern psychological novel, William James, a founder of pragmatic philosophy, Henry Adams, a founder of modern historical methods, and Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., a founder of modern jurisprudence.

Howells also discovered and promoted a generation of the best new American writers at the turn of the century.  These included Stephen Crane, Frank Norris, Hamlin Garland, Abraham Cahan, Sarah Jewett, and Paul Dunbar.  And he introduced to American audiences the writings of European authors such as Ibsen, Tolstoy, and Zola. 

Politics, which to Howells meant trying to make a better world, was embedded in almost everything he wrote and did.  Most of the authors he promoted were, like himself, on the political left, including his best friend Mark Twain, a staunch anti-capitalist.[1]  Socialism was in the cultural air of the time, a minority opinion as a whole but very influential in parts.  “Socialist” was a respectable designation and an acceptable adjective.  Even conservative opponents of socialism, such as Henry Adams and Oliver Wendell Holmes, had to respect its influence.

Déjà vu all over again, we may be going through a similar time.  Another Gilded Age in which the social problems are similar and the public reactions are as well.  On the one hand, a significant portion of the population, mainly among elderly, isolated, rural and small-town Americans, have been embracing rabid right-wing demagoguery and conspiracy theories that threaten democracy.  There is a desperation among some of these people who seem to feel that they have nothing to lose in embracing extremist ideas and actions. 

At the same time, liberal ideas are seeming to be taking hold among younger people, and especially among urban, highly educated young adults.  This political trend seems to be the culmination of several decades of liberalization.  Every generation of young people since the 1960’s has been more progressive than the last, and today socialism seems to be gaining a level of respectability and acceptability similar to that in Howell’s time.  This is exemplified by the success in recent years of socialists such as Bernie Sanders.  It is also indicated in polling numbers that have been trending in favor of socialist ideas, with more than 50% of young adults having a positive view of socialism.[2]  A turn toward socialism similar to that at the turn of the twentieth century may be occurring today.

Focusing on William Dean Howells, this essay discusses the idea of socialism as it was promoted in the United States at the turn of the twentieth century and as it may apply to the political situation today.  The discussion centers on Annie Kilburn, a novel by Howells that reflects his socialist ideas and ideals.  It exemplifies an ethos of “socialism of the heart” and “the common sense of socialism” that was widespread at that time and that may be resurfacing again today.

Defining Socialism: Socialism of the Heart and Socialist Practice.

Socialism is a word with many different shades of meaning, ranging from totalitarian communism to libertarian anarchism.  Since this is an essay about Howells, I will use the word the way he and his colleagues used it which, in turn, is essentially the way most self-styled socialists today would define the term.  In this regard, I will distinguish between what we might call socialism of the heart, which Howells called “complicity,” and socialist practice.[3] 

Socialism of the heart can be described as a feeling that we are all in this world together, and so we ought to share the burdens and rewards of our collective efforts.  It is a feeling of mutuality and interdependence, and a sense of fairness.  It is exemplified in the Golden Rule that we should love our neighbors as extensions of ourselves and that we should do to others as we would have others do to us.  It is an ethos of individuality, as opposed to individualism, through cooperation.  One for all and all for one, as the Three Musketeers would put it, instead of all for me and mine, as Donald Trump, for example, would have it.

Socialist practice can be defined as the ways and means of institutionalizing socialism of the heart.  Howells described a socialist society as one that implemented the Golden Rule, and promoted liberty through equality and equality through fraternity.  Whereas conservatives generally claim that liberty is inconsistent with equality and fraternity, Howells argued just the opposite.  Without equality, he claimed, there could be no real liberty, just universal resentment, resistance and reaction.  Without fraternity, in turn, there could be no equality, just a Social Darwinian struggle for advantage over others.  This was just common sense to Howells and to most socialists then and now.[4]

Socialist practice for Howells meant socialized solutions to social problems, making use of government and other public institutions.  This, too, was just common sense to Howells and most socialists then and now.  A socialist political system could be described as a democratic regime of majority rule with minority rights, the most important of which is the right of the minority to possibly become the majority someday.  The last clause of that sentence is crucial because logically flowing from it are virtually all the civil liberties we associate with our Bill of Rights. 

In economics, socialism could be described as a democratic system based on the presumption of public ownership or control of big businesses, unless it is in the public interest for businesses to be privately owned and/or controlled.  Socialists generally assume that small businesses would be privately owned and operated as part of a mixed public-private economy.  In social relations, socialism could be summarized as promoting a culture of diversity coupled with cooperation, and of support for people who respect others, opposition to people to the extent that they disrespect others.[5]       

Socialism in Flux: Now you see it, now you don’t.  What goes around comes around.  Maybe.

“So, what’s so bad about that?”

“That’s just common sense.”

Students reacting to the idea of socialism.

The idea of socialism has had an up-and-down history in the United States. Socialist ideas trended upward during the late nineteenth and early twentieth century.  Then downward in the late twentieth and early twenty-first century.  In flux now, socialism maybe trending up again. 

If you came of age during the late twentieth or early twenty-first century, you might not realize that socialism was an idea and ideal that animated most American reform movements from the late nineteenth century through the first half of the twentieth century.  Ideas derived from socialism underlay the reforms of the Progressive Era, the New Deal, and the Great Society, reforms that became the foundation of America’s social welfare programs, health and safety regulations, economic controls, and environmental protections. 

Socialists were regular participants in the political conversation in this country during that time, and socialist ideas were generally considered to be within the political mainstream, albeit on the left bank of the stream.  Many prominent citizens, such as William Dean Howells, considered socialism to be desirable and even commonsensical, as did large numbers of ordinary people who supported the socialist movement and the Socialist Party.[6] 

Socialism was an ideology of the urban working class for the most part, but it also appealed to small farmers and business people.  Socialists fought against the exploitation of workers, but they also fought against the oppression and exploitation of small businesses and small farmers by big corporations and banks.  The state with the highest percentage of Socialist Party members and voters in the early twentieth century was Oklahoma, an overwhelmingly rural state of small farmers, the predecessors of the Dust Bowl Okies struggling to avoid what became their fate.

Self-styled socialists won elections and occupied important government positions .  One of the most colorful of these was Golden Rule Samuel Jones, a successful businessman and Christian Socialist who was mayor of Toledo, OH for several terms at the turn of the century.  Taking the Golden Rule as his mantra, Jones implemented numerous pro-labor and pro-consumer reforms in his businesses and in the city. 

Jones was not alone.  In 1911, there were some seventy-four Socialist mayors of American towns and cities.  Socialist ideas were becoming so popular that there was even serious speculation the Socialist Party might replace the Democratic Party as the second political party in our country, just as the socialist Labor Party was replacing the Liberal Party in England as the major alternative to the Conservative Party there.  The Democratic Party was identified at this time with the slave, segregationist and Confederate South and had elected only one President since the 1850’s, the conservative Grover Cleveland twice.  The Socialist Party, representing workers, small farmers and small business people, seemed to be a perfect foil to the Republican Party of big capitalists.  This did not come to pass. 

The Democrat Woodrow Wilson was elected President in 1912.  He received only 41% of the vote in a four-way race, but his election broke the downward spiral of the Democrats.  With America’s entry into World War I, President Wilson decimated the Socialist Party, which opposed the war, by jailing the Socialist Party’s leaders, banning Socialists’ speeches and publications, and prohibiting their meetings and most other political activities.  The Socialist Party never recovered from this persecution and never became a major political player.  But socialists, socialist ideals and socialist ideas continued to be influential for many years thereafter, perhaps reaching a high point during the 1930’s.[7]

The political situation changed dramatically with the start of the Cold War in the 1940’s.  Socialism became widely equated with totalitarian Soviet Communism, first by conservatives and later by liberals who defensively followed suit.  Socialist ideas were identified by conservatives with repressive Communist dictatorships.  As a result, the idea of socialism became anathema in most political circles and “socialist” became an insult, a way for political conservatives to excoriate their opponents and put them on the defensive. 

Conservatives during the Cold War labelled anything that smacked of progressive social reform or bigger government, except for the military, as a socialistic slippery slope that led inevitably to Communist totalitarianism.  As proponents of competitive individualism and winner-take-all capitalism, conservatives also equated ideas of cooperation and economic equality with Communism.  That equation was a smack-down for liberals as well as socialists.

One of the main playbooks for this Cold War political tactic was Barry Goldwater’s Conscience of a Conservative in which he claimed that liberals and socialists were more dangerous to America than outright Communists.[8]  Goldwater, the Republican candidate for President in 1964, contended that Communists who showed their true colors openly could be readily identified and resisted.  But liberals and socialists falsely colored their Communistic proposals with ostensibly benevolent intentions.  In reality, both were either Communists in disguise or, even more insidious, Commie dupes who promoted Communism without knowing it. 

In either case, Goldwater insisted, liberals and socialists sugarcoated their Communistic policies and sweettalked the ignorant masses into bondage.  Progressive programs, he proclaimed, are Trojan horses for a Communist takeover.  They look good but they are a form of “creeping socialism” that will end in totalitarian Communism.  The process was compared to a frog sitting in a slowly heating pot of water who is boiled to death without ever realizing anything is wrong. 

In sum, socialism was widely equated during this time with oppression, and the word “socialist” became an expletive.  To be labelled a socialist was political death.  Until recently.

The times they may be changing: Come gather round young people.

A person coming of age today might not be able to appreciate the intense fears of Communism and antipathy toward socialism that were so widespread during the Cold War, or understand conservatives’ anti-government ideology which is rooted in those fears.  The Cold War is long over.  The Soviet Union is long gone.  Communism is a dead letter.  And progressive government programs that began as socialist ideas, such as Medicaid, Medicare and the Affordable Care Act in the field of medical care, are ubiquitous, useful and popular.  To most young people today, these programs seem commonsensical.  If this is creeping socialism, they say, then what is the problem? [9]

Contrary to much popular opinion, mainstream socialism is not a radical ideology.  By definition, radicals want to get to the roots of what they see as a wicked society, tear up those roots, and plant something entirely new.  It’s the right-wingers who want to tear up the roots of the social welfare state and social justice movements that have been developing in the United States over the last one hundred years.  They are the radicals.

Mainstream socialists, to the contrary, do not reject the foundations of American society.  They claim to build on the social ideals that most Americans already hold and on social instincts that most Americans already display.  Mainstream socialism is designed to be democracy taken to the next level, and socialists do not have to start from scratch.  They can build on the democratic institutions and ideas that already exist in capitalist America and, thereby, move gradually toward a socialist society.  This pragmatic gradualism – which conservatives condemn as creeping socialism – has historically been one of socialism’s strengths. 

 And, after some seventy years as a fringe idea in political limbo, socialism seems to be making a comeback, especially among young people.  Exemplified by the popularity of socialists such as Bernie Sanders and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, the pendulum may be swinging back toward normalizing the idea of socialism as it was at the turn of the twentieth century.

While most conservatives still preach the same fearsome sermon about socialism as a stalking horse for Communism, and try to scare up support with horror stories about creeping socialism and Communist conspiracies, those jeremiads don’t seem to resonate with most younger people today.  Communism is still a scare word to many older people and socialism with it, but Communism is ancient history to most young people. And most seem willing to consider the idea of socialism on its own terms and not on the basis of some alleged connection to Communism.

These recent changes in the attitudes of younger people toward socialism are consistent with the trending changes in political attitudes among young people since the 1960’s.  Starting noisily in the 1960’s among what was actually a relatively small percentage of politically progressive young people – there were at least nine young George Bushes and Donald Trumps for every Abbie Hoffman or Tom Hayden – every generation of young people since then has been quietly more progressive than the last. 

Recent polls show a majority of young adults have a negative opinion of capitalism.[10] At the same time, a majority of young adults have positive opinion of socialism.[11]  And large majorities support progressive policies and progressive social programs.  Even 56% of young Republicans say they want the government to do more to reduce income inequality in the country, a position that their Republican elders deride as socialist anathema.[12]  And young progressives have generally remained progressive as they have grown older, thereby gradually tilting the overall American population toward the political left.     

This trend toward the political left among young people has not been without opposition.  Conservatives and, even more, radical right-wingers have mounted virulent attacks on progressives.  Many of these attacks are racist, sexist, antisemitic, and otherwise bigoted.  The viciousness of this right-wing backlash against progressives and progressive programs, and even against democracy, can be taken as a sign that right-wingers realize they are losing the long-term demographic battle. They are desperate to do something, no matter how radical, to stop the leftward movement of the country.  But, as the saying goes, demography is destiny. 

Socialism of the Heart in everyday life.

Most Americans today seem to suffer from cognitive political dissonance.  Taught the Golden Rule and the virtues of sharing and cooperation in childhood, they are then inducted into a culture of Social Darwinian dog-eat-dog competition as they grow older.  As a result, most tend to be ideologically individualistic and conservative but instinctively socialistic and liberal. 

This contradiction helps explain polling results over the last seventy-five years in which, when Americans are asked broad ideological questions, a majority of them give conservative answers. But, when they are asked pragmatic human interest questions, they give liberal answers.  Asked, for example, if they favor government welfare programs, a majority of Americans say “No.”  Asked if the government should feed hungry children, a large majority say “Yes.”

In sum, Americans seem to be individualistic by indoctrination and acculturation, but socialistic by nature.  That is, they may espouse individualism, but most of them seem to retain a sense of socialism of the heart as part of their underlying psychological makeup.  Take the following hypothetical example from everyday life:

Six people in a family are sitting around a kitchen table, two parents and four children of various ages.  The family has limited financial resources.  They are discussing how to manage their finances so as to maximize the opportunities of each person and promote the success of the whole family.  All see themselves in the same boat, and each is looking out for the other.

What are we to call this scenario?  Conservatives might offer it is an example of family values, and evidence of the strength of nuclear families as opposed to the broader society.  But progressives could cite it as an instance of socialist values, and as evidence of underlying socialistic feelings that most people have, no matter what ideology they espouse.

Take these other hypothetical commonplace examples:

Six people are on a basketball court.  They have not been previously acquainted.  They split into two teams of three people each, and begin a half-court game of basketball.  Within five minutes, the players on each team have bonded with each other.  They are positioning themselves to play to their teammates’ strengths, passing to each other, blocking for each other, compensating for each other’s weaknesses, each finding a role that plays to their strengths while helping the team, and each subordinating their egos to promote the success of the team.  Is this merely smart competitive strategy?  Or is it also instinctive mutuality, socialism of the heart?

Six workers in a workshop are standing around a machine.  They are discussing how to organize a project so as to complete it most efficiently and effectively.  They dole out assignments based on the relative skills of each worker, so as to play to the strengths of each and promote the success of the group.  The joint project is the center of everyone’s attention.  Is this just good competitive business practice or is it also an underlying common sensibility of socialism?

These scenarios are only a few of the millions of similar situations that play out every day in reality.  They seem to represent socialism of the heart in widespread practice, and illustrate how most Americans are instinctively socialists of the heart.  For William Dean Howells, this sort of everyday practice of socialism was the foundation of the common sense of socialism that he promoted.  In turn, everyday scenarios such as these make up the core of Howells’ novels

The How of William Dean Howells: Realism as a way of life and literature.

Howells was a self-proclaimed realist in his approach to literature, adamantly so.  He was strongly opposed to the romanticism that had been the predominant literary style during most of the nineteenth century.  Romantic literature was full of heroes, heroines and lurid villains, and focused on extraordinary people doing extraordinary things.  It conveyed extremes of emotion in its characters and aimed to evoke similar emotions in its readers.  Howells, while acknowledging that romanticism had been a welcome replacement for the overly formalistic classicism that predominated during the eighteenth century, claimed, nonetheless, that romanticism had itself become stale and formulaic.[13]

Artistic styles come and go, Howells explained.  They come as fresh ways of looking at things and go when they become conventional and trite.  The romantics in the early nineteenth century were “making the same fight against effete classicism which realism is making today against effete romanticism.”  Romanticism has had its day.  It had been appropriate for the heroic era of revolutions in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, but the more prosaic time of the turn of the twentieth century required a more prosaic literary style.[14]

Realists portrayed ordinary people making difficult but ordinary choices and doing difficult but ordinary things.  Not heroic persons or unique personalities who rise above their situations.  Just ordinary people who make do, or don’t make do, in the types of situations with which most people can identify.  Howells aimed at a bottom-up form of literature and he longed for a “communistic era in taste” when ordinary people would be the arbiters of art.[15]  

Realists, according to Howells, attempted to write the truth about people, as opposed to the exaggerations and idealizations that the romantics created.  Realism consisted of “fidelity to experience and probability of motive.”  Novelists should not be preachers.  They should convey the facts of a situation and then let the facts speak for themselves.  Res ipsa loquitor, as the lawyers say.  If an author hopes that readers will reach a certain conclusion, such as that socialism is the way to go, the author must let the readers reach that conclusion themselves through seeing the facts.  

Howells’ three most well-known books are The Rise of Silas Lapham (1885)[16], A Hazard of New Fortunes (1889)[17], and A Traveler from Altruria (1894)[18].  His books are often intended as bildungsromans for their main characters and for us readers as well.  The characters are morally tested with success and failure.  With failure through success and success through failure.  And we readers are morally tested as to where and how we place our sympathies.

In The Rise of Silas Lapham, for example, a successful small businessman, Lapham, starts to make it big, rise in social status, and conspicuously consume his newfound wealth.  He is then morally challenged by having to decide whether or not to make a really big deal based on taking unfair advantage of the ignorance of a potential investor in his business.  It was an act that would likely be legal but could morally be considered a fraud.  The alternative was to confess the full situation to the investor, in which event, the investor would almost certainly back out of the deal and Lapham would likely go bankrupt.

After much soul searching, Lapham decides to fess up to the investor and the investor predictably backs out of the deal.  Lapham goes bankrupt, but he morally rises even as he financially falls.  Reflecting on his decision, he says that “I had to tell him how things stood.  I had to tell him all about it…I couldn’t let that man put his money into my business without I told him.”[19]  Lapham’s conscience prevails – his sense of doing unto others as he would have them do unto him.  In the end, he goes back to running a small business in which he works cooperatively with his employees.

Lapham learns a lesson about pride and the vanity of victory, which is a theme in many of Howells’ books.  As portrayed by Howells, victorious pride often precedes a moral fall.  And vaingloriousness in victory is not only ugly but also foolish since winning is only temporary.  No sooner do you gain a victory than you have to compete for the next.  Insecurity is a consequence of competition. 

Many of the main characters in Howell’s books gradually come to accept what we could call the common-sense of socialism or, at least, socialism of the heart, with most of these having to overcome bourgeois middle class resistance in themselves as well as from others.  And so do we readers.  In A Hazard of New Fortunes, the central character, March, is a decent, moderately liberal editor of a new New York magazine.  He is a newcomer to a big city and we see the social problems and conflicts of that time through his eyes.  A variety of social ideas are presented and represented by characters in the book, even an argument in favor of slavery. 

At the end of the book, March is still unresolved as to his social ideas, but it is an old socialist working man Lindau who is the most sympathetic character.  Lindau is a German political refugee who came to the United States after participating in the democratic revolution of 1848.  In America, he became an ardent abolitionist and volunteered to fight in the Civil War, losing a hand in battle.  A highly educated person who knows several languages, Lindau has been living in poverty since the war while supporting the labor union movement.  He is a selfless person who helped March when March was younger and whom March hires to work at his magazine.[20]

Lindau weaves in and out of the story, invariably engaging March or one of the other characters in a tirade against capitalism and the enormous wealth gap between the rich capitalists and the poor workers.  “It is the landlords and the merchant princes, the railroad kings and the coal barons (the oppressors to whom you instinctively give the titles of tyrants” who rule and ruin the country.  Excoriating the idea of philanthropy, Lindau says of rich do-gooders that “Yes, when they have gathered their millions together from the hunger and cold and nakedness and ruin and despair of hundreds of thousands of other men,” then they give a pittance to the poor.[21]

Lindau is the moral center of the book, the strongest statement of a clear and consistent moral life.  His social commitment is, in turn, reflected in Conrad Dryfoos, the son of a wealthy businessman, who dies while trying to support Lindau and some striking workers, and in Margaret Vance, a society girl who turns to what we would call social justice activities.  Socialism of the heart is the underlying message that arises out of the arguments and events of the book.[22]

Howells’s socialist views were most explicit in a series of three utopian novels that contrast life in an imaginary land of Altruria with life in the United States.  Altrurian society is explicitly based on the Golden Rule.  The country was supposedly founded by disciples of Jesus Christ who emigrated from Palestine some two thousand years ago and who established a genuinely Christian society in which everyone works and lives as one big family, and shares all things.[23]

In the first of the books, A Traveler from Altruria, a visitor, Mr. Homos, comes from Altruria to the United States.  He says that he particularly wanted to visit the United States because of the country’s celebrated dedication to the ideals of liberty, equality and democracy, ideals to which his country was also dedicated.  The gist of the book consists of showing that the United States does not practice what it preaches.  When the Altrurian compares how workers, women, poor people, artists and other social groups are treated in America as compared to people in his country, it is clear that people are better off in the ideal Altruria than in the real United States.[24] 

Although the comparisons are done ironically, humorously and without rancor, we readers come away with a feeling that the Altrurian way is obviously the better way to live.  The Altrurian visitor is, for example, continually doing things that he is told by his bourgeois hosts he shouldn’t, such as helping a porter carry his bags, helping a waitress carry a heavy tray, and talking with a poor person in the street.  The situations are comical but we instinctively think Mr. Homos was in the right.  And we come to see that his way of treating people is more humane than the class-based and status-ridden American way.  Howells makes his case by setting up situations that appeal to our better natures, that is, to the socialism embedded in our hearts.[25] 

That is the key to Howells’ method.  Set up the situations and then let the facts speak for themselves to our better natures.[26]  Annie Kilburn is one of Howell’s less well-known books, but it is a prime example of his realistic and socialistic style.[27]

Socialism of the Heart in Annie Kilburn

Annie Kilburn (1888) is the story of a young woman, the eponymous Annie Kilburn, who inherits a fortune and returns from sojourning as an expatriate in Italy to the small New England town from which she originally hailed.  She returns with the philanthropic intention of doing good things with her wealth for the lower-class workers and poor people there.  The book is a record of her efforts in this regard and the maturation of her thinking. 

The novel consists for the most part of dialogue in which the characters debate social issues and the question of doing good in the world.  It is not, however, a didactic book.  The conversations are realistic and weave naturally in and out of the action.  Each character’s argument has both strong points and weak points.  Howells’ intention seems to be for us to see for ourselves that socialism makes sense.  He is not going to tell us what to believe, albeit he seems to expect that we will reach conclusions consistent with his ideas of complicity, what we might call socialism of the heart.  And I think we do. 

Annie is the central character in the book and the focus of the debates.  Everyone is trying to convince her of their ideas, and her education is what drives the story.  Annie is not, however, an infallible or flawless heroine, and her conclusions are not necessarily the same as ours or those of the author.  

While Annie is the central character, the moral and intellectual center is the local minister, Mr. Peck, who preaches a socialist gospel that attempts to put the Golden Rule into practice.  Peck’s goal is a society based on liberty, equality and fraternity.  Americans proclaim theirs is a land of the free, but liberty, Peck claims, cannot survive without equality and fraternity.  Liberty must be used “to promote equality; or in other words, equality is the perfect work, the evolution of liberty.”  And this, he concludes, will form the basis for “the universal ideal of fraternity.”[28] 

Peck proposes that the means of achieving this ideal society is through labor unions in which workers become brothers to each other in their collective struggle for a better society, and through communal living and working arrangements which are cells of the new cooperative system within the old capitalist order.  Toward this end, he supports labor organizing and intends to establish a commune among workers in a neighboring town, practicing what he preaches. [29]   

Peck heaps scorn on Annie’s philanthropic plans.  He claims that philanthropy demeans the poor and demoralizes the rich.  “When the philanthropist offers help,” Peck says, “it is not as a brother of those who need it, but a patron, an agent of the false state of things” in which we live.  It is “a peace-offering to his own guilty consciousness of his share in the wrong.”[30] 

He claims that in “the truly Christian state, there shall be no more asking and no more giving, no more gratitude and no more merit, no more charity, but only and evermore justice; all shall share alike, and want and luxury and killing toil and heartless indolence shall all cease together.”[31]

When Annie complains that she does not know how to help the poor, Peck responds “Yes, it is difficult to help others when we cease to need help ourselves.”  She is rich and does not think she needs anything that poor people could give her.  So, she cannot connect with them.  The only way to genuinely help others is in a cooperative effort in which they help you as well.  That is the gist of the Golden Rule.  It is also the gist of socialism.[32]

There is, however, a troubling gap between Peck’s preaching about the Golden Rule and his practice.  His wife having died, Peck is solely responsible for the care of his young daughter and, in pursuit of his political goals, he is very neglectful of her.  She is shabbily dressed and wanders around the town on her own.  She seems in large part to be fed and cared for by kind neighbors.  Peck, when questioned about whether he cares more for strangers than for the members of his own household, retorts “Who are those of our own household?”  And answering his own question, he proclaims that “All mankind are those of our own household.”[33]

It is a response that raises perpetually perplexing questions about the priorities of social reformers.  Peck is seemingly unable to reconcile his love for humankind with his responsibilities to his daughter, essentially sacrificing her to the cause.  It is a problem that faces all activists.  What limits are there to the risks and hardships to which reformers may subject their friends and families?  And how does one practice socialism at home in a capitalist society?

Peck’s socialist ideas are the main thesis of the book around which most of the discussion turns.  The book consists mainly of characters’ reactions to Peck’s ideas and his reactions to them.  And all of it is directed toward educating Annie.  Prime among the discussants are Mrs. Munger, Mr. Gerrish, Dr. Morrell, and Mrs. Bolton. 

Mrs. Munger is a well-meaning, well-to-do do-gooder socialite for whom philanthropic activities are a way to help her feel good about herself.  Public-spirited for egoistic purposes, she organizes lavish benefits that are ostensibly to aid the poor but that often cost more than they raise.  Dismissing Peck’s insistence on learning from the poor, she also promotes worker education through which the rich can indoctrinate the poor with middle-class ways and mores.  

Although Mrs. Munger feels real sympathy for the downtrodden, and makes convincing appeals in favor of helping the disadvantaged, her philanthropic activities ultimately seem demeaning and disrespectful to workers and the poor.  For these reasons, Peck is dismissive of Mrs. Munger’s activities and won’t support them.  And it is in large part from watching Mrs. Munger, and being dragooned into helping her, that Annie comes to conclude that philanthropy is a form of vanity that serves mainly to puff up the rich rather than elevate the poor.  It is a conclusion that we readers come to feel as well.[34]

Mr. Gerrish is a self-made successful local merchant who, like Peck, is an opponent of philanthropy, but for very different reasons.  His opposition is Scrooge-like.  Espousing conventional views in favor of capitalism and individualism, Gerrish condemns labor unions, the mollycoddling of workers, and aid to the poor.  He repeatedly boasts about his financial success and high standing in the community and his harshness toward his own workers who better not speak out or step out of line.  He claims to be a model for the poor to emulate.

“I came into this town a poor boy without a penny in my pocket,” Gerrish exclaims, “and I have made my way, every inch of it, unaided and alone.  I am a thorough believer in giving everyone an equal chance to rise and to – get along; I would not throw an obstacle in anybody’s way; but I do not believe – I do not believe- in pampering those who have not risen, or have made no effort to rise.”  He favors what might be called equality of opportunity but not equality of outcome.[35] 

Although he is clearly a boor, Gerrish makes some strong arguments in favor of self-reliance – it builds character and promotes innovation – and against labor unions – they protect the lazy and incompetent, and they disrupt efficient business operations.  But Annie and we readers come to feel repelled by the callousness of his arguments and actions.  His boasting also seems to reveal an underlying insecurity that is endemic to capitalism.  It is a system in which people are constantly engaged in zero-sum competition, with today’s winner in danger of becoming tomorrow’s loser.  Our instinctive humanity is provoked against Gerrish’s Social Darwinian inhumanity.[36]

Dr. Morrell represents enlightened bourgeois opinion, sympathetic to the plight of the workers and the poor, but sufficiently satisfied with the way things are not to want to upset the status quo.  He is a decent man, and he is amused and attracted by Annie’s enthusiasm for social reform.  But he is too skeptical and self-satisfied to seem to Annie or to us like a hero.  Morrell calls Peck “a dreamer,” which is not a compliment, and facetiously derides Peck’s insistence on working with the poor and sharing their lot.  The doctor remarks that when Peck says “that as long as there was hardship and overwork for underpay in the world, he must share them.  It seems to me that I might as well say that as long as there were dyspepsia and rheumatism in the world, I must share them.”[37]  Morrell cautiously courts Annie and seemingly catches her at the end of the book.[38]

Mrs. Bolton, Annie’s hardworking housekeeper provides a facetious view of the rich people who take their vacations in the town.  She wonders, for example, what the rich women who visit the town mean when they say they come there for a rest.  She declaims “I don’t know what they want to rest from; but if it’s from doing nothin’ all winter long, I guess they go back to the city boot’ near’s tired’s they come.”[39]  Some of them are rich busy-body do-gooders, like Mrs. Munger, but most are rich do-nothings. 

Mrs. Bolton and most of the townspeople have mixed feelings about Peck.  Most respect his idealism but think his ideas are utopian.  The narrator explains that “They revered his goodness and his wisdom, but they regarded his conduct of life unpractical…and he could not himself have kept the course he had marked out.”[40]  They are supportive but skeptical.  Except for Annie. 

Annie is enthralled by Peck’s ideas and his example, and she comes to a decision to join him in working and living with a group of poor people in what we today might call a commune.  This romantic venture does not come to pass, however, and the ending of the book is realistically anti-climactic.  Peck is killed in an accident before Annie can effectuate this drastic change of life, and she is secretly relieved.[41]  Annie had regretted her pledge to join Peck in his project almost immediately after making it, but had felt bound by her word to him.  His demise relieved her from that pledge. 

Having been saved from her own foolish romanticism, Annie resigns herself to a privileged existence, albeit henceforth doing small deeds of goodness with others, and not just philanthropically for them.  Annie adopts Peck’s daughter, and spends time on local community projects, working well with people who are socially her inferiors, even including people she does not like.  She no longer gives money.  No philanthropy, just common work.  She finds that it’s the work that makes the relationship.  In this, she keeps some allegiance to Peck’s philosophy. 

In the end, no one wins the debate in the book, and Annie, is still adrift in her ideas and inconsistent in her actions.  But we readers are left with the feeling that the socialist minister Peck has had the best of the argument even if he, too, is inconsistent in his actions.  I think we are left with the feeling that Annie’s contradictions, and seemingly ours as well, stem from being well-off and unable to reconcile our responsibilities to ourselves and our families with our responsibilities to humankind.  We have difficulty giving up our privileges to fully join the cause with others.  We are left feeling socialist in our hearts but inconsistent in our actions.  But maybe that is all right and all that Howells would have hoped for and expected of us.                                   

The Food and Drug Administration, Workers’ Compensation, Social Security, the Wagner Act, the Civil Rights Acts, Medicaid, Medicare, Obamacare, these are just a few of the programs that were part of the socialist agenda and that have been spurred by socialism of the heart.  This was an agenda and an attitude that was promoted by Howells and many others in his time.  To them, socialism just made common sense.  The key was to help other people to realize that fact.  Howells hoped that presenting the facts and letting them speak for themselves would help people to recognize the underlying socialist message in the facts and in their hearts. 

It worked to a great extent in Howells’ time.  Maybe it is working again now?  I was a college history professor off-and-on from the 1960’s to the 2010’s and what I increasingly heard from my students over the years was, “If this is socialism, what is wrong with it?” “That’s a good question,” I would usually reply, “What do you think?” 

What do you think?

                                                                                                                                    BW 2/23


[1] William Dean Howells.  My Mark Twain.  Literary Friends and Acquaintances. 1910.  P.52.

[2] Laura Wronski. Axios/Momentive Poll: Capitalism and Socialism. 6/15/21. 

[3] Jason Puskar. “William Dean Howells and the Insurance of the Real.” Project Muse. American Library of History. Oxford University Press, 2006.

[4] William Dean Howells. Annie Kilburn. Braschi Digital Publishing.   P.124

[5] Michael Harrington. Socialism: Past and Future. New York: Little, Brown & Co., 1989.

[6] Axel Honneth. The Idea of Socialism: A Renewal.  Malden, MA: Polity Press, 2017. p.10.

[7] David Shanon. The Socialist Party of America: A History.  New York: MacMillan Press, 1955.

[8] Barry Goldwater. Conscience of a Conservative. Boston: Beacon Press, 1960.

[9] Robert Kuttner. “Socialism rears its ugly head.” The American Prospect. 4/9/19.

[10] Julia Manchester. “Majority of Young Adults in the United States have a negative view of capitalism: Poll. The Hill. 6/28/21.

[11] Felix Salman. Axios Poll. 6/17/19.

[12] Laura Wronski. Axios/Momentive Poll: Capitalism and Socialism of June 15, 2021.

[13] William Dean Howells   Criticism and Fiction.   A Public Domain Book. 1891. P.11.

[14] Howells. Ibid. P.7.  

[15] Howells. Ibid. P.5.

[16]William Dean Howells, The Rise of Silas Lapham.  American Classics Series. Musicum Books, 2017.

[17] William Dean Howells. A Hazard of New Fortunes. American Classics Series, 2015.

[18] William Dean Howells.  A Traveler from Altruria.  New York: Harper & Bros., 1894.

[19] Howells, The Rise of Silas Lapham. Pp.307-308, 320.

[20] Howells. A Hazard of New Fortunes. P. 80.

[21] Ibid. Pp. 75-76, 152-153, 230, 250.

[22] Ibid.  Pp.314, 333-334

[23] Howells.  A Traveler from Altruria.  P.27.

[24] Ibid. Pp.10, 13.

[25] Ibid. Pp.2, 5, 35.

[26] Howells. Criticism and Fiction.  Pp.3-4, 7.

[27] Christopher Key. “Willaim Dean Howells and the Genteel Socialism in Annie Kilburn.” Academia Proceedings. University of West Bohemia, 1999.

[28] Howells.  Annie Kilburn. P.124.

[29] P.125.

[30] P.124.

[31] Pp.124-125.

[32] Ibid. P.89.

[33] Ibid. P. 118.

[34] Ibid. P.136.

[35] Ibid. P.46.

[36] Ibid. P.141.

[37] Ibid.  P.155

[38] Ibid.  P.173.

[39] Ibid.  P.26

[40] Ibid.  P.165

[41] Ibid.  P.153.

Rereading Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle. Pre-Modern Moralist as Post-Modern Cynic. Resolving the Liar’s Paradox.

Rereading Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle.

Pre-Modern Moralist as Post-Modern Cynic.

Resolving the Liar’s Paradox.

Burton Weltman

Summary: Rereading Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle.

This is an essay about rereading the novel Cat’s Cradle and trying to get it right this time.    

I first read Cat’s Cradle almost sixty years ago, shortly after it was published in 1963.  It is a satire of science, religion and social relations that largely takes place on the fictitious Caribbean Island of San Lorenzo.  The book created a sensation in the United States and was widely considered a bible to the countercultural youth movement at that time.  It remains popular today, especially among high school and college students.  And there have been at least a half-dozen dramatizations of the book for movies, television and the stage, including a calypso musical.

The book focuses on four main characters: John, the book’s hapless narrator; Dr. Felix Hoenikker, an unrepentant inventor of the atomic bomb; Bokonon, a fanatical religious leader on San Lorenzo; and, Papa Monzano, the vicious dictator of the Island. The book has generally been read as a diatribe against the soullessness of science, the oppressiveness of government, and the boorishness of the bourgeoisie.  It has also been seen as an invitation to postmodern nihilism. 

The narrator is a lost soul seeking an answer to the question of whether there is meaning to life and the universe.  He seemingly finds his answer – which is “No” – in the metaphor of a cat’s cradle.  A cat’s cradle is a string sculpture made up of loops of string and the empty spaces in between.  In describing a cat’s cradle, the narrator focuses on the empty spaces between the loops of string and concludes that the universe is similarly empty of meaning.  

Conventional readings of the book follow the narrator’s conclusion and see universal meaningless as the book’s main message.  Hoenikker’s complete indifference to human life and the horrible consequences of his scientific discoveries reinforce this conclusion.  Bokonon, in turn, preaches a fatalistic nihilism that is also generally taken as a message of the book.  The inhumane brutality of Monzano and the cruel dysfunction of his country are conventionally seen as Vonnegut’s dystopian description of the real world and his prediction for the future.  This is the way that I read the book back in the 1960’s. 

Upon recently rereading the book, I have, however, come to the conclusion that this conventional interpretation is a mistake.  And it is a misreading that contributed, or at least reinforced, anti-science, anti-intellectual and anti-social attitudes among counter-culturalists, including me, that I now believe were wrongheaded during the 1960’s and have had harmful consequences to the present. This essay is an attempt to read the book in a way that I think makes better sense.  

The essay makes three main points about the book.

First, I think that the metaphor of a cat’s cradle is best understood by focusing on the connections made by the strands and loops of string instead of the empty space between them.  The metaphor speaks to the connections between people and their mutual aid, not the emptiness around them.

Second, I think that the book is best read as an example of the liar’s paradox. The narrator openly says that everything in the book is a pack of lies.  Readers must not take literally what the narrator and characters say but should instead focus on what they do.  That is the way to resolve the liar’s paradox.

Third, I think the book should be seen as a warning from the narrator, who is a self-described Jonah, and not as a dystopian description of reality or prediction for the future.

If you accept these three points, I think you come to a very different conclusion about the book’s attitudes toward science and society than the conventional reading, and it makes a difference.

What does it matter?  It’s only a book.

A basic assumption of this essay is that it matters how people read and interpret books, including novels such as Cat’s Cradle.  I believe that reading a book is an exercise in understanding the world.  Understanding a novel such as Cat’s Cradle, for example, requires readers to get out of their own heads and their own lives, and to empathize with the book’s author and characters in order to see the world as they do.  It requires readers to get past their prejudices and consider alternative views of things.  And it requires them to get beyond the superficial surface of things in the book and look for potential underlying meanings. 

If readers fail to do these things, and read merely to reinforce their prejudices, they are likely to get nothing from a book or, even worse, get reinforcement for misguided ideas and attitudes.  In turn, I think people who misread books are more likely to misunderstand the world.  I believe that is what happened to me and others who misread Cat’s Cradle.

Mea Culpa: Words have consequences.

Rejection of science.  Scorn for intellectual elites.  Distrust of government.  Skepticism toward electoral politics.  Support for tactics of social and political disruption, including violence.  Advocacy of social and political divisions and divisiveness.  Cynicism as a way of life.

Looks like a list of present-day rightwing attitudes and ideas.  And it is.  But it is also a list of attitudes and ideas that were common among members of the leftwing countercultural movement during the 1960’s and 1970’s.  What goes around comes around, as the saying goes.  Seeds that leftists sowed during those years have grown to threaten many, including me, who supported the countercultural movement then and who are now, in the name of sanity, in the position of opposing things we once espoused.  It’s ironic.

And Kurt Vonnegut, himself a master of irony, looms ironically large in the origins of this mess. Vonnegut was a guru to the countercultural movement and his novel Cat’s Cradle was widely considered a bible to the movement.  Alas, as happens with many gurus, he was, I have come to believe, misunderstood by many of his acolytes.  As was Cat’s Cradle.  And these misunderstandings have come home to plague us. 

This essay is an attempt to correct those misunderstandings.  In particular, I think that many readers of Cat’s Cradle misunderstood the symbolism of the cat’s cradle in the book.  I think, also, that many readers failed to penetrate the liar’s paradox that lies at the heart of the novel.  And I think that many readers took the book as a description of the real world and/or a prediction of the future, instead of a warning about what could occur if people didn’t change their ways.  These were mistakes.

As a result, these readers, including me in my younger days, may ironically have fostered some of the idiotic ideas and attitudes we are opposing today.  Because the rightwing idiocy of today seems in part to be an offshoot of the skepticism turned cynicism that was promoted by the countercultural movement and that we in the movement attributed to Vonnegut.  Mea Culpa.

Background: The Times were Changing.

Much has been written about the decade of the 1960’s, perhaps overmuch.  For purposes of this essay, the 1960’s was a particularly tumultuous time in American history.  While it is true that every time is the best of times and the worst of times, to paraphrase Charles Dickens, the 1960’s were a time of unparalleled prosperity for Americans, and especially middle-class young people, and a time of disastrous social and political turmoil.  Young people, especially white young people, enjoyed material lives better than the kings of old, but were also disheartened and even endangered by social turmoil and political dysfunction. 

They were confronted with the hypocrisy of a government that was destroying Vietnam in the name of saving it and that supported dictators around the world in the name of freedom; mortified by a scientific community that produced atom bombs in the name of peace, and scientists who swore that cigarettes and asbestos were safe to inhale and that napalm was a benign defoliant; assaulted on all sides by advertising in which famous people proclaimed the virtues of useless and even harmful products; affronted by professors who worked for government agencies and corporations rationalizing all of these horrors. 

To many young people, the contrasts and contradictions between material prosperity and social bankruptcy were stark.  Facing a seemingly endless Vietnam War for which young men were being drafted and sent off to die as cannon fodder, recurring racial riots in American cities in which young black people were the main victims, multiple assassinations of liberal political leaders, and the ever-present danger of a nuclear holocaust, many young people despaired at the state of American society.  A combination of guilt at being prosperous in the midst of poverty and fear of being killed in war drove many young people into political causes.

 Many of them supported the counterculture and the political New Left in hopes of disestablishing what they called the Establishment – the politicians, professors and businessmen who they claimed were running and ruining the country.  Full of the impatience characteristic of young people, and aiming but failing to make a quick difference in the world, the skeptics among them often turned into cynics, and dissent became defiance.  Epater le bourgeoisie (stick it to the middle class), a mantra of the late nineteenth-century French countercultural movement, was adopted as a slogan of the mid twentieth-century American countercultural movement.       

The question of authority loomed large in the movement and “Question authority” became another one of the movement’s mantras.  But questioning authority and demanding that those in authority justify their right to power slid into rejecting authority whole cloth.  Rejecting illegitimate authority and wrongheaded supposedly authoritative expertise turned into skepticism and then cynicism toward all authority and expertise.  Authority was frequently conflated with authoritarianism.  And as is so often the case, those who went to unreasonable extremes in disdaining authority and the authority of expertise got most of the media attention.  And they cited Kurt Vonnegut in support of their position.      

By the 1980’s, the countercultural movement had pretty much died, but many of its attitudes lived on, sometimes in unwanted ways.  Echoes of the science skepticism, defiance of middle-class social norms, and rejection of pragmatic politics that counter-culturalists promoted can be heard in the science denial and political vigilantism of the rightwing today.  It is an unfortunate irony that in the name of sanity and reasonableness we are having to fight back today against attitudes and positions promoted by the right-wing that we on the left originated back in the 1960’s.  And irony of ironies, I think we even got Vonnegut wrong.

Cat’s Cradle: The Plot?

Kurt Vonnegut is commonly called a postmodernist writer, based largely on the seemingly random flips and flops of the plots of his novels and the seemingly cynical and dystopian views expressed by narrators and characters in his books.  Finding a plot in his peripatetic works is often impossible and, in any case, often irrelevant.  Cat’s Cradle was published a year before Marshall McLuhan proclaimed in his widely influential book Understanding Media (1964) that “the medium is the message.”  Consistent with McLuhan’s thesis, Vonnegut’s disjointed method has generally been taken as conveying a sardonically anarchistic message.  And the sardonically cynical views of his narrator have also been widely taken as Vonnegut’s message.  I don’t agree.

Vonnegut has, in turn, often been accused of contributing to the dumbing down of American culture.  Cat’s Cradle, like his other books, is made up of short chapters, vignettes full of easy witticisms, a few pages each, with people coming and going in circles for a couple of hundred pages.  Based on this narrative method, Vonnegut has been accused of promoting the shortening of people’s attention spans.  Critics compare and conflate his short chapters with the ten-minute segments of the typical television program, and with the instant and abbreviated messaging on Facebook, Twitter, and other social media.  I don’t agree. 

Cat’s Cradle is, in fact, mildly amusing, easy to read, and it is easy to get taken in by its cynical surface.  But I think that the book was actually a challenge to the notion that the medium is the message, and that reality is at bottom a hodgepodge of postmodern nihilism.  I think Vonnegut adopted a postmodern form to deliver a premodern moral message.  His chapters are epigrammatic and his characters hop-skip all over the world, but he challenged the reader to find the themes and messages that underlay the chaotic surface and to connect them in meaningful ways.  Underneath the new-fangled postmodern form is some old-fashioned premodern moralism, a humanist message lurking in cynic’s garb.

What can be called the plot of Cat’s Cradle consists of the meanderings of the narrator whose name is John but who calls himself Jonah.  He is a journalist in search of a story about the founders of the atom bomb and he has ostensibly written the book we are reading.  John is initially focused on the life and times of a scientist named Felix Hoenikker, who was supposedly one of the inventors of the bomb. 

Hoenikker is portrayed as a total nerd, completely wrapped up in his scientific work, divorced from humanity, and indifferent to the inhumane uses of his discoveries.  His last invention is a chemical concoction called ice-nine which completely freezes anything into which it comes in contact.  Released into the world, it would freeze everyone and everything.  Hoenikker carelessly leaves some ice-nine to his three very weird children.  Not a pretty picture of science and scientists.  

After Hoenikker dies, the narrator wanders to the fictional Caribbean Island of San Lorenzo in search of Hoenikker’s kids.  San Lorenzo is ruled by a vicious dictator named Papa Monzano, whose mortal enemy is a spiritual leader by the name of Bokonon.  Bokonon teaches a philosophy of passivity in the face of inevitability and detachment from humanity.  “As it was supposed to happen”is his response to anything that happens, especially things that most people would regret or mourn.[1]  And “Nothing” is his answer to the question of the meaning of life.[2]  Monzano is ostensibly dedicated to wiping out Bokononism, hoping to find and kill Bokonon, and to execute anyone who is found professing Bokonon’s religion. 

This hostility of Monzano to Bokonon is seemingly a strange contradiction.  You would think that Bokonon’s philosophy of passivity would be the perfect doctrine for sustaining a brutal dictatorship.  And in the end, we find out that Monzono and Bokonon are secretly in cahoots and that Monzano has secretly been a supporter of Bokonon’s philosophy.[3]  The supposed feud between Monzano and Bokonon had been manufactured by the two of them to stimulate public interest in Bokonon’s banned religion while also justifying Monzano’s brutal regime.

The story flips and flops around San Lorenzo and the narrator encounters there a disparate cast of discontented, disoriented and dismal people from many walks of life.  Toward the end, the narrator is slated to become the President of the island and marry the most beautiful woman in the country, but then things fall completely apart when some ice-nine is unleashed and everything starts to freeze.  In the midst of the mess, Monzano dies and Bokonon tells his followers to commit suicide, which almost all of them do[4].  It’s a Jonestown tragedy written some fifteen years before that event.  The perils of passivity. 

Except for Bokonon.  He doesn’t commit suicide and merrily meanders away.  In the end, the narrator and a few other foreigners in San Lorenzo are hanging on for dear life.  Having previously acknowledged that he, too, is a Bokononist, the narrator apparently intends us to see his book as a Bokononist tract.  But I don’t think we can.  A true Boknonist would not write this book.

Cat’s Cradle and a Karass.

To a Bokononist, life is worthless, the universe is meaningless, and society is one big fraud.  All is empty and emptiness is all.  Focusing on the empty space in a cat’s cradle is a Bokononist point of view.  The emptiness is a commentary on life, the universe and everything.  But it isn’t the only way to see a cat’s cradle.

Cat’s cradle is a child’s game played with a piece of string.  You wind the string around the fingers of your hands to form various shapes that could be considered a string sculpture and that looks like a cradle.  Although it is a game played with little children, it is actually an exercise in a field of mathematics called topology.  Topology is the study of the geometric properties and spatial relations which can be derived from a continuous and interconnected network, such as the shapes you can make with a piece of string. 

Contriving a cat’s cradle requires a dexterous bit of handiwork and a lot of complicated twisting and turning of the string.  The result is string and space forming a geometric configuration which is wide open to interpretation.  What you make of it depends on how you look at it.  It is like a gestalt in which you decide what is the figure and what is the ground.  And what you make of a cat’s cradle depends in large part on whether you focus on the empty space formed between the segments of the string or on the connections made by the various turns of the string.  Most people, including the characters in Cat’s Cradle, focus on the empty space.  And they are unhappy with the result. 

One of the characters in the book, Newt Hoenikker repeatedly complains that his father, the renowned nuclear physicist, insisted on playing the game with him and chortling when Newt was dumfounded at the emptiness of the result.  A lot of twiddling with a piece of string, Newt complains, and, in the end, there was “No damn cat, no damn cradle.”[5]  Newt grumbled that the game was a just nasty way for spiteful adults to make derisory fun of innocent children. 

But I think Newt got it wrong, as do most readers of the book.  I think Vonnegut intended us to focus on the connections made by the string, not on the empty space.  The connections are a metaphor for social relations, a message that we are all connected and the connections are what counts.  “Only connect,” famously opined E.M. Forster, and I think that is the point of the book.  It is a premodern moral in postmodern garb.  But it is visible only to those who have eyes to see it.  Like most readers, I did not see it when I first read the book, but I think I do now.   

It is a message that is easily missed since Bokonon, whose philosophy runs through the book, disparages making connections among people.  In speaking about social relations, Bokonon distinguishes between what he calls a karass and a granfalloon.[6]  A karass is a group of people who, unknown to themselves, are linked together in some obscure way to fulfill some obscure purpose of God.  The people have no idea who is in their group and what the purpose of the group is.  It is a mystery, and it is a waste of time and effort to try to figure it out. 

As such, Bokonon says, people should just go through their lives as separate individuals without consciously linking up with or caring about anyone else.  If people somehow become part of a karass and do God’s work, so be it, even though they don’t know it.  In turn, if they don’t become part of a karass, so be it, because they won’t know it anyway, and they should just get on with their meaningless lives.  “Whatever…,” as young people today might say. 

A granfalloon is a network of people who think they are a karass but they aren’t, and who consciously try to do God’s good work, but don’t.  According to Bokonon, if you try to make connections with others and make your life meaningful, it will inevitably be foolish, fraudulent and a failure.  So, don’t try.  The moral of Bokonon’s philosophy is that if you try to do good work, you won’t.  If you don’t try to do good work, you might do it anyway, albeit incidentally.  In any case, there is no sense in trying.  It is a fool’s world and we are all fools in one way or another.  All will be as it will be, so just let it be.

That is what Bokonon says.  But it is not what he does.  Bokonon is neither passive nor private. He is personally and publicly very active, even as he supposedly tries to hide from the dictator Monzano.  Bokonon fervently writes books and goes around preaching.  And he courts converts who are linked to him and to each other, and who consciously form a group of Bokononists, a grouping that should be considered a granfalloon, a false grouping, according to his philosophy. 

The contradiction between what is said and what is done in the book includes the narrator.  Even as John claims to be a Bokononist, he is writing a book that he expects people to read and, thereby, become linked to him and to each other as readers of his book.  And despite his professions of Bokononist misanthropy, he goes around helping everyone he meets. This contradiction between what is being said and what is being done is at the core of the liar’s paradox that is, in turn, at the core of the novel.

Bokononism and the Liar’s Paradox.

No sooner do we open Cat’s Cradle than we see on the dedication page the warning that “Nothing in this book is true.”[7]  It is commonplace in works of fiction for the author or the publisher to insert a liability disclaimer to the effect that nothing in the book is intended to reflect on any real person.  The disclaimer is a protection against suits for libel.  Since Cat’s Cradle is a work of fiction, and a satirical work at that, we might expect a disclaimer of this sort in the book.

But in Cat’s Cradle, this statement is no mere liability disclaimer.  The idea that everything is a lie is like a mantra that is repeated by characters throughout the book. The narrator tells us, for example, that “The first sentence in The Books of Bokonon is this: ‘All of the true things I am about to tell you are shameless lies.’”[8]  And these statements by the narrator and his mentor Bokonon place readers squarely in the middle of the liar’s paradox/ What are we to believe? 

The liar’s paradox is an ancient Greek conundrum.  A man says that he always lies and that everything he says is a lie.  So, are we to believe him?  If we do, then we are, in effect, contradicting him and saying that not everything he says is a lie.  If we don’t believe him, then we are saying that he is, in fact, a liar but we can’t believe him when he says he is a liar.  We are trapped in a contradiction and foiled at every turn.  What are we to do?  The solution, I suggest, is not to rely on what the man says but on what he does.  And this is, I think, a key to understanding Cat’s Cradle:  Look at what the author, the narrator and the characters do.

While ostensibly adhering to Bokonon’s misanthropic philosophy of isolationism, the narrator is continually trying to make connections with people.  He makes friends and helps people wherever he goes.  His prosocial actions are a complete contradiction of his supposed antisocial beliefs.  And they save his life.  

At the end of the book, the narrator bands together with a group of unlikely allies, all of them very different from each other and himself, to save themselves and try to make their way in a world devastated by ice-nine.  Based on these characters’ actions, the message of the book seems, therefore, to be proactive and prosocial rather than passive and antisocial.  The book seems to be telling us to make connections with people, trust people, and cooperate with others.  Very different from the Bokononist cynicism and nihilism that most readers take from the book. 

But maybe not.  Given that the book is supposedly a pack of lies, can we believe that the narrator’s description of these actions is true?  Are we still caught in the liar’s paradox?  I think not.  And I think that the metaphor of the cat’s cradle shows the way.

The story is structured like a cat’s cradle with the deeds as the strings and the ideas as the empty spaces.  The disclaimers that everything in the book is lies refers to the words being spoken and the ideas being promulgated, not the deeds being described.  The deeds provide the context and the framework for the characters’ words.  The narrator provides the doings in the story as merely a set-up for the speeches.  What the narrator and the other characters say is essentially empty of truth.  But we readers can rely on the accuracy of the things the characters did as background to what they said.

A cat’s cradle can be seen as a metaphor of mutual aid.  Each twist of a cat’s cradle depends on the others.  If one connection fails, all of them fail.  During the course of the book, the narrator hooks up with a disparate and often desperate group of people, some of them quite obnoxious and unappealing, but who end up supporting each other in the ice-nine crisis that ends the book.  It is this cooperation, rather than the cynical sayings of Bokonon, that I think is the underlying message of the book.  The book is an overlay of cynicism with compassion underneath.  I think this overlay/underlay aspect of the book may account for much of its popularity.  The book gives readers a chance to sneer at the world and feel superior to the dummkopfs around them, but it still leaves readers with a feeling that help is at hand.  

An action speaks louder than a thousand words, as the saying might go.  The book is like a gestalt and the reader has to decide whether to focus on the words as the foreground with the deeds as background or the deeds as the foreground with the words as background.  Like the strings and spaces of a cat’s cradle.  And, I think that the underlying message spoken by the actions of the narrator and his colleagues in Cat’s Cradle is that caring, connecting and cooperating with others is the means and meaning of life.  The book seems, thereby, to be a warning against the passivity, misanthropy, and nihilism that seem to be spreading like ice-nine in our society, freezing the very sources of our humanity. 

Jonah and the Warning.

The conventional reading of Cat’s Cradle is that the book is a dystopian description and prediction of the future.  We are like the horrible people in the book, and we are heading toward some facsimile of the book’s horrible events.  “We have met the enemy and they are us,” concluded the cartoon character Pogo after searching near and far for the source of the world’s problems.  There is a fatalism in this reading of the book that parallels Bokonon’s nihilistic philosophy.  I don’t agree.  I think the book was intended as a warning, not a prediction.  We are called upon to change our ways.  And there is room for hope. 

In the first words of the book, the narrator admonishes us to “Call me Jonah.”[9]  His actual name is John, but his admonition is a parody of the opening lines of Moby Dick, in which the narrator says to “Call me Ishmael.”  Ishmael in the Bible was the spurned first son of Abraham.  He was known as a messenger and a prophet in his own right, that is, as someone who brings warnings from God to shape up or be shipped out.  In telling us to call him Ishmael, the narrator of Moby Dick is seemingly alerting us that he is bringing us a warning in the form of the story in the book.

Jonah in the Bible plays a similar role to Ishmael.  He was a messenger from God who had been sent to warn the people of Nineveh to change their evil ways or face destruction.  Afraid that the citizens of Nineveh would attack him for bringing such ill tidings, Jonah tried to run away.  He disguised himself and sailed as a passenger on a ship.  But you can’t run or hide from God, and the ship was hit with a terrible storm.  Unable to escape the storm, the sailors decided that Jonah was to blame, that he was a magnet for misfortune, so they threw him overboard.  At which point, he was swallowed by a big fish. 

Jonah eventually repented of his disobedience, escaped from the fish, went back to Nineveh, and delivered God’s warning to the people.  Hearing the word of God, the citizens of Nineveh almost immediately repented of their evil ways and became righteous.  There are many potential morals to the story of Jonah, but one of them is that if you warn people of impending doom, they might actually change their damned ways.  There is hope.

Hope is not the moral that the narrator of Cat’s Cradle derives from the Jonah story.  To the contrary.  In claiming to be a Jonah, the narrator focuses on how he has throughout his life been a magnet for misfortune.  He does not seem to get the point that Jonah’s misfortunes were the result of his failing to deliver God’s warning to Nineveh and to care for the fate of Nineveh’s citizens.  And he similarly does not seem to get the point of his role in Cat’s Cradle, the book he is writing. But we can see the point, if we look. 

The key to the story of Jonah was that he was supposed to give a warning.  I think that is also the key to the story of the narrator in Cat’s Cradle.  It is not merely that Jonah and John were magnets for misfortune.  It is that they were sent to warn people to change their ways, in John’s case to infuse their lives with humane caring.  In this view, science need not be soulless and society need not be oppressive, if they are based on caring.

The story in Cat’s Cradle is not intended to mirror reality, either past, present or future.  That is evident in the fantastic nature and science-fiction aspects of much of the story.  But it is also evident in the admission, even repeated insistence, that the story is a pack of lies.  As a pack of lies, the story is a metaphorical warning against the sorts of horrors that could be in store for us if we don’t change our ways. 

In disguising his warning in satire and science fiction, the author/narrator perhaps hoped he might be spared the wrath of his readers (Jonah should have thought of that strategy).  But maybe he also hoped that readers might be induced or seduced into thinking about what is being said, and might conclude that the book is not about sneering but about caring.

In the last lines of the book, after ice-nine has killed off most of the people and other living things, the narrator runs across Bokonon wandering around the countryside.  Bokonon says that if he were younger, he would climb the highest mountain and commit suicide while giving the finger to God.  It is an adolescent gesture of defiance, the sort of sneering bravado that is likely to appeal to adolescent readers of Cat’s Cradle.  But the key word in Bokonon’s statement is “if.”  If he were younger, he would die and defy God.  But he is not younger and so he has no intention of actually killing himself and making his meaningless gesture.  It is just the last of Bokonon’s cynical lies.  And it is the last piece of evidence that we readers should not take him or his sneering philosophy seriously.

Despite having supposedly adopted Bokonon’s fatalistic philosophy, the narrator chose to compose this book and offer it as a warning to us.  If he believed that everything was predetermined as Bokonon says, and that everything points to the inevitable doom of humankind, the narrator wouldn’t have written the book and left it for us to read.  It’s only if he cared for us, and because he cared for us, his readers, and had hope that we might heed his warning and change our ways, that he would bother and did bother.

Beyond Cynicism: Seeing through a glass half-full.

The conventional interpretation of Cat’s Cradle is that it is a darkly cynical book.  Semi science fiction, semi fantasy, semi magic realism, and thoroughly dystopian.  Support for the typical adolescent’s discovery that adults are fallible, and that people are not what they seem to be, or try to seem to be.  Easy to conclude that the adult world is a fraud, the game is fixed, everything is predetermined, and we are powerless to make things better.  Cynicism logically follows. 

But cynicism is an elitest attitude.  The cynical think of themselves as superior to the masses of people who accept the stupidities of society and conventionality.  Cynicism is also pathetic.  Cynics wallow in self-pity, and think of themselves as especially put upon.  Woe is me to be stuck in such a stupid world with such stupid people.  Not a very democratic attitude.  And a contradiction of the equal rights, participatory democracy and “power to the people” that many young progressives promoted during the 1960’s.

I think that Cat’s Cradle is a test for those who think of themselves as politically and socially enlightened.  The cynical surface of the book is a trap for self-styled progressives who say they are for the people but who really think of themselves as above the people.  Those who see the book in solely cynical terms, and don’t see the underlying moralism, are falling into the trap.  I think Vonnegut is subtly mocking them as much as he is overtly mocking the bigoted, ignorant yahoos who promote racism, sexism, and all the other evils he excoriates.

I think that Vonnegut uses cynicism as a pose that we readers are expected to identify with but then see through.  Cat’s Cradle is postmodernist cynical and hopeless on the surface but pre-modernist moralistic and hopeful underneath.  The hopefulness is something you have to look for, and you have to be hopeful yourself in order to find it.  Like faith, which is a sentiment that can overcome doubt, hope is a feeling that can overcome pessimism.  Just as you cannot really have faith without first having doubts – there is no need for faith if you don’t have any doubts – you cannot have hope without first feeling pessimistic. 

And I think that the underlying sentimentality in Cat’s Cradle is one of the reasons the book was so popular among young people when it was first published and continues to be popular today.  Young people can identify with the cynical surface while, at the same time, be comforted by the underlying moralism, even if they don’t realize it.  Like Mark Twain, with whom Vonnegut is often compared, Vonnegut’s work got darker as he got older.  But in Cat’s Cradle, which is one of his earliest books, light shines through if you open your eyes to see it. 

Vladimir Nabokov supposedly claimed that there is no such thing as reading, only rereading.  Reading mainly glides along the surface of a book.  Rereading is a way of getting beneath the surface.  I think that rereading can take at least two different forms.  The first is to actually read through the book a second time.  A second is to take notes, make annotations, raise issues, ask questions, propose counter arguments, and generally think thoroughly about the book while you are reading it and after you have finished it.  The point is to get beneath the surface of the book.

I think that in Cat’s Cradle, Vonnegut was challenging readers to get beneath the surface of his glib narrative, to see that caring and not cynicism was the core message of the book.  Like a lot of other people, I failed to recognize, let alone meet, that challenge when I first read the book.  That’s too bad.  It made a difference.  I think that I recognize it this time.  Better late than never.

                                                                                                                                    BW 11/22


[1] Kurt Vonnegut.  Cat’s Cradle. New York: Dial Press Paperbacks, 1963. P. 100.

[2] P. 256

[3] Pp. 186, 229-230

[4] P.283.

[5] Pp.21, 178.

[6] Pp. 13, 106.

[7] Dedication page.

[8] P. 16.

[9] P.11

Racism, Sexism, Antisemitism.  Dealing with Bigotry in Our Favorite Authors. Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist.  Anthony Trollope’s Phineas Redux.

Racism, Sexism, Antisemitism.

Dealing with Bigotry in Our Favorite Authors.

Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist.  Anthony Trollope’s Phineas Redux.

Burton Weltman

To read or not to read, that is the question.

Bigotry: An arbitrary prejudice against a person or people based on their membership in a particular group, most often a racial, gender, religious, or ethnic group.

Bigotry among the Literati.

Nathaniel Hawthorne. 

Charles Dickens.

Anthony Trollope.

Henry James.  

Agatha Christie. 

What do these five disparate authors have in common?  Racism, sexism, and antisemitism.  Their books are peopled with demeaning stereotypes of blacks, women, and Jews.  If you read much Anglo-American literature that was written during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, you cannot avoid coming across demeaning images of blacks, women and Jews, and overtly hostile sentiments toward blacks and Jews.  Bigotry of this sort was a common element in most literature of that time.  And, of course, it was not confined to blacks, women and Jews.  Prejudice against Catholics, Muslims, Asians, Native Americans, and minority groups of almost all sorts was almost pervasive.  It was a great age of bigotry in literature. 

Many factors fueled this explosion of literary bigotry in England and America.  Aggressive imperialism.  Massive migrations and immigrations.  Misconceptions of evolutionary theory.  Cynical political manipulation.  Increasing social class conflicts.  Declining traditional elites.  Declining traditional values.  Intractable social problems.  All of these and other factors contributed to social and cultural turmoil, and to ethnic resentments and scapegoating all around. 

Social movements of the left and the right contributed to bigotry during this period through personalizing social problems rather than systematizing them.  Social movements also tended to focus more on the negative than on the positive, on their enemies rather than their goals.  On the left, for example, social activists tended to focus on the evil of capitalists rather than the evils of capitalism.  On the right, they tended to be anti-liberals or anti-socialists rather than anti-liberalism or anti-socialism.  Focusing on their opponents, on who they were against instead of what they were against or what they were for, it was easy to slide into demonizing and scapegoating minority groups that they identified with their enemies.  Not unlike today.      

Bigotry among the literati was widespread, almost pervasive, but not entirely, and that is important.  There were successful authors who did not write bigotry into their works.  It was even possible for highly successful authors such as William Dean Howells, the dean of late nineteenth century American writers, to explicitly oppose bigotry.  It will not do, therefore, to excuse bigoted authors on the grounds that their prejudices were part of the culture of the times, and that everyone was similarly guilty, because not everyone was similarly guilty.  That makes it hard for those of us who love the literature of the period but hate the bigotry in it. 

I have been a lifelong fan of the novels of this period.  The nineteenth century was the great age of long social and sociological novels, as distinguished from the more introspective and psychological fiction that became popular during the twentieth century.  They are books in which you can reside in a society of some other time and place, and which you can wish would never end.  And they are books from which you can learn a lot about other people and about yourself.   Therefore, it galls and angers me when I find bigotry in books and in authors that I otherwise admire.  As a Jewish person, it also depresses and demoralizes me to find antisemitism in books and among writers where I hoped to find hope.  What is one to do?

Antisemitism in Late-Nineteenth and Early-Twentieth Century Novels.

Although antisemitism had been endemic in Europe for almost two thousand years, it was ironically heightened during the nineteenth century by the abolition of most of the ghettos in which Jews had been for the most part confined since the Middle Ages.  Jews were now free to go almost anywhere, and prejudice against them followed.  Also ironically, antisemitism fitted in with both left-wing antipathy to capitalists and right-wing antipathy toward socialists.  Jews were condemned as both greedy capitalists and sinister socialists.  Not unlike today.

While most of the leading novelists of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries wrote at least some antisemitism into their books, not all did.  In a rough survey of leading authors based on my reading and recollections over the years, Hawthorn, for example, did, but Melville did not.  Dickens and Trollope did, but George Eliot did not.  Henry James, Henry Adams and Hamlin Garland did, but William Dean Howells did not.  Frank Norris, Stephen Crane, Jack London, Theodore Dreiser, and Edith Wharton did, but Abraham Cahan did not (Of course, Cahan was Jewish).  John Dos Passos, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway and Willam Faulkner did, but James T. Farrell did not.  Agatha Christie and Dorothy Sayers did, but Rex Stout did not.

In the books of the bigoted authors, Jews were generally portrayed through conventional stereotypes.  These included the sinister big-time banker, the greedy small-time moneylender, the crooked petty peddler, and the fraudulent shyster.  In point of fact, these stereotypical Jews loomed much larger in the imaginary worlds of the novelists than they did in real life.  It has been estimated that less than one percent of the populations of England and the United States was Jewish during the nineteenth century.  Given their insignificant numbers, there was really no good reason to mention Jews at all in the novels of the period.    

Like most stereotypes, these Jewish stereotypes had a quarter-grain of truth to them.  Historically, Jews had generally been forbidden to own land in most European countries or practice any of what were considered the respectable professions, and they had frequently been expelled from wherever they were living.  As a result, Jews tended to take up occupations that they could carry with them.  This included banking, money lending and peddling.  But it also included medicine, various skilled crafts and, for most Jews, unskilled labor.    

As such, although Jews were somewhat disproportionately overrepresented among financiers, money lenders and peddlers, the overwhelming majority of Jews were not involved in high finance, money lending or peddling.  Very few were bankers.  Jews were also disproportionately overrepresented among doctors, artisans and craftspeople, a fact that was rarely represented in novels of that time.  In turn, the overwhelming majority of financiers, money lenders and peddlers were not Jewish.  You would not guess this from reading most novels of the time.

Dealing with bigotry: Forgiving and Forgetting? 

Novels of the time were mostly bigoted to a greater or lesser extent.  Bigotry is bad.  It is the common practice for teachers and commentators to excuse the bigotry in novels of this period on the grounds that the authors were merely reflecting their society.  I think this is very wrong.  Bigotry can be explained but it should not be excused both because it is bad in and of itself and because it was eminently avoidable.  Bigotry was a writer’s choice.  Not every late-nineteenth and early-twentieth century author was a bigot.  And there was enough evidence available for an intelligent person to see through the demeaning stereotypes that were commonly circulating.  As such, writing bigotry into their books was a choice that authors made, and an inexcusable choice.

Bigotry also went against the ethical ideals of the time.  Whatever their backgrounds, writers of that time were taught what we call the Golden Rule.  In its most common formulations, the Golden Rule enjoins us to “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” and to “Love thy neighbor as thyself.”  Bigotry violates the Golden Rule and, in so doing, it is harmful not only to its victims but to its perpetrators.  Because the Golden Rule is not just an ethical proposition, it is also a psychological principle.  It is a statement of fact and not merely an aspiration.  It teaches us that if you think well of yourself, you will likely treat others well.  If you treat others poorly, you will likely think poorly of yourself.  Bigots demean themselves even as they denigrate others.

Bigotry also went against the social ideals of the time, especially the democratic ideals that were predominant in the United States and were becoming prominent in England.  It has been said that the basic principle of democracy is majority rule with minority rights, the most important of which is the right of the minority to possibly become the majority.  From this statement flow all of the rights and duties prescribed in the United States Constitution and, especially, in the Bill of Rights.  A corollary of that democratic principle is the principle of tolerance which can be stated as tolerance for the tolerant, and intolerance for the intolerant.  This principle is the core of the freedoms guaranteed by the First Amendment.  Bigotry contravenes principles of democracy and tolerance and, as such, bigotry should not be excused.     

It is also commonplace for devotees of the bigoted writers and books to insist that even if we cannot excuse the bigotry, we should get over it.  Bigotry was wrong but, given the value of the works, we should forgive and forget the bigotry.  I think this is also very wrong.  Literary bigotry should not be forgiven or forgotten, and one should not expect the victims of bigotry to just get over it.  “Just get over it” has become a mantra for those who have done something wrong and want it to be forgiven and forgotten.  That is an unfair and unrealistic expectation, especially if you have been the victim of someone’s prejudice. 

As a Jewish person, there is no way I am going to get over the shock and embarrassment when I was six years old and the grandmother of my best friend who lived next door said to me “There is only one thing worse than having a (n-word) living next door to you and that is having a Jew.”  Or the anguish when I first read Oliver Twist as an assigned book at school and found it filled with antisemitism.  I am approaching seventy-seven years of age and those memories are as fresh as if the events happened yesterday.

Likewise, I don’t see how black people can be expected to get over the racism that permeates novels of the nineteenth and early twentieth century in which they were generally caricatured as stupid and shiftless, and in which the “N” word was commonplace.  Significantly, even in Huckleberry Finn, for which Mark Twain has been praised for portraying Jim the black slave as an intelligent, sensitive and caring person, the book opens with a caricature of Jim as a superstitious fool and closes with him reverting to that same character. 

And I don’t see how women can be expected to get over the overwhelmingly sexist portrayal of women in novels of the period, especially including those by Charles Dickens.  Even Anthony Trollope, who criticized the oppression of women, portrayed women as being less intelligent, having poorer executive skills, and being overly emotional compared to men. 

Getting over bigotry is not something that any ethical person should be able to do even if the person has not been the target of prejudice.  Getting over bigotry implies that your feelings against it will be neutralized and you will henceforth treat it with indifference.  The fact that an author has espoused bigotry will no longer matter to you.  That is not a position with which an ethical person should be comfortable.   

Bigoted books convey and encourage bigotry.  The fact that they are well-written, enjoyable and, in many cases, otherwise enlightened and enlightening makes their bigoted impact even more invidious.  That is not something one should be able to just dismiss.  But does that mean we must dismiss – or “cancel” in the currently popular term for shunning someone or something – most of the best novelists of the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries?  That is not an easy question, but in the case of most authors of the period, I think not. 

I think the question is not whether one should excuse bigoted authors or get over their bigotry, but whether one can get by the bigotry.  That is, can one acknowledge that an author is bigoted but still accept the author’s works as worthwhile?  Can one recognize that a book espouses bigotry but still accept the book as otherwise worthwhile?  Should bigotry in an author or a book be an insuperable obstacle to reading and appreciating that author or book?  Toward answering those questions, I think it is helpful to try to distinguish different types and degrees of bigotry.

Gradations of Bigotry: From Bad to Worse.

Given that any expression of bigotry is hurtful and harmful, I think one can identify different types and levels of prejudice, and can conceive of a range of bigotry with some forms worse than others.  For purposes of distinguishing between more and less objectionable prejudices, and determining whether I can get by the bigotry in a book, I try to make and apply three distinctions.

These distinctions or tests respectively focus on whether the prejudice is portrayed as a function of cultural differences or supposed racial differences, whether the prejudice is conveyed in the form of distaste and snobbery or fear and hatred, and whether the prejudice is extraneous to the main themes of the book or is integral to them.  Between each of the poles of these distinctions is a variety of possible prejudices, ranging from the relatively gentle and genteel to the outright vile and vicious. 

The first distinction is based on whether the prejudice is presented in terms of cultural differences between peoples or alleged racial differences between them.  Culture is learned and it can be unlearned, changed, and compromised.  As such, cultural differences can theoretically be amicably bridged.  Cultural prejudices usually take the form of snobbery, looking down on members of the demeaned group and avoiding them.  They are often seen as the core of gentility. 

Biological differences, in contrast, are generally portrayed as inherent and permanent.  They are seen as genetic and can seemingly not be overcome.  Biological prejudice, in turn, often takes the form of fearing members of the demeaned group, hating them, attacking them, and trying to eliminate them.  The opposite of genteel. 

There is a range of prejudice between these two poles of ostensibly genteel cultural antipathies and vicious racial hatreds.  Cultural prejudices are generally less noxious than racial prejudices.  It is one thing to portray one’s own culture as better than others.  It is another to portray a group of people as biologically inferior or genetically evil.  In my estimation, the closer the author or book is to the cultural snobbery pole, the less noxious the prejudice and the easier to otherwise accept that author or the author’s book.  The closer to the genetically evil pole, the viler the prejudice and the greater difficulty in accepting an author or a book.

A second distinction that follows from the first is whether the author’s prejudice consists solely of distaste for the disparaged people and calls merely for avoiding them, or whether it is based on fear and loathing of the disparaged people, possibly including conspiracy theories about the evils intended by the disparaged people, and concluding in calls for their elimination and possibly annihilation.  The closer an author is to the snobbish position, the less offensive.  Any resemblance or connection of a book to the genocide position makes that author and book unacceptable.

A third distinction is between prejudices that are incidental and distinguishable from a book’s main messages and prejudices that are integral to the book’s central purposes.  Whether, for example, the book is promoting the prejudices or merely reporting prejudices of the characters or society that the book is portraying.  And whether the bigotry is unintentionally hurtful or is deliberately hurtful and harmful.  The less integral and deliberate the prejudices, the easier to get past them.  If a book is deliberately promoting hurtful and harmful prejudices, it is unacceptable.

Antisemitism in Trollope and Dickens: Guilty and Guilty with an Explanation.

I will try to demonstrate the way in which my algorithm of bigotry works in considering the antisemitism in two popular mid-nineteenth century novels by two popular nineteenth century authors: Anthony Trollope’s Phineas Redux (1873) and Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist (1839).  Trollope’s book was clearly antisemitic.  So was Dickens’ but he supposedly didn’t mean it.    

Anthony Trollope.  Anthony Trollope was a prolific writer and popular novelist of the mid-to-late nineteenth century.  He wrote some forty-seven novels and dozens of short stories.  He is perhaps best known for two series of six novels each, the Barchester series that centers around the politics and policies of the Anglican Church and the Palliser series that centers around the politics and personalities of the English Parliament.

I have read the Barchester series over the years, several of the books more than once, and liked them very much.  They are not antisemitic in my view.  In the six Barchester books, there are some six references to Jews.  Two are inconsequential references to Jewish moneylenders and constitute what I would term genteel prejudice.  The other four are facetious references to Jewish religious practices that are inconsequential and that I would term genteel, and that pale in comparison with the large number of facetious references to Christian religious practices that go to the core of the books’ themes.

The Palliser novels tell a different story.  I have only recently come to read the Palliser books and was not prepared for what I found.  Most of the Palliser books were written after the Barchester novels – only one book overlaps.  There are dozens of references to Jews in the Palliser books and they are all derogatory.  The antisemitism builds through the first five books.

In the first two books, there are only a few disparaging references to Jews, more in the second than in the first, and they are mainly inconsequential and could be considered of the genteel type.  Then in the third book, The Eustace Diamonds, a villainous Jewish character plays a secondary but important role.  He reflects a turn toward a virulent racism.  This same villainous Jew then plays a primary role in Phineas Redux.  And in the book that follows Phineas Redux in the series, The Prime Minister, the main villainous character is also Jewish, though he denies it.  In the context of the Palliser series, that is just what a sneaky Jew would do

Phineas Redux is the fourth book in the Palliser series.  It is mainly about the ups and downs of the love-life and the political career of a young man named Phineas Finn.  The book is a wryly humorous send up of British politics and the British Parliament, a fictional mimicking and mocking of actual people and events of Trollope’s day.  It also takes off on the pretensions of the British aristocracy and the social climbing of the middle classes.  It is wonderfully facetious.

Trollope was relatively progressive when it came to women, and the book incorporates a critique of the oppression of women, especially married women trapped in a legal system that enforced the principle that a husband and wife are one and the husband is the one.  The book is one among a number of late-nineteenth and early twentieth century novels in which women were portrayed as struggling against traditional constraints, especially the stranglehold that husbands had over their wives.  Middlemarch by George, Eliot, Anna Karenina by Tolstoy, Portrait of a Lady by Henry James, The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton are other examples, just to name a few.

Phineas Redux is a well-written and engaging novel.  It is well-plotted, full of twists and turns, suspense and surprise, interesting character development, engaging descriptions of scenes and situations, and empathetic portraits of persons and personal relationships.  It is also interesting, informative and insightful about British politics. So far, so good. 

But then seemingly out of nowhere and for no good reason, the villain of the book turns out to be a Jew named Emilius.  And not just a Jew but a Jew pretending to be a Christian clergyman who succeeds in attracting a gullible following and marrying a rich and beautiful Christian woman.  It turns out, however, that Emilius is a practiced swindler, a bigamist who already has a Jewish wife, and a cold-blooded murderer who tries to pin the murder on the hero Phineas Finn. 

It is not clear what it means that Emilius is Jewish.  He neither says nor does anything that is in any way Jewish, and he is noted for his pious preaching as a Christian minister.  Nonetheless, he is constantly called “the Jew” or “that Jew” by the narrator and the characters in the book, and usually with some derogatory comment attached thereto.  His being Jewish has nothing to do with the plot and adds nothing to the story except a large gratuitous dollop of antisemitism.  There was no reason for Trollope to make Emilius Jewish other than either to express some prejudice that Trollope just had to vent or to play to the prejudices of his intended audience.  It was seemingly either a function of a vicious personality trait or a vile marketing ploy.  

Significantly, Emilius is frequently referred to as a “converted Jew,” as though his becoming a Christian does not make him any less of a Jew.  That is, Jewishness is seemingly a racial thing for Trollope and not a cultural or religious phenomena.  Once a dirty Jew, always a dirty Jew and, even worse in this case, a dirty Jew in the guise of a Christian.  Emilius is portrayed as a loathsome character and a dangerous imposter with his vile Jewishness at his core.

The antisemitism in the book is not confined to Emilius.  Jews as a group are described in demeaning terms throughout.  The general attitude of the author toward Jews is exemplified on the third page of the novel when one of the main characters with whom we readers are expected to identify as being a good person says to her friend “You would be worse than a Jew if you did not believe me.”  Jew is also repeatedly connected with loan sharking and money gouging.          

Applying my algorithm of bigotry to Phineas Redux, I conclude that Trollope fails the first test in that he seems to think of Jewishness as a genetic racial curse that even conversion to Christianity cannot erase.  Trollope also fails the second test because his objection to Jews is presented not merely as distaste but as loathing.  And not mere loathing but as a conspiratorial threat to British society.  Finally, Trollope fails the third test in that the actions of the Jew Emilius, and the reactions of other characters to him, permeate the book.  Although the novel is largely concerned with Parliamentary matters and Phineas’ ups and downs, it is the evil Jew Emilius who haunts the book.  To the charge of antisemitism in Phineas Redux, Trollope must be found guilty, and guilty of a particularly vicious kind.  

Charles Dickens.   With respect to antisemitism, Trollope was benign in his earlier books, then vile later.  Dickens went the other way.  He was vile early and aimed to be benign later.  Dickens wrote some fifteen novels, if you count The Pickwick Papers, which is actually a picaresque conglomeration of stories, and The Mystery of Edwin Drood, which was unfinished at his death.  Oliver Twist followed The Pickwick Papers and was Dickens’ first actual novel, that is, a lengthy complex and coherent story.  He was new at the game, ambitious to succeed as a novelist, and full of himself as a result of the success of The Pickwick Papers. Seemingly, when Dickens went looking for a villain for his novel, one that might command the attention of a wide audience, he decided that his best bet was to caricature a Jew and he created the evil Fagin.

The portrait of Fagin in Oliver Twist is a disgusting instance of antisemitism in an otherwise interesting book.  The character of Fagin and the way he is continually referred to as “the Jew,” usually with derogatory comments attached thereto, made the book disturbing to me when I was forced as a child to read it for school and has made it unreadable for me ever since.  And that’s even after Dickens excised some of the antisemitic language from the original version. 

The story is that sometime after the book was published, Dickens was confronted by some Jewish acquaintances who complained that the book was antisemitic.  At first, Dickens tried to deny that the portrayal of Fagin was antisemitic.  He claimed that Fagin was modeled after an actual Jewish criminal named Ikey Solomon who had run a gang of young thieves similar to that of Fagin.  In effect, pleading guilty to antisemitism with an explanation.

As a means of supporting this plea, Dickens excised some of the antisemitic rhetoric from later editions of the book.  There had been some 257 negative references to Fagin’s Jewishness in the original and Dickens removed 118 of them.  He also created some sympathetic Jewish characters in his later book Our Mutual Friend to try to prove that he wasn’t antisemitic.    

But Dickens did not excise all of the antisemitic rhetoric from Oliver Twist.  It is still incredibly offensive.  Having read the expurgated version, I find it hard to imagine how offensive the original must have been.  And Dickens still included casual antisemitic remarks made by characters in most of his other books, mostly connecting Jews with money lending and debt collecting. 

“We would make him as rich as a Jew if we knew how,” intones John Jarndyce, a main character in Bleak House.  Similar references to Jewish wealth and Jewish business practices appear once or twice in each of Dickens’ novels.  But they are infrequent and inconsequential, almost as though they were unthinking commonplaces in Dickens’ repertoire.  They are examples of what I would call genteel prejudice.  Despite himself, and maybe despite his good intentions, Dickens’ bigotry showed through in his later works.  If he had been more thoughtful, he might have avoided it.   

Applying my algorithm to Oliver Twist, I conclude that the character of Fagin has to be considered a racist caricature rather than a cultural prejudice.  There is nothing Jewish about what Fagin says or does, and the book focuses on his physical characteristics – especially his hooked nose – which echo the antisemitic stereotype of Jews.  I conclude that the book also portrays Fagin’s Jewishness as a threat to British society and as not merely distasteful.  The book implies that he and his ilk must be exterminated, as he is at the end of the book.  Finally, I conclude that antisemitism is integral to the main theme of the book, that is, that there are cunning Jews out there who are warping our children and turning them into criminals.  In sum, Dickens, despite his disclaimers, must be found guilty of antisemitism in Oliver Twist, and a particularly vicious form of the prejudice at that.          

Getting by Bigotry: What is to be done?

The conclusion that Trollope and Dickens are guilty of vicious antisemitism leaves me with a load of cognitive dissonance and emotional ambivalence.  And it’s not just the antisemitism in their works that as a Jewish person gets me down.  I am also bothered by the racism, sexism and prejudice against other ethnic groups that are written into their books and most of the novels of that time. I think that almost any decent person would experience cognitive dissonance and emotional ambivalence in reading Dickens, Trollope and the other bigoted authors.

In my case, I have read The Warden and Barchester Towers, the first two books of Trollope’s Barchester series, several times each, and enjoyed them each time.  I have read most of Dickens’ novels many times, albeit Oliver Twist only twice and part of a third time.  Over the last forty or so years, I have almost always been reading one of Dickens’ books in addition to whatever else I have been reading.  And the aforementioned Bleak House is one of my favorite novels. 

So, what is one to do?  Do I shun all of Trollope’s books, the earlier Barchester books along with the later Palliser books, because he was clearly and vilely antisemitic even if it showed only in the later books?   Or do I try to block out the fact that Trollope was antisemitic and ignore the antisemitism in his books while continuing to read them?  Or do I boycott some of his books, the clearly antisemitic Palliser novels, while continuing to read some of the others?  And the same questions arise as to Dickens. 

As I am writing this essay in October, 2021, we are living through another period of virulent racial, religious, ethnic and gender bigotry on the part of a significant and powerful segment of the American population.  The resurgent bigotry coincides with a surging human rights movement that aims to end that bigotry.  Both sides are targeting books and other cultural artifacts as symbols of their ideas.  That has created a lot of conflict between rightwing racists and liberal human rights activists, and between more and less militant supporters of the human rights movement. 

Even as right wingers, racists and misogynists are trying to eliminate books and curricula from our schools that promote racial, religious, gender, and ethnic equality, some liberal social activists are trying to eliminate books and historical figures who could be considered racist and misogynist.  While I am adamantly opposed to the efforts of the right wingers, I think that we on the liberal side need to draw some distinctions between authors and books that are just plain unacceptable and those that are acceptable with an explanation.  That is the purpose of my algorithm.  It is a guide to making these decisions.

It is in my opinion neither necessary nor proper to condemn and shun anyone who ever did anything wrong.  That would leave us with preciously few people we could accept.  If we accept only perfection, we will be left with “Only me and thee, and I am not so sure about thee,” as the saying goes.  We must be willing to appreciate the good in people who were in some respects and to some extent racist, sexist, antisemitic and prejudiced against other social groups. 

We must condemn their bigotry and neither forgive nor forget the bad they did.  But we should be able to appreciate the good in their works while critiquing the bad.  That is the function and goal of critical reading and critical thinking that we should be teaching our young people and practicing ourselves as adults.  Reading things that we conclude are wrong is a good way to help get things right.

At the same time, we should not hesitate to condemn and shun those authors and books that are beyond the Pale, as the saying goes, and that are thoroughly and viciously bigoted.  I think there is a difference between people who have done bad things and bad people. There is a point at which people have done so many bad things that they become bad people, but there are people who have done bad things without becoming bad people.  The same goes for books.  Some contain bad things but are still worth reading.  Others are too thoroughly bad and are not worth reading except either for historical purposes or for purposes of exposing and condemning them.   

That condemnation goes for Phineas Redux and Oliver Twist in my opinion.  They are antisemitic at their core and are not worth reading except as historical documents that exemplify nineteenth century bigotry.  I would shun them.  The condemnation does not go for Trollope’s Barchester novels or for Dickens’ other novels.  The prejudices in those books, which includes sexism, racism and ethnocentrism as well as antisemitism, fall within what I characterize as categories of cultural snobbery and personal distaste, genteel bigotry, and they are not integral to the main messages of those books.  With a critical and historical reading as to why and how prejudices could seem genteel to some people at some times and places, I think those are worthwhile novels.

So, how does one deal with the bigotry in our favorite authors and books?  It’s hard.  Because it is not something one can simply ignore or excuse.  The distinctions and explanations that I have offered herein do not provide a foolproof formula for deciding who and what to read and who and what to condemn.  They are an attempt to apply the principle of tolerance for the tolerant without rigidly enforcing the complementary principle of intolerance for the intolerant.  We cannot shun everyone who has done some bad things.  Within the framework of my algorithm, I think it is necessary to extend some extra level of tolerance to authors who exhibit a modest level of what might be deemed inadvertent intolerance, who are in essence genteel bigots, thereby turning the other cheek to them so long as it doesn’t then lead to a punch in the nose. 

                                                                                                                                    BW 10/21

Thornton Wilder’s The Bridge of San Luis Rey. Survivor’s Guilt and the Problem of Evil. A Plea for Caring, Caretaking, and Commitment.

Thornton Wilder’s The Bridge of San Luis Rey.

Survivor’s Guilt and the Problem of Evil.

A Plea for Caring, Caretaking, and Commitment.

Burton Weltman

“Of man’s first disobedience, and the fruit

Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste…

I may assert eternal providence,

And justify the ways of God to men’

Paradise Lost.  John Milton.

The Problem of Evil:  A theological question of whence comes evil in the world, and why it exists if the universe is supposedly the product of a God who is good. 

Survivor’s Guilt: A mental condition in which one feels guilty for having survived a traumatic situation that others did not survive.

Questioning the Questions in The Bridge of San Luis Rey.

“What is the answer? …. Well then, what is the question?”

Gertrude Stein on her deathbed.

The Bridge of San Luis Rey is a Pulitzer Prize winning novel by Thornton Wilder.  First published in 1927, it deals with the circumstances and consequences of a fictional disaster in which five people were ostensibly killed in Lima, Peru during the early 1700’s. Their deaths were the result of the collapse of a fictional bridge, the Bridge of San Luis Rey, that they were crossing.  The book is a philosophical/theological novel. Wilder imagined a fictional disaster and fictional characters to raise questions about God and good in the universe, the existence and persistence of evil, and the meaning of life and death. 

Using his disaster as an example of the sort of evil that happens in the real world, Wilder asked why in a universe supposedly created by a benevolent God could an accident such as this occur?  And why, he pondered, do evils such as this fall on some people – such as the five people in the novel – but not on others?  Why, in turn, do they happen at a particular time and place and not at another?  Most poignantly, how can evils such as this fit in with the plans of an almighty God who is supposedly good?  Finally, what should we think and do about evils that befall other people but from which we are spared?  In sum, Wilder asks us to think about the problem of evil in the universe and how to live with feelings of survivor’s guilt?  These questions are the focus of the book.   

The Bridge of San Luis Rey reflects social and intellectual issues particular to the 1920’s when it was written, but it poses questions that are timely at any time and it is still widely read today.  It has long been a mainstay of high school literature curriculums.  There are many reasons for its popularity.  One reason is that the book is short, barely one hundred pages.  It is also an easy read.  And on its face, the book seems to be a simple story about the lives of the five victims of the accident.  It is the sort of thing you can read in a night and teachers can assign it to high school sophomores without getting too many complaints from students.  But there is more to it than that. 

The book has an effect on readers that belies its surface simplicity, and that seems a better reason for its continuing popularity.  There is a profundity to the questions it poses and to the ways it treats them that is haunting.  I think that very few readers forget the book or the situation it describes.  It sticks with you.  And its underlying messages are complex.  Interpretations of the book differ significantly.  Is it optimistic or pessimistic, hopeful or cynical, theistic or atheistic? 

Difficulty and disagreement among readers seem to be what Wilder intended.  “The book is supposed to be puzzling and distressing,” he cautioned. That is, he explained, because “The book is in the form of a question” and does not give “a clear answer.”[1]  In fact, he warned, “a little over half the situation seems to prove something and the rest escapes or even contradicts it.”[2] 

Finding a Meaning and a Message in The Bridge of San Luis Rey: A Multi-Storied Story.

So, how does one sort through the thing?  I think one aspect of the book that is generally overlooked by interpreters, and that can be a source of puzzlement and distress as a result, is that it consists of a story within a story within a story.  There are three levels of story and these three levels are intertwined in ways that are not easy to untangle.  As such, the book is not as simple as it might seem on first reading.  And it’s easier to read than to understand.  A consideration of this aspect of the book’s structure is important, I think, toward finding meaning and a message in it. 

The first level of the book is a framework story about a Franciscan monk, Brother Juniper, who is said to have lived in the early 1700’s in Peru.  Brother Juniper did research on the lives of the five victims of the accident trying to discover the reasons why they died when they did.  The second level of story, which is the bulk of the novel, consists of biographies of the five victims, biographies that are ostensibly based on Brother Juniper’s research.  The third level is the editing of Brother Juniper’s research and the commentary on it by an ironic narrator who supposedly discovered Brother Juniper’s long-lost work and decided to edit and publish it.

Most interpreters of the book concentrate on the melodramatic biographies of the victims, give a puzzled short-shrift to Brother Juniper’s strange story (he is burned at the stake for heresy after finishing his research), and take for granted the nature and effect of the narrator’s editing and commentary.  Most interpret the book’s primary concern as being the problem of evil in the world as represented by the deaths of the five victims, which was Brother Juniper’s main concern in his researches.  I don’t agree with this focus. 

I think that the main concern of the book is with survivor’s guilt, which is the main focus of the narrator’s commentary.  I think, in turn, that the main message of the book is contained in the words and actions of the victims’ surviving friends and relatives who gather together to comfort each other at the end of the narrator’s story which closes the book.  Although Brother Juniper provided the source material for the book, and he focused on the problem of evil, it is still the narrator’s book.  The narrator has the last words and they are words of solace for survivor’s guilt. 

The purpose of this essay is to look at all three levels of story so as try to glean a message from the book’s concerns with evil and guilt.  Spoiler alert: I think that the book’s underlying message is a plea for commitment, caring, and caretaking, and I think that this underlying message is what haunts readers and accounts for its continuing relevance and popularity.

The Roaring Twenties and the Lost Generation: Surviving Survivor’s Guilt.

“I don’t know why we are here, but I am pretty sure that it is not to enjoy ourselves.”

Ludwig Wittgenstein. 1929.

It is a commonplace that you can describe almost any historical era in bipolar terms.  That is, it is almost always the best of times and the worst of times, depending on your social class and other circumstances.  Such was the case in the United States during the 1920’s.

To the wealthy few in America, and according to the mass media that they controlled, the 1920’s were the Roaring Twenties.  In sanitized histories and sensationalized movies about the period, it was the Jazz Age of stylish flappers, sexual liberation, and a perpetually rising Stock Market.  Great fortunes were made by a fortunate few and to listen to the rich, it was the best of times.

To listen to the working-classes, however, whose concerns were with falling wages and who were struggling to recover from World War I and its aftermath, it was the worst of times.  In the midst of a growing GNP and a garish display of conspicuous consumption by the rich, a majority of Americans lived below the poverty level during the 1920’s.  Most Americans experienced the 1920’s very differently than the rich, and quite differently than the popular portrait of the era as a perpetual party.  For most people, the 1920’s was a period of economic and psychological depression as they tried to recover from the horrific death and destruction of the previous decade. 

The period from 1914 to 1921 had, in fact, been one of the most deadly eras in history.  Beginning in 1914 with the start of World War I, the rest of the decade had been a slaughter of the innocents that was almost incomprehensible and that defied explanation.  The war produced a world-wide death toll of some twenty million people from 1914 to 1918, a majority of them civilians.  This was followed by a world-wide death toll of some forty million in the flu pandemic of 1918-1919.  That was followed by the economic depression of 1919-1921 in which tens of millions suffered without work or sufficient food and often died. 

In the aftermath of this horror, most people experienced the 1920’s, in the words of Gertrude Stein, the patron saint of the literati of the era, as a Lost Generation.  It was a generation that had been decimated and traumatized by the war and its aftermath, a generation of victims lost to violence, disease and poverty, and a generation of survivors, the walking wounded who were physically, emotionally and economically distressed.  Having lost faith in society and hope for the future, it felt for many people like living through the collapse of civilization. 

Things weren’t supposed to be that way.  During the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, politicians and pundits had proclaimed that with the rise of capitalist industry and free trade, there would be peace and prosperity for all and for all time.  Industry would produce a surfeit of goods so that poverty would be abolished as a cause of civil strife and war.  Free trade would connect the countries of the world in binding ties of economic cooperation that would make war impractical and even unthinkable.  Medical science and public health measures would forestall plagues like those of the past.  Perpetual peace and prosperity were guaranteed.

And it seemed to be working.  From 1815, which marked the end of the Napoleonic Wars, until 1914, the world had experienced an era of seemingly declining conflict.  There was also long-term economic growth produced by the Industrial Revolution.  Capitalists during the era claimed that business needed peace and could not tolerate the disruption and uncertainty of war, so capitalist businessmen everywhere condemned war.  Workers during the era complained that they ended up being cannon fodder in war, so workers worldwide condemned war.  All the major labor unions and progressive political parties in every nation opposed war, and almost all swore at the beginning of the twentieth century that they would not cooperate with any new wars.

But then war came in 1914 and almost all of the businessmen, workers, and progressive parties supported their home countries in what became a world war, everyone on each side claiming that their country had not started the war but had been attacked by the other side.  What became World War I marked the end of what has been called The Long Peace between 1815 and 1914.  It also marked the end of the faith that many people had felt in the economic and political system to keep the peace and sustain economic growth.  It was the end of trusting with others to keep the faith that kept the peace.  It was an era in which possessing things and controlling others became the norm.  The bridge of politics, economics and culture that had linked people and the various nations, and that had connected the past with the present and the future, had collapsed.

Although members of Gertrude Stein’s Lost Generation were diverse in many ways, survivor’s guilt and despair at the evil in the world was a common denominator among them.  Those who had survived the war, the plague, and the depression wandered and wondered why they had made it and what it meant.  Ernest Hemingway, a protégé of Stein, portrayed the tragedy of this generation in The Sun Also Rises (1926), a novel about an ex-soldier who has been sexually crippled during World War I and who is pursuing and being pursued by a promiscuous playgirl.  In The Great Gatsby (1925), F. Scott Fitzgerald, Hemingway’s buddy and another of Stein’s proteges, portrayed the dazzle, the extravagant desires, and the underlying emptiness of the era.    

It was in this context and in this company that Thornton Wilder, yet another of Stein’s proteges, wrote The Bridge of San Luis Rey.

Brother Juniper’s Quest: A Terminal Case of Survivor’s Guilt.

The Bridge of San Luis Rey pretends to be a summary of some newly rediscovered research on the lives and deaths of five accident victims in Lima, Peru by a fictional early-eighteenth century Franciscan monk named Brother Juniper.[3]  Peru was at this time a Spanish colony and Spain was a Catholic country.  Like the 1920’s in the United States, Peru in the early 1700’s was tumultuous.  Lima, the capitol city of Peru, is described as a boomtown, having gone in one generation from a huddle of shacks to a major metropolis.[4] 

It is portrayed as a time and place in which, as in America during the 1920’s, possessive relationships were the norm, and what a person owned and who the person controlled were the measures of that person.  And like the United States during the 1920’s, Lima afforded a startling contrast between the elegant mansions, theatres and public buildings that served the rich, and the hovels, stark poverty and misery of the poor.  It was the best of times and the worst of times, depending on your place in the social order.

Brother Juniper supposedly compiled his research while serving as a proselytizing missionary to the Peruvian natives.  Although his official mission was to convert the indigenous people to Catholicism, Brother Juniper’s real interest was in trying to figure out why God chose some people to die and others to live.  He was particularly troubled with why innocent people died while sinners lived on.  Seeming to echo John Milton in Paradise Lost, Brother Juniper’s goal was “to justify the ways of God to man.”[5]  It was an ambition that cost him his life.

Brother Juniper focused his research on accidental deaths, hoping to fathom how they were not really accidental but actually part of God’s plans for the universe.  In the course of this work, he became obsessed with a particular incident, the deaths of five people who perished in the collapse of a bridge that he was minutes away from crossing himself.  Why, he asked, did God choose these five people to die at this moment?  How can the tragic deaths of these five people fit in with the plan of a God who is supposed to be good? 

Brother Juniper spent six years trying to discover in the biographies of the five victims the reasons why God had chosen them to die.  He hoped, thereby, to make a science of theology and be able to rationalize everything that happened as the will of God.  But there also seemed to be a personal aspect to his research.  It seemed directed not only toward justifying God’s actions but also justifying Brother Juniper’s own survival.  Why did they die and he didn’t? Struggling with his own survivor’s guilt, Brother Juniper supposedly did the research of which The Bridge of San Luis Rey is ostensibly the result. 

Historical Context for The Bridge of San Luis Rey: What you don’t know can hurt you.

The book is set in the early 1700’s and there is historical context to Brother Juniper’s story that is important toward understanding it.  This context is not discussed in the book but I think Wilder expected the reader to know it.  A difficulty that some people have in interpreting the book may stem from their lack of historical knowledge.  Three things seem particularly relevant.  The first thing is that Brother Juniper ostensibly lived during what is often called the Scientific Revolution of the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries.  This revolution had culminated in Newton’s comprehensive scientific explanation of the laws of physics at the turn of the eighteenth century. 

Newton’s explanation of God’s physical creation seems to underly Brother Juniper’s theology about God’s spiritual realm.  Insisting that it was “high time for theology to take its place among the exact sciences,”[6] he aspired to becoming a theological scientist himself.[7]  In trying to make a science of theology, Brother Juniper seemingly expected to be able to explain all things spiritual just as Newton had ostensibly succeeded in explaining all things physical.

The second thing that I think Wilder expected readers to know is that Brother Juniper lived during what is often considered the birth of modern philosophy during the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries.  In tandem with the mechanical explanation of the material universe that was being fostered by the likes of Galileo and Newton, philosophers such as Descartes and Leibniz were developing a new mechanistic and deterministic metaphysics that encompassed all things spiritual.  It was a metaphysics that seemed to fit well with the new Newtonian physics, and it is seemingly reflected in Brother Juniper’s theology.   

In this mechanistic metaphysics, the universe was commonly compared to a clock with God in the role of a clockmaker who, having made the clock, withdraws as the clock ticks away on its own.  In this view, God was pretty much painted out of the picture of everyday life.  Things just moved along in a deterministic way, according to His plan and without His interference. 

In this philosophy, the evil that existed in the universe was rationalized as necessary to the well-functioning of the whole system.  Without evil, there can be no good.  It was in this context that Leibniz famously declared our universe to be “the best of all possible worlds.”  This was essentially Brother Juniper’s view.  He wanted to refute those who thought that the world was evil and that God was responsible for it.  Leibniz’s conclusion was one which Brother Juniper seemingly hoped to prove with his scientific theology.[8]

Brother Juniper was a fervid proselytizer, albeit promoting his new scientific theology more fervently than the conventional Catholic catechism.  In this regard, his advocacy seemed as personal as it was philosophical.  A deterministic philosophy is an excellent way to relieve oneself of survivor’s guilt.  If you explain everything as a result of cause-and-effect, the fact that you survived a disaster that killed others, or that you don’t suffer while others do, is not your own doing.  You cannot be faulted.  There was nothing you could have done.  I think this moral copout was one of the attractions of a theological science for Brother Juniper.[9]

But it was a fatal attraction because the Catholic Church in the eighteenth century condemned this new mechanistic philosophy as heretical.  And this is the third historical thing that I think Wilder seemed to expect readers to know.  Adherents of the mechanistic philosophy were often condemned by the Church and executed as heretics.  As was the fictional Brother Juniper in the book.

The Church complained that the new philosophy limited God’s discretion and subjected Him to the operation of cause-and-effect.  The mechanistic philosophy also called miracles into question, including the miracle of transubstantiation which is a key Catholic doctrine. And the new philosophy seemed to negate people’s responsibility for wrongdoing, making it an amoral and even immoral theory in the eyes of the Church. Finally, the new metaphysics seemingly inflated human understanding to God-like levels, a profound blasphemy.

In proclaiming his intention of using scientific research to ferret out God’s plans and to “surprise His intentions in a pure state,” Brother Juniper was arguably trying to fool and make a fool of God.  He was on a power-trip trying to assert his will over that of God. This was not an acceptable aspiration for a Catholic monk 

Brother Juniper was, however, seemingly unaware of the Church’s attitude toward his putative philosophy as he naively conducted his meticulous researches over the course of many years. At the time the story in The Bridge of San Luis Rey opens, he had been repeatedly frustrated in his efforts and had reached no satisfactory conclusions as to how accidental deaths were actually not accidental but, instead, fit in with God’s plan for the universe.  But then came the collapse of the Bridge of San Luis Rey and his own improbable survival, which spurred his researches anew.

Brother Juniper spent the next six years collecting information on the victims in an effort to find a reason God had willed them to die at that moment in an accident that he had narrowly missed.  And after six years, Brother Juniper claimed that “He knew the answer.”  And that he could explain for each of the victims “why God had settled upon that person and upon that day for His demonstration of wisdom” in having the person die.[10]  Brother Juniper’s conclusion was that “each of the lost lives was a perfect whole.”  Their destinies had been fulfilled – he doesn’t, however, explain how or why – and, therefore, death was the appropriate next step for them.[11] 

Brother Juniper was himself rewarded for his efforts by being burned at the stake as a heretic, and having his research suppressed for centuries.  No sooner had Brother Juniper finished his work, the narrator reports, than the book “was suddenly pronounced heretical.  It was ordered to be burned in the Square with its author.”  The narrator says that Brother Juniper did not understand where he had gone wrong, but blithely accepted his fate and died with a smile on his face.  Had he concluded that his life had become whole and warranted ending?  It’s not clear.[12] 

The Five Victims: The End of the Beginning.

“Come into my parlour,” said the spider to the fly.  The Spider and the Fly.  Mary Howitt.  1829.

Power trips, with people trying to establish possessive relationships of control over others, are at the heart of the story of the five victims in The Bridge of the San Luis Rey.  The book portrays a power trip society, full of people trying to control others, from the Viceroy and Archbishop at the top of the social ladder to the servants at the bottom.  And that includes the five victims as well.  Some of them trying to spin webs of power and control to catch others by surprise, even God.  Others getting caught in webs of possessive relationships from which they struggle to get free.

In a possessive relationship, the controller is ostensibly acting in the interests of the other’s welfare, but is really acting in the controller’s own selfish interests.  Controllers in possessive relationships can’t pass the Golden Rule litmus test: Are the controllers doing to others what they would have done to them if they were in the others’ situation?  Each of the victims of the disaster was caught up in one or more possessive relationships, either as the controller or the controlled, and the raveling and unraveling of these relationships is what moves the plot in the book.

In editing Brother Juniper’s researches, the narrator focuses one by one on the backstories of each of the five victims leading up to the accident.  Their lives and backstories intersect with each other, with each of them vainly attempting to dominate others and control their circumstances.  The crisscrossing strands of their lives make for a tangled web of influences in which the characters are caught, and into which we are drawn and our interest caught.    

The book could have had a conventional happy ending if the victims had not died.  Near the end, and near their ends, each saw a way out of the power-tripping and power-traps in which they had been caught.  They were just about to start new lives in which they would freely engage in sharing relationships very different from the possessive relationships in which they had been caught.  Each had an epiphany or change of heart that Brother Juniper seemed to have considered an equivalent of last rites, a repentance that completed their lives and made them ready to die.[13] 

  But that is not how the victims saw their changes of mind and heart, nor does the narrator.  They saw their awakenings as the beginnings of a new way of life, not a prelude to death.  They saw themselves beginning a new course of action and interaction that they never got to complete because of the accident.  Each of them was literally traveling on the road to start this new life when suddenly they died.  The tragedy of their stories is that they all had finally freed themselves, but then died before they could exercise that freedom.

The Marquesa de Montemayor: Death in Life and Life in Death.

The Marquesa de Montemayor was a loser in life who became a big winner in death.  In life, she was publicly ridiculed as an ugly, awkward, slovenly, ill-mannered, and ignorant woman, the wife of an elegant man who had died young and the mother of a beautiful and accomplished daughter, both of whom scorned her.  Her husband had married her for her money and then essentially abandoned her.  Her daughter had from an early age been ashamed of her repugnant mother.  The Marquesa doted on her daughter and was driven into paroxysms of effort to make the girl love her.  Nonetheless, when the daughter came of age, she immediately married a Spaniard and moved to Spain to get away from her mother.[14] 

In death, the Marquesa came to be considered one of the most brilliant writers in Spanish history.  With her daughter in Spain, the Marquesa took to writing her long descriptive letters about all that was happening in Lima.  Hoping to attract and entrap her daughter with the beauty of her letters, she studied writing and forced herself to go out in public, weathering the insults that she received from almost everyone she met, in order to gather material for the letters.  And they were beautiful letters, so beautiful that after the Marquesa’s death, they came to be considered Spanish national treasures and became required reading for Spanish school children.[15] 

The letter-writing snare didn’t, however, work on the Marquesa’s daughter.  So, she changed tactics and, having previously been an atheist, she turned to God for help, becoming fanatically and superstitiously religious.  She prayed obsessively to God and tried to bribe Him with all sorts of obeisance and monetary contributions to the Church to get him to get her daughter to love her.  That didn’t work either. She could control neither her daughter nor God.[16] 

But in the end, the Marquesa had an epiphany.  She came to realize that hers had been a selfish love.  The narrator comments that “She loved her daughter not for her daughter’s sake, but for her own.” [17]  She recognized that her love had been proudful, egotistical, and selfish, and that she had loved her daughter as a possession instead of a person.  “She longed to throw off the burden of pride and vanity” that she carried.  And she became reconciled “to permitting both her daughter and her gods to govern their own affairs.”  She would henceforth love them for their sake, not for hers.  Vowing that “Tomorrow I begin a new life,” she prayed to God “Let me live now” and “Let me begin again.”[18]  But she died instead.

Estaban: His Brother’s Keeper.

Estaban and Manuel were identical twin brothers who grew up in an orphanage run by the Abbess, Madre Maria del Pilar.  The Abbess was a saintly person who supported and promoted most of the charitable efforts and enterprises in Lima.  The brothers were inseparable.  The narrator comments that love was an inadequate word to describe the feeling that the brothers had for each other.  They needed, integrated and complemented each other to the depths of their being.[19]  They were possessed by each other.  Having been educated in the orphanage, they worked as scribes for the largely illiterate populace of Lima.  They, nonetheless, rarely talked, except in an idiosyncratic code to each other.[20]  They were a world of their own.

It came to pass that Manual was hired to write some secret love letters for a beautiful actress known as the Perichole, and he became completely besotted with her.  Although Manual never said anything to his brother, Estaban knew about Manual’s infatuation with the actress and it pained him that Manual’s affections were directed elsewhere.  In turn, although Estaban said nothing of his pain to Manual, Manual knew that Estaban was suffering.  So, for the sake of his brother, Manual willed himself to stop loving the Perichole.  And “All at once,” the narrator says, “in one unhesitating stroke of he will, he removed the Perichole from his heart.”[21]

Life for the brothers then returned to normal until one day Manual cut himself and, after a long period of suffering, he died of gangrene.  Estaban was literally beside himself.  Since no one could tell the brothers apart, he decided to take possession of his brother’s identity, and pretending that it was he who had died, he went about as Manual.[22]  Suffering from what can be described as survivor’s guilt, Estaban was unable to cope with the loss of his brother and became something of a derelict.  He even tried to commit suicide. 

In the end, the Abbess convinced a ship captain to give Estaban a job, and Estaban developed a close relationship with the sailor, eventually even admitting to him that he was Estaban and not Manual.[23]  The captain, who had suffered a terrible loss when his beloved daughter had died, convinced Estaban that the purpose of life is to live for others, and not try to possess them or be possessed by them.  Under the influence of the captain, Estaban experienced a change of heart and purpose.  He was walking on his way to board the ship to begin his new life when he died.[24]   

Uncle Pio: A Platonic Pygmalion.

Uncle Pio was a middle-aged raconteur who moved from one thing to another, spurning success in favor of power over people.  He especially sought the presence, confidence and control of beautiful women with whom his relationship was always purely Platonic.  He had a “passion for overseeing the lives of others,” helping them to succeed, especially as actresses, but on his own terms.  “What was there in the world more lovely,” he would say to himself, “than a beautiful woman doing justice to a Spanish masterpiece” of the stage.[25] 

While working as servant and spy for the Spanish Viceroy in Peru, Uncle Pio came upon a beautiful twelve-year-old girl living in the streets.  The narrator tells us that “He bought her,” apparently paying money to her guardians or captors in order to gain possession of her.  And then he taught her to be a great actress, the Perichole. 

Despite her great success – she was reputed to be the best actress in the Spanish world – Uncle Pio managed to keep her in psychological thrall.  Her greatest passion was to please him with her performance as an actress, but she never did.  “Only perfection would do,” she mourned, “only perfection, and that had never come.”   Uncle Pio could always find some fault in her performances, something to drive her toward perfection and keep her in his power.[26]

At the peak of her success on the stage, the Perichole became the mistress of the Spanish Viceroy.  At that point, she eschewed both the stage and Uncle Pio, and sought to reinvent herself as a lady.  Hoping to escape her possessive relationship with Uncle Pio, she fell into a competitive relationship for power with the Viceroy.  He sought to dominate her through ridicule and she took on lovers as way of dominating him.[27] 

This erstwhile idyll came to an end when the Perichole came down with smallpox.  She survived, but was rendered ugly.  Devastated by the loss of her good looks, she retired to the countryside to live as a recluse with her beloved son, Jaime.  Having escaped the control of Uncle Pio and the Viceroy, she now doted and depended on Jaime, who was completely in her thrall.[28]  

Uncle Pio came to the rescue.  Despite having been scorned by her, he had come to realize that he genuinely cared about the Perichole, and he sought to see her and help her.  Both proud and ashamed, she rebuffed Uncle Pio’s efforts to see her until he tricked her into a meeting.  At that meeting, he offered to take her son Jaime to Lima for a year or so to teach him to be a gentleman.  It was an offer that came from the goodness of his heart and was solely for her and Jaime’s sake.

The Perichole, in turn, saw that Uncle Pio’s offer might be Jaime’s only chance to become something and somebody in the world.  So, she agreed to give up control of Jaime and let him go with Uncle Pio.  Uncle Pio and Jaime were walking into Lima to start Jaime’s new life when the bridge collapsed with them on it.  The narrator reports that as they approached the bridge, Jaime was getting tired and wanted to stop for a rest.  In a tone dripping with his usual irony, the narrator reports that “Uncle Pio said that when they had crossed the bridge, they would sit down and rest, but it turned out not to be necessary.”[29]

Pepita and Jaime: Victimless Victims.

“Listen, even if we assume that every adult must suffer because his suffering is necessary to pay for eternal harmony, do tell me, for God’s sake, where the children come in.”

            Ivan Karamazov in The Brothers Karamazov.  Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Two of the five victims of the bridge collapse were children, a little girl named Pepita and the little boy Jaime.  They had been the objects of possessive relationships that were in the process of changing when they died.  In the case of Jaime, he was just gaining his freedom from the smothering hold of his mother and getting the opportunity of an independent life when he died. 

In the case of Pepita, she was about to gain independence from the Abbess, whose ward she was.     The Abbess is portrayed by the narrator as a saint with a catch.  He says of her that “Her plain face had great kindliness, and more idealism than kindliness, and more generalship than idealism.”[30]  This seems to be the narrator’s ironic way of saying that the Abbess was on a power-trip that included caring and caretaking, but was mainly about power.  The Abbess had hoped to groom Pepita as her successor in her various charitable enterprises.   Pepita was, thus, a benefactor of the Abbess’ caring and caretaking but also a victim of her power-tripping.

As part of the Abbess’ training of Pepita, she wanted Pepita to learn patience, obedience and forbearance.  Toward this end, the Abbess rented Pepita to the Marquisa to serve as a handmaid.  The Abbess scorned the Marquisa as a mean and heartless witch, and she envisioned that Pepita would find it unpleasant, embarrassing and difficult to be with her.  The Abbess thought that being handmaid to someone as nasty and uncouth as the Marquisa would be an ideal indenture for Pepita.[31]  Pepita was completely enthralled by the Abbess, and all she lived for was to try to please the Abbess.[32]  The Abbess was repenting and reconsidering her relationship with Pepita, and Pepita was enroute with the Marquesa to see the Abbess when Pepita died.

To the narrator of the book, the fate of these two young victims is the ultimate test of Brother Juniper’s claim that God has made ours to be the best of all possible worlds.  And, as the narrator portrays the situation, Brother Juniper’s claim fails the test.  These children were innocent. Jaime was a good boy.  And Pepita was saint-like in her goodness and even martyr-like in her willingness to submit to whatever the Abbess wanted her to do.  Unlike the Marquesa, Uncle Pio and even Estaban, these two children had nothing to repent and their lives were clearly just beginning and developing, rather than coming to completion. 

To justify their deaths, Brother Juniper had to fall back on the time-worn excuse that “pains were inserted into their lives for their own good.”[33]  He had to rationalize that good is the overcoming of evil, so that if there were no evil in the world, there would be no good.  If life was too easy, there would be no virtuous effort.  Bad is good for us, so the best possible world includes evil.  But this claim does not seem to convince the narrator and, in turn, does not seem convincing to the reader.     

The Narrator: All You Need Is Love.

“Abide in faith, hope and charity, but the greatest of these is charity.”

                 St. Paul. 1Corinthians13. King James Bible.

The ultimate storyteller in the book is the anonymous narrator.  Although he has ostensibly based the book on Brother Juniper’s work, he has edited Brother Juniper’s materials and inserted his own comments.  As a result, it is really his book.  And, significantly, he takes a skeptical view of Brother Juniper’s project and Brother Juniper’s conclusions.  He seems to think that there is more to the universe than in Brother Juniper’s theology and more to the victims’ lives than Brother Juniper, or anyone else for that matter, could sufficiently fathom to declare those lives to be whole and, therefore, worthy of ending.  The book is colored with his irony and skepticism.

The narrator seems to be a man of modern times, albeit circa 1927 when the book was published.  As such, he would likely be aware that Newton’s laws of physics, which were the big new thing in science during Brother Juniper’s time, had been overwritten in the early twentieth century by Einstein’s theories of relativity.  Absolute space and time had given way to relative space-time.  In the same year The Bridge of San Luis Rey was published, Werner Heisenberg proclaimed his Uncertainty Principle in quantum mechanics.  The physical science upon which Brother Juniper hoped to base his theology had become obsolete.

The narrator would also know that just as physics had transitioned from Newton’s absolute laws to Einstein’s relativity theories, the main theories in philosophy in the United States had transitioned during the early twentieth century from mechanistic determinism to pragmatist instrumentalism, and from the search for absolute truth about the universe to the resolution of empirical problems with probable solutions.  The predominant theory was the instrumentalism of John Dewey, which focused on concrete problem-solving rather than abstract metaphysics.  As such, the philosophical underpinnings of Brother Juniper’s new theology no longer held up.

Finally, the narrator would be aware that a main theological controversy among Christians in the United States in the early twentieth century was between fundamentalists and adherents of the Social Gospel.  Fundamentalists focused on the Bible as a book of mandatory beliefs and rules.  The Social Gospel focused on Jesus as a social worker who preached and practiced loving one’s neighbor and charity toward all.  The conflict between the two views had recently been highlighted in the so-called Scopes Monkey Trial on evolution in 1925. 

The narrator’s editing of Brother Juniper’s findings and his commentary on them reflect an awareness of modern science, pragmatist philosophy and Social Gospel theology, and a sympathy with those ideas, especially the Social Gospel.  He opens the book with a characteristically caustic remark that “Some say that we shall never know and that to the gods we are like the flies that the boys kill on a summer day, and some say, on the contrary, that the very sparrows do not lose a feather that has not been brushed away by the finger of God.”[34]  The former view is that of deists, atheists, agnostics and adherents of the Social Gospel who think that the natural world runs on its own, either without the intervention of God or without any intervention of which we can be aware.  The latter view is that of fundamentalists who see God everywhere and in everything.

Brother Juniper was obsessed with the question of evil – why was there evil in the world if God is good – and with survivor’s guilt – why did innocent people die while he lived on.  As a result, Brother Juniper insisted on the fundamentalist view. He insisted that God had planned everything that happens to us; He has planned it for the good of all; and we can discover His plan.  In this way, Brother Juniper thought that he could rationalize the evil in the world and assuage his survivor’s guilt.  His was, however, a contradictory conclusion. 

Brother Juniper asserted, on the one hand, that God had a possessive relationship with humans and controlled everything.  But he also asserted, on the other hand, that humans could comprehend God’s plan and, in effect, take control of it.  Brother Juniper was essentially trying to establish what could be deemed a possessive relationship with God in which he was the one who possessed God rather than God who possessed him.  That does not seem to be a sustainable position, especially for a Catholic monk.

The narrator is inclined to the former view, that God’s ways, means and purposes are unfathomable to us.  The narrator’s answer to questions about God’s plan seems to be “Don’t ask.”  If there is a God, He does not answer to us.  So, it is foolish to ask questions about God’s plan.  And it is arrogant.  It can even be dangerous, since asking such questions about God’s plan could be considered blasphemous by the religious authorities, and claiming to have the answers may be considered heresy.  In any case, it is vain to try to deal this way with the problem of evil and with survivor’s guilt.  Love is a better way. 

The Bridge of San Luis Rey is a book about love, both controlling love and caring love, possessive love and liberating love, selfish love and selfless love.  Each of the five victims was involved in a loving relationship, but they were possessive relationships that ultimately did not work.  The Marquesa’s love for her daughter, for example, was possessive and obsessive.  She wanted to control her daughter’s life and force her daughter to love her for her sake and not for her daughter’s. 

The brothers’ love for each other was possessive to the point of the surviving brother pretending to be his brother when the other brother died.  Each brother honored the other to the point of disappearing.  Pepita was the victim of the Abbess’ desire to make the girl into her successor, which was for the sake of the Abbess and not Pepita.  The Abbess loved, and sought to groom, what the Abbes saw of herself in the girl.    

Uncle Pio’s love for the Perichole was similarly possessive and controlling in a Pygmalion way.   He took a street urchin and made her into a great performer, but for his sake and not for hers. Uncle Pio’s caring for the little boy Jaime was similar, but with an important difference.  He intended to make a gentleman of the boy for the boy’s sake and not for his own.     

The narrator, and by extension the author, chose to close the book with a speech that the Abbess made to honor the five victims of the bridge accident and to comfort the family and friends who survived them.  The Marquesa’s daughter was there, having returned from Spain to do good works in her mother’s name.  The Perichole was there, having come out of seclusion to do good works for the poor.  And the Abbess was there, having repented of trying to use Pepita to enhance her charitable empire. The survivors were changed people.[35] 

The Abbess concluded her oration with the consolation that “There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.”[36]  These are the last words of the book and they are generally taken as the message of the book.  I agree but with a different slant than the usual interpretation. 

In citing the speech, most interpreters claim the moral of the story is that feelings of love constitute an eternal spiritual connection between the living and the dead.  The emphasis is on feelings of love.  I don’t think that what Wilder had in mind is merely feelings of love.  Feelings are too facile and fragile.  I suggest that the meaning of the Abbess’ speech and the moral of the book lies, instead, in acts of care, caring and commitment that constitute the core of love. 

Wilder frequently said that his writings reflected his desire to promote the values of “faith, hope and charity.”  The phrase “faith, hope and charity” is the translation in the King James version of the New Testament of a widely quoted phrase in a letter written by Saint Paul.  The word that is translated as “charity” in the King James Bible is translated as “love” in most versions of Saint Paul’s letter, including the Catholic version.  As such, it is not surprising to see the Catholic Abbess using the word “love” to describe the bond between the living and the dead.  But I think Wilder meant us to think “charity.”  Not charity in the sense of patronizing handouts, but charity in the form of caring, caretaking and commitment.

I think that Wilder intends us to see charity, or acts of love, is a way of dealing with the problem of evil and the curse of survivor’s guilt without denying them.  It is also a way of giving meaning to life and death.  Emotional love is not enough.  What people feel as emotional love can pass with their passing.  But acts of love can reverberate with others, multiply through the generations, and thereby live on forever. 

The message seems to be that charity is the bridge between the living and the dead, the link between the past, present and future.  Starting with acts of commitment, caring and caretaking toward the living, followed by acts of commitment, caring and caretaking toward the things that the dead cared about in life.  The message is that we who survive do so in order to do good.  For Wilder, a non-combat veteran of World War I, and other Lost Generation survivors of the war and its aftermath, there was, he was saying, a way to justify their existence.

Even if we cannot find a meaning for the universe, and cannot resolve the problem of evil, that doesn’t mean there can be no meaning to our lives.  Whether or not there is a God who created the universe, and whether or not He has a plan, we are the caretakers of each other and the earth, and it is our caring that gives meaning to our lives.  That is, I think, the moral of The Bridge of San Luis Rey and a main reason that it still resonates today. 

The last and lasting image of the book is not of a disaster in which a disparate bunch of people fell to their deaths, but a group of the victims’ friends and relatives gathered together to do honor and service in their name.  Not the deaths of the victims but the charity of their survivors is the point of the book.

                                                                                                            BW 6/21


[1] Thornton Wilder.  The Bridge of San Luis Rey.  Harper-Collins. New York, 2014.  P. 108.

[2] Ibid. P. 106.

[3] Ibid. P. 16.

[4] Ibid. P. 59.

[5] Ibid. P. 15.

[6] Ibid. 14.

[7] Ibid. P.14-15.

[8] Ibid. P. 80.

[9] Ibid. P.15.

[10] Ibid. P. 16.

[11] Ibid. Pp. 15-16, 39.

[12] Ibid. P. 85.

[13] Ibid. P.38.

[14] Ibid. Pp. 17-18.

[15] Ibid. P.33.

[16] Ibid. Pp. 20, 31.

[17] Ibid. P.21.

[18] Ibid. Pp. 34, 37-38.

[19] Ibid. P. 41.

[20] Ibid. P. 40.

[21] Ibid. P.47.

[22] Ibid. P.51.

[23] Ibid. P. 55.

[24] Ibid. P. 57.

[25] Ibid. Pp. 62-63, 69.

[26] Ibid. Pp. 64, 66. 

[27] Ibid. P.24.

[28] Ibid. P. 74.

[29] Ibid. P. 78.

[30] Ibid. P. 30.

[31] Ibid. P. 24, 29.

[32] Ibid. P. 30.

[33] Ibid. P.15,

[34] Ibid. P.16.

[35] Ibid. Pp.87-89.

[36] Ibid. p.91.

Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea.” A Big Fish and a Foolish Pride. Lions hunt in packs.

Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea.

A Big Fish and a Foolish Pride.

Lions hunt in packs.

Burton Weltman

School Days/School Daze: The wiseacre kid has a point.

A discussion of Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea is in progress in a class of high school sophomores.  The teacher is discoursing on the meaning of the novelette.  Most of the students are bored stiff, others are feverishly taking notes. This stuff may be on the test.  One kid is lounging in the back of the room with his hand raised.  The teacher is studiously ignoring him.

The Old Man and the Sea was first published in 1952.  Over the years, it has become a widely assigned book in middle and high school literature classes.  Itis a famous book and won a Pulitzer Prize.  It was also cited when Hemingway won the Nobel Prize for literature shortly after its publication.  It is a short and easy read, and it is full of potentially interesting things to discuss.  Assigning the book is a way of connecting young adult readers with one of the great writers of the twentieth century without requiring too much effort from them. 

The story is about the struggles of an old and impoverished fisherman from a small Cuban village.  It seemingly takes place in 1949, as the old man, who is an avid baseball fan, mentions that Joe DiMaggio, the great New York Yankee outfielder, is injured with bone spurs, and DiMaggio suffered that injury in 1949.  As the story opens, the old man has gone eighty-four days without catching a big fish and is being shunned by some of his neighbors as a purveyor of bad luck.  The old man has apparently been a loner for most of his life, but has taken on a young assistant in recent years to help him fish in his old age.  But now the parents of his assistant have banned the boy from fishing with him for fear the boy might catch the old man’s bad luck. 

The book’s opening line is “He was an old man who fished alone,” thereby highlighting the old man’s isolation.  The old man’s name is Santiago but the third person narrator of the story consistently refers to him as “the old man,” which also highlights his alienation. The old man fishes in a skiff, a small boat with oars and a sail.  The boat can be handled by one person but the other fishermen in the book seem to go out in their skiffs in groups of two or three, as had the old man with his young assistant before his shunning.  The old man is on his own and is desperate.   

In his desperation to catch a big fish, the old man decides to sail farther out from the coast than he and the other fishermen have ever gone.  After most of a day of frustration, he finally hooks a huge marlin but cannot bring in the fish all by himself.  The marlin, hooked but still game and very strong, drags the skiff farther and farther away from the coast, with the old man hanging on for dear life.  This goes on for three grueling days until the fish finally tires and the old man is able to kill it with a harpoon.  The marlin is bigger than the old man’s boat so he has to tie it to the side of the skiff, leaving the fish to float in the water as they sail back to the shore in tandem. 

The old man sets sail for home with what he celebrates as a glorious prize that will make him a lot of money and very famous.  But, no sooner does he start for home than sharks begin to attack the fish.  The old man furiously fights and kills many of the sharks, but it takes him a day to get back to shore and the marlin is completely devoured by sharks before he can get it home.  He arrives with a huge fish skeleton attached to his boat, much to the marvel of the villagers, but with nothing to sell in the market.

In the course of landing the fish and then trying to bring it back home, the old man suffers enormously from the elements, lack of food and water, lack of sleep, and injuries he sustains while fighting first with the marlin and then with the sharks.  The book contains extremely detailed descriptions of the sailing and fishing methods and the skills of the old man.  Hemingway is adept at making a riveting and moving adventure story out of complicated technical information about sailing and fishing. 

Hemingway is also able to describe well and with great empathy the suffering of the old man, whose mental and physical endurance are remarkable.  But the old man suffers lapses in both.  In the course of struggling to land the marlin, for example, the old man comes to regard the fish as simultaneously his brother and his nemesis, and he talks to the fish as though the fish is his companion.  He sporadically realizes that he is becoming delusional, but can’t stop himself.

When the old man finally reaches home, he goes almost straight to sleep.  And that is how the book ends, with the old man having a recurring dream about a group of lions he had apparently once seen on a beach in Africa when he was a young sailor working on commercial vessels.  The last line is “The Old Man was dreaming about lions.”  He loves those lions, and throughout the story he repeatedly thinks and dreams about them, and wonders “Why are they the main thing that is left?” in his memories of his life.[1]

The Old Man and the Sea tells a simple story, but that does not mean its interpretation should be simple.  Immediately upon its publication, however, the book was saddled by influential reviewers with a simplistic interpretation describing it as a paean to heroic individualism. In this view, the old man triumphs over a hostile natural and social environment, bagging his fish even though he cannot bring it home.  He is a winner in his solitary struggle for self-respect against nature and his fellow men. And the book holds his individualism up as a model for humanity.[2] This view has over the years become fixed as the conventional interpretation of the book. 

A recent reviewer, for example, referring to the old man’s perseverance in fighting the marlin and the sharks, and to his reveries about lions, has characterized the old man as a dreamer.  “A world without dreamers would be a nightmare,” this reviewer claims, and concludes that the moral of the story for readers is to persevere in their dreams, no matter what the obstacles or what other people say.[3]  

Another recent reviewer similarly sees the moral of the story as “Heroism is possible in even the most mundane circumstances.”  That is, even a lowly fisherman can be a hero and we, who are most likely mundane people, should take a lesson in heroism from the old man.[4]  Placing a seal of establishment approval on this conventional interpretation, the Encyclopedia Britannica describes the book as a “heroic novel” about man proving himself through “overcoming the challenges of nature.”  The encyclopedia concludes that the story illustrates “The ability of the human spirit to endure hardship and suffering in order to win.”[5] 

The underlying theme of conventional interpretations of the book is that the old man is a winner in his struggles with the fish, his environment, his society, and himself, and he is extolled as a heroic model for us to emulate.  This interpretation is the gist of the teacher’s discourse to the class. 

When the teacher finishes, the student in the back is finally recognized by the teacher and the kid proceeds to proclaim that in his opinion the old man was an idiot who ended up with nothing, which is what was coming to him.  The teacher coolly rejects the student’s claim, in a tone that suggests this is the sort of wiseacre comment one would expect from this kid.  But is the kid wrong?  I think not, and I think it matters.   

Conventional Interpretations: Doing a disservice to our students.

I have two main objections to the conventional interpretation of The Old Man and the Sea.  The first is that it confounds the differences between individualism and individuality.  Individualism essentially consists of doing your own thing, of, by and for yourself, irrespective of any relation with others.  Individuality essentially consists of finding your own voice and place within a group, and to make your own individual contribution to the collective effort.  The conventional interpretation describes the moral of the story as promoting individualism, whereas I think it promotes individuality.

The second problem I have with the conventional interpretation is that it misconstrues the form of the book.  There are many ways in which literary works can be characterized and categorized.  One way, which dates back to Aristotle and the ancient Greeks, is to distinguish between melodramas, tragedies, and comedies.  Melodrama can be described as a story of good against bad, good guys against bad guys, for example, or a good person battling against hostile circumstances.  

Tragedy can be defined as a story of too much of a good thing becoming bad.  Tragedy involves a character who pursues a too narrowly prescribed good too far until it turns on itself, becomes bad and precipitates disaster.  The character’s tragic flaw is pride and a lack of perspective, the failure to see things in a broader context beyond his own narrow vision.  Tragedy is a story of hubris versus humility, the failure of the tragic character to recognize his personal limits.

Comedy is generally defined as a story of wisdom versus folly, for example, wise people versus foolish people or a well-intentioned person doing something stupid.  A comedy need not be funny. It is the stupidity of the fools that make it comic.[6]  

The lines between melodrama, tragedy, and comedy are not hard and fast, and the story forms overlap in many respects.  Each, for example, can contain elements of stupidity, conflict, violence, and pride, and each can have an unhappy ending.  Too much of one element can transform one story form into another.  Conventional interpretations describe The Old Man and the Sea as either a melodrama or a tragedy, or some combination of the two.  I think it is better read as a comedy. 

Following the conventional interpretation, educational websites devoted to guiding students and teachers toward understanding the book all take the view that the story promotes individualism and takes the form of a melodrama, tragedy or combination of the two.  I think that this is a mistake and that it does a disservice to the story and to our students. 

Typifying these academic helpmeets, the website Sparknotes.com describes the story in melodramatic terms as portraying “Heroism in struggle.”  According to this website, the novel describes a kill-or-be-killed world in which each man must heroically fight for his livelihood and life.  Pride may tragically lead a person to go too far, as it did when it led the old man to sail too far from shore, but pride is the “source of greatest determination” in men.  Without pride, men are losers.  The moral of the story, according to Sparknotes, is contained in a pep talk the old man gave to himself when he said that “Man is not made for defeat” and that a man may be “destroyed but not defeated.”  Sparknotes concludes that the story teaches us that men must follow their pride and never admit defeat.[7] 

 In a similar blog addressedto school teachers and students entitled “What lessons we can learn from The Old Man and the Sea,” the writer claims the moral of the story is that “Perseverance is a universal law.”  This blogger claims the book teaches us the virtues of individualism and going it alone.  Focusing on the shunning of the old man by the villagers, the blog concludes that the lesson of the book is that each of us must individually fight our own battles no matter whether or not other people support us.[8]  Study.com, another website for students and teachers, similarly claims that a combination of hope and pride may have led the old man to go too far in search of a fish, but the marlin symbolizes redemption for him even though he loses it.[9]

Many of these study guides for students and teachers focus on the old man’s preoccupation with lions.  They invariably claim that this preoccupation symbolizes the heroic perseverance and individualism that the old man exhibits.  Litcharts.com claims, for example, that the lions represent the “rejuvenation” of the old man and the return of his pride.  Pride may be a tragic flaw, the website acknowledges, but it is a virtue as well as a vice because it spurs the hero to action.  Symbolically, according to this website, “a group of lions is called a ‘pride.’”[10] 

Shmoop.com, yet another website for persevering students, also claims that lions are persevering predators who symbolize the perseverance of the old man. The old man, this website insists, identifies with lions and they inspire his perseverance.[11]  Finally, enotes.com, whose author advertises himself as “a certified educator,” claims that the lions represent the old man’s vitality and “his victory over village prejudice.”  According to this educator, the lesson of the book for young students is to go their own ways no matter what others say.[12]

Echoing the conventional interpretation of the book, the common theme of all these educational websites is that the old man is a winner even though he ends up empty handed, seriously injured, and completely wiped out.  And the websites all claim that the book promotes the old man’s actions as a model of individualistic heroism for readers of the book.  I don’t agree.  I think these educators have misread the book and missed the boat and, speaking as a former teacher and former professor of education, I think they are doing a disservice to students.

Prides Foolish, Tragic, and Leonine: Getting things straight.

Pace the conventional interpretation, I agree with the wiseacre kid’s take on the book.  And I think his reaction reflects that of most students when they read it, which is that the old man is portrayed in the story as a fool.  It was my reaction when I first read the book some sixty years ago.  And I think the reaction of most people would be that the old man should not be fishing alone, should not have gone out as far from shore as he did, and should not have continued fighting the marlin and then the sharks, but should have cut loose the fish rather than fight him to the end and the sharks thereafter.  And, most significantly, the old man acknowledges all of this in the course of the book. 

The old man repeatedly mourns that he does not have someone else with him in the boat. “I wish I had the boy,” he recites over and over.[13]  He frequently berates himself for having forgotten to bring some necessary piece of equipment. “You should have brought many things, he thought. But you did not bring them, old man.”[14]  He admits in the end that he has been defeated and is a loser.[15]  “They truly beat me,” he acknowledges.[16]  And he blames his disastrous loss on his own foolish pride.[17]  “You violated your luck when you went too far outside,” he complains to himself.[18]  So, the wise guy reaction is the old man’s own reaction, and the conventional interpreters and teachers have got him wrong.

I think the book is best described in literary terms as a comedy since even the old man denominates himself a fool.  That does not mean we are supposed to mock or reject the old man.  He is someone with whom we are intended to identify and empathize based on our own sometimes foolish pride and risky inclinations, but he is not someone whose behavior we should emulate or promote as a role model for young people.  Rather than a paean to individualism and individual heroism, the book is an argument against individualism and an argument in favor of cooperation.  And the old man’s fixation on lions supports this conclusion.

Contrary to the way lions are mistakenly described in conventional interpretations of the book, lions are widely known for hunting in groups rather than alone, and for lacking stamina and perseverance.  Lions are the only cats who live and hunt together in groups rather than individually.  And it’s a good thing for them that they do because they have small hearts and lack stamina.  They can run fifty miles per hour for a few hundred yards, but then they are finished and give up.  If a gazelle gets a head start on a lion, it is home free.  If lions didn’t help each other with hunting, by surrounding an animal so that it can’t get away, they would starve. 

These are facts of leonine life that a big game hunter like Hemingway would surely have known, and these facts completely undermine the conventional interpretation of the lions in the book.  It is also the case that a “pride” is a group of female lions, and it is the females who generally do the hunting for the larger group of male and female lions.  A group of male lions is called a “coalition.”  Using the word “pride” to characterize the old man is, therefore, not, as conventional interpretations claim, a macho masculine reference to male lions.  In any case, the old man thinks and dreams of groups of lions who are playing together, not solitary individual lions.  His preoccupation with lions seems, therefore, to be a dream in favor of collective life, not individualism.   

The conventional interpretation also misreads the book in describing the story as a struggle of man against nature as though nature is the enemy of man and the old man must wage war against nature.  But neither the narrator in the book nor the old man describes things in those terms.  The old man and his fellow fishermen are, instead, portrayed as links in the natural chain, in the circle of life as it is popularly described in the musical “The Lion King.”  Nature is the fishermen’s element, not their enemy.[19]  When some of his neighbors shun the old man, they are essentially saying that he is a weak link in the chain and they don’t want him to break it for them altogether.  They still care about him and take care of him, but they need to protect the community.

It is the old man who declares war against nature, not vice versa.  When he decides to sail farther out than he naturally would, and then battles a fish and a pack of sharks that are too much for him, the old man undertakes an unnatural act.  It is a proudful act that takes him out of the natural chain of things, as he later admits.  In the natural chain, big fish catch and eat little fish, and people catch and eat big fish.  That is in the nature of things.  It is a struggle, but an ordinary course of business.  The old man declared war on nature where none naturally existed.

The old man compounds this misstep by anthropomorphizing the marlin and characterizing their struggle as a battle of egos and wills.  Speaking of the marlin, he says “I will show him what a man can do and what a man can endure.”[20] The old man treats the fish as though it is a self-conscious competitor, like Ahab chasing after Moby Dick, rather than merely a fish looking to eat other fish and survive.  Speaking to the fish, the old man says “Fish, he said, I love and respect you very much.  But I will kill you dead before the day ends.”[21]  Commenting on the unnatural implications of this statement, one reviewer has asked “Is killing what you love a tenable position?”[22]   In his foolish pride, the old man has left even his human nature behind.

Another crucial mistake that conventional interpreters make is to take things the old man says in the midst of his difficulties as being the old man’s and the book’s final conclusions about things.  When the old man says that a man can never be defeated and other proudful things in the course of his struggles, he is trying to egg himself on to keep up the fight.  And it works.  He fights his way through to the end of his Quixotic voyage, exhibiting a perseverance no lion could. 

But then the old man reflects further on what he is doing and has done, and he comes to conclusions opposite to what he was saying before.  Finally, he collapses and dreams of lions playing on the beach.  Not a heroic ending and not a self-styled hero.  Just a fisherman who foolishly got carried away with himself and with a fish.  And in his last conversations with the boy before he nods off to sleep, he says that he is never going to do anything so foolish again.

The Moral of the Story and the Story of the Story.

I think the moral of the story of The Old Man and the Sea consists of a plea for cooperation, pragmatism and humility. The old man’s redemption is not in catching the fish as some conventional interpreters hold but in ultimately recognizing that he is a person who needs people, as the popular song goes.  Not individualism but collectivism, and not pride but humility, is the moral.  “I missed you,” the old man admits to the boy just before he falls asleep at the end.[23]

This moral is consistent with other of Hemingway’s writings, such as his most famous book For Whom the Bell Tolls. That book takes its title and its main theme from a poem by John Donne that asserts “no man is an island,” that all people are interconnected, and that one person’s life is everyone’s life, one person’s death everyone’s death.  Hemingway is known for his macho heroes but like Robert Jordan, the hero of For Whom the Bell Tolls, they generally fight for the common good alongside common people.  The old man learns this lesson in the book.

So, how could it be that The Old Man and the Sea has been so widely misinterpreted for so long?  And how can it be that teachers routinely override a critical reading of the book by students so as to make studying the book an indoctrination in an individualistic ideology that the story doesn’t support?  I think the original misinterpretation was a product of the times in which the book was first published, and it was then carried forward by intellectual and educational inertia.

The book was published in 1952, shortly after the United States had come out of the fight against totalitarian Nazism and fascism in World War II, and when the country was engaged in a burgeoning Cold War against the collectivist Soviet Union and Red Scare against domestic Communists.  Fears of totalitarian collectivism and mindless conformity were widespread on both the anti-socialist political right and the anti-Communist political left.  Concerns that the United States was becoming a mass society in which politicians, corporations and the mass media were promoting mind control and mediocrity for political and commercial ends pervaded the political spectrum.

These concerns were typified by the popularity among conservatives of Ayn Rand’s book (1943) and movie (1949) Fountainhead which extolled individualism and excoriated collectivism.  Among liberals, The Lonely Crowd (1951) by David Reisman and others was a widely praised sociological study of conformity, focusing on the transition of Americans from being “inner-directed” by their consciences to being “other-directed” by the need to conform.  Among socialists, The Authoritarian Personality (1950) by Theodor Adorno and others was a highly regarded sociological study of the susceptibility of people, and Americans in particular, to demagogues and dictators.  On all sides of the literary political spectrum, intellectuals were looking to save the individual from being swallowed up in a mass society.

Bur there are significant political differences between individualism and individuality.  Individuality is a pro-social attitude promoted by most liberals and socialists.  Society for them is a caring community in the nature of a family.  Individualism is an anti-social attitude promoted by most conservatives.  Society for them is just a collection of individuals who are connected mainly by contracts. What happened with the interpretation of The Old Man and the Sea is just a small example of what happened to American culture during the Cold War.  Conservatives grabbed the upper hand and individualism became pervasive throughout the culture.   

The conventional interpretation of The Old Man and the Sea feeds into an anti-social conservative attitude which is not supported by the book.  When he wrote the book, Hemingway was still a man of the 1930’s for whom the individual should operate within a cooperative context.  He was still the author of For Whom the Bell Tolls.  And that, I think, is what The Old Man and the Sea is about.  “No man is an island” would be a fitting epigram for the book.  Hemingway was promoting individuality in the book, not individualism. 

Although the Cold War is long over, much of its cultural legacy lingers and this has consequences, as I think we see in the political and social conflicts occurring in the United States today. It is, therefore, long overdue to set the record straight about The Old Man and the Sea.  It is about individuality, not individualism.  The old man learns in the course of the book that he can be an individual without becoming an isolated individualist, and that he is part of a caring community.  After he gets back from his multi-day ordeal, the old man asks the boy “Did they search for me,” as though he thought the community might not care if he was lost.  The boy replies “Of course.  With coast guard and with planes.”  The old man seems gratified.  He is a part of a community and the community cares about him.[24]  This communalism in the story is generally lost in the conventional interpretation which itself gets lost in individualism. 

As teachers, we need to promote the individuality of our students.  They have to be able to think for themselves so as to better understand what is going on around them and, most important, recognize whom they can trust.  We now live in an age of “fake news” in which the mass media, and especially the all-pervasive internet, are filled with false stories and false interpretations of anything and everything.  The President of the United States has himself become our liar-in-chief and, amazingly, we cannot take as reliable truth a thing that the highest official in our country says.  So, whom can we trust and how do we know we can trust them?

It has, therefore, become more important than ever for young people to learn how to think critically and not merely accept what someone tells them, not even their teachers.  That is, I think, the moral of the moral of the story of The Old Man and the Sea.                

BW 12/14/18


[1] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. pp.20, 41, 48, 72.

[2] Robert Gorham Davis. “Books: Hemmingway’s Tragic Fisherman.” Archives.NYTimes.com 9/7/52.

[3] Russell Cunningham. “Books to give you hope: The Old Man and the Sea.” theguardian.com 8/24/16.

[4] James Topham. “The Old Man and the Sea, Review.” thought.com  3/17/18.

[5] Encyclopedia Britannica. The Old Man and the Sea.” EncyclopediaBritannica.com 11/23/18.

[6] Aristotle. Poetics. New York: Hill & Wang, 1961. pp.59, 61, 81-86. Kenneth Burke. Attitudes Toward History. Boston: Beacon Press. 1961. pp 37, 39, 41. Paul Goodman. The Structure of Literature. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.1954. pp.35, 82-100, 172.

[7]The Old Man and the Sea.” Sparknotes.com  11/23/18.

[8] Matt Reimann. “What lessons we can learn from The Old Man and the Sea.” Blog.booktellyouwhy.com 10/1/15.

[9] Joe Ricker. “Symbolism of the marlin in The Old Man and the Sea.” Study.com Retrieved 12/7/18.

[10]The Old Man and the Sea: Symbol Analysis.” litcharts.com  Accessed 12/7/18.

[11]The Old Man and the Sea: The Lions.” Shmoop.com  11/23/18.

[12] Belarfon. “What significance do the lions on the beach have in The Old Man and the Sea?” enotes.com/homework-help.

[13] Ernest Hemingway. The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. pp.30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 39, 49.

[14] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.65.

[15] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.69.

[16] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.71.

[17] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.62.

[18] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.68.

[19] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. pp.22, 27.

[20] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.41.

[21] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.34.

[22] Mary Eisenhart. “Book Review: The Old Man and the Sea.” commonsensemedia.org

[23] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.72.

[24] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.72.

Albert Camus’ “The Fall.” Getting on and off a Guilt-Trip: Morality in an Amoral Universe.

 Albert Camus’ The Fall.

Getting on and off a Guilt-Trip:

Morality in an Amoral Universe.

 

Burton Weltman

“It is in the thick of calamity that one gets hardened to the truth

 – in other words, to silence”

Albert Camus.

Precis: Making a Longish Story Short.

Albert Camus’ novel The Fall is a book about guilt, shame, responsibility, and whether it is possible to live a moral life in what is arguably an amoral universe.  First published in 1956, the book focuses on one of the most difficult of moral problems: The harm that we unintentionally do to others, either out of indifference or in the name of helping them.  Not viciousness but callousness.  Not maliciousness but self-righteousness.  And despite our best intentions, selfishness and self-interest are at the root of most evil.  The book contains a message about the dangers of nihilism and authoritarianism, the importance of distinguishing guilt and responsibility, and the virtues of empathy, solidarity and responsibility, that is very relevant to our times.

The Fall dramatizes some of the moral consequences of Camus’ philosophy of the absurd that he articulated in philosophical treatises The Myth of Sisyphus (1942) and The Rebel (1951). The absurd,” Camus explained “is born of the confrontation between the human need [for reason and meaning] and the unreasonable silence of the world.”[1]  It is absurd, he claimed, to look for meaning in the universe but that doesn’t stop us from trying.  We can’t help it.  We are made that way.  Humans are reasoning beings who cannot help but try to find meaning in the universe.  But that does not mean that meaning is really there to be found.  In this context, Camus contends that traditional moral philosophies which vainly try to find eternal moral truths through reasoning are exercises in absurdity.  So, what is a person to do?

Enmeshed in absurdity, Camus proposes that human life is valuable to the extent that we continually rebel against both meaninglessness and meaning, and is moral to the extent that we act in solidarity with each other.  The honest person, what Camus calls the “absurd man,” sees through the meanings he finds and rejects them one by one as meaningless, even as he finds more.  It is a Sisyphean enterprise.

Meaning and meaninglessness, solidarity and self-centeredness, are in constant contradiction in ourselves and in our world, and we must live with this tension if we don’t want to fall into a fatalistic nihilism – all is selfishness and anything goes –  that could descend into an oppressive totalitarianism – all must do what they are told in the name of law and order.  Nihilism and totalitarianism are the extremes that Camus rejects in favor of a moral practice based on empathy, responsibility, solidarity, and a militantly modest and moderate permanent rebellion.[2]

There are two characters in The Fall, a main character who goes by the name of Jean Baptist Clamence and who does all the talking, and a second unnamed character (hereafter the Listener) who is totally silent and just listens to Clamence.  In a prolonged diatribe, Clamence insists that we live in a fallen universe embedded with evil, and that humans are fallen and inherently immoral beings.  He is a self-styled prophet of universal guilt – that is, that we are all of us guilty all of the time.  Moral codes, he claims, are a sham and when people claim to follow a moral code, they are invariably hypocritical.

Clamence contends that self-interest and selfishness prevail everywhere, and harm is inevitably done to others out of inattention, inaction and indifference even when it is not done intentionally.  He makes no difference between intentional harm and unintentional harm.  They are both evil.  And given the interconnectedness of everyone and everything, Clamence insists, it is impossible to live without harming others and so, he contends, we are all of us inveterate evil-doers whether we intend it or not.  Nihilism, Clamence concludes, is the logical illogic of reality.  In a meaningless universe, anything goes, and usually goes wrong.

Most interpreters claim that Clamence is speaking for Camus.  They contend that he represents Camus’ absurdist philosophy as it is articulated in The Myth of Sisyphus.  That book deals for the most part with the effect of absurdity on the individual person, and whether there is any reason to live.  The book opens with the famous line “There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide.”[3]  Camus essentially resolves that problem by concluding that if there is no reason to live, there is also no reason to die, so we might as well live on.  That is essentially Clamence’s view but he also adds to it that life is one long guilt trip, and that we are and should feel guilty all of the time, a view that most interpreters of The Fall attribute to Camus.  I don’t agree.

Most interpreters of The Fall also claim that Clamence is the central character in the book since he does all the talking.  And most of them also imply that even though there is a second, albeit silent, character in the story, Clamence is somehow speaking directly to us, the readers.  We are supposedly his audience.  Again, I don’t agree.

I think that The Fall is better seen as a dramatization of some of the main themes in The Rebel.  Suicide is the central problem in The Myth of Sisyphus.  Murder is the central problem in The Rebel.  In a meaningless universe, how can we live together and how can we combat evil without murdering each other?  Empathy, solidarity, and responsibility are essentially Camus’ answer.

Contrary to Clamence, Camus sees the universe as amoral and not immoralHe contends that while in the absence of an authoritative God everything is permitted, that doesn’t mean nothing is prohibited and that there is no morality.  Morality is what we humans make of it, with an emphasis on “we” as the starting point.  Whereas Clamence is an individualist and is obsessed with his own private vendetta against humanity and the universe, Camus’ emphasis is socialistic.  “I rebel therefore we exist,” he insists.  Human solidarity is the source of value in life and a way to overcome self-centered selfishness.  Given Clamence’s professed nihilism, rather than speaking for Camus, I think that Clamence is an example of the extremism that Camus rejects.

Clamence is on a guilt trip that he wants everyone to join. It is the sort of thing that Camus repeatedly rejected.  Camus promoted the idea of universal responsibility, which means that we are all responsible all of the time, individually and jointly, but not guilty.  Camus repeatedly insisted that “There may be responsible persons, but there are no guilty ones.”  Guilt is remorse over a past act that is over and done with and about which nothing can be done except feel bad.  Responsibility is an ongoing process that extends action from the past into the present and projects itself into the future.  If what we have done has been wrong, we must try to fix it.  We must do what we can whenever we can, but not feel guilty if we can’t do everything.[4]

I agree with the reviewer who described The Fall as follows: “the thesis of this philosophical novel in one sentence: We are all responsible for everything.”  I disagree, however, with that reviewer’s claim that Clamence represents this thesis in what he says and says he has done.[5]  I contend that it is the behavior of the Listener, who sympathetically listens to Clamence’s diatribe – his litany of harms that he has unintentionally done to others for the most part out of indifference – that represents Camus’ idea of responsibility.

The Listener accepts responsibility for Clamence’s anguish with a sympathetic silence, demonstrating to Clamence a form of clemency, even though he does not express agreement with Clamence’s nihilism.  For these reasons, I contend that while Clemence is the main character in the book, the Listener is the central character around whom everything revolves and who speaks for Camus in his silence.

In sum, I think that Camus’ answer to Clamence’s challenge as to how one can be moral in an amoral or even immoral world is empathy.  The Listener personifies empathy, an empathy that comes from the recognition that we are all responsible for everything and that genuine confession is a matter of assuming responsibility and not guilt.

Prologue: A Moral Morass.

The title of The Fall (La Chute in French) is a multiple-entendre, referring, among other things, to Satan’s fall from heaven, Adam’s fall from the Garden of Eden, and the fall of Clamence from a position of high repute and professional success to a life of shame and dissolution.  It also refers to a woman falling from a bridge into the Seine River, which event seemingly precipitated a moral crisis in Clamence and led to his own descent.  The French word “chute” means fall but also downfall.  Falling and downfalling are central metaphors in the book.   

The Fall is an intriguing book and, for a philosophical novel, a page-turner. The book tells the story of a retired lawyer who calls himself Jean-Baptist Clamence.  Clamence is a self-described fallen man who has seemingly done something so bad that it has ruined his life.  The book consists of Clamence’s recounting of his life story with a host of philosophical implications.    The Fall is a highly regarded book in the canon of Camus’ works.  It has been heralded as “Camus’ chef d’oeuvre” and described by Jean-Paul Sartre as Camus’ “most beautiful” book.  But it is also, according to Sartre, “the least understood” of Camus’ works.[6]

The Fall is a sparse book.  It has only two characters and no action.  It is all talking and Clamence does all the talking.  The other character, an unnamed man whom Clamence meets by chance in a bar, and whom I call the Listener, does virtually nothing.  Over the course some one hundred fifty pages, Clamence holds forth in a monologue to the Listener who utters not one word.  A difficulty of The Fall arises, I think, in large part from its unusual format – a monologue overheard by the reader in which one character, Clamence, speaks to another character, the Listener, who never speaks at all.  Many readers misinterpret the monologue as being addressed to the readers, instead of to the Listener.  Another difficulty of the book is the complex moral questions it poses.  These are, at the same time, its most interesting features.

Clamence tells a highly emotional story, and in telling it and pleading with the Listener for understanding, he professes a negativistic philosophy of life and nihilistic view of morality.  His negativism is based on his contention that we are all of us guilty of immorality all of the time.  Citing his own life as an example, Clamence insists that philosophies and pretenses of morality are merely covers for immorality, and that the idea of a moral life is a contradiction in terms.

Clamence’s diatribe is complicated and convoluted.  Cutting through his overwrought rhetoric, I think that at least two key moral questions arise out of Clamence’s narrative.  The first is whether and how one can live a moral life in a universe full of evil.  We live in a world in which evil doers routinely inflict unmerited suffering and death on people.  As Clamence poses the problem, if we want to live moral lives, we must do all we can to eliminate evil.  Morality requires zero tolerance for the suffering of others.  We must not only not profit from others’ suffering, we must not tolerate it.  We must not live at ease while others are suffering and dying.

In this context, Clamence contends, inaction is itself evil.  We are effectively accomplices in any evil that occurs anywhere and anytime if we have not given our all toward eliminating it.  And giving your all means dying for the cause.  Dying for the cause is the only moral act.  If we are alive and well, we are, in effect, guilty of at least tolerating the suffering and death of others.  We are also almost certainly contributing to evil in the world because of the interrelatedness of all things.  Only by dying can we demonstrate our moral commitment to eliminating evil and, thereby, also eliminate the evil we inevitably inflict on others just by living.  Living, in Clamence’s telling, is inherently immoral, and a moral life is seemingly impossible.

The second question is whether and how one can live a moral life when self-interest seems to permeate everything we do.  Clamence claims that everything we choose to do is a function of self-interest.  If we chose to do a thing, that thing is, by definition, something in which we are interested, which is why we choosing it.  Selfishness and self-interest underlie even the most seemingly selfless acts if we have chosen to do those acts, because then we are only doing what we ourselves want to do.  Slavery, Clamence contends, which means doing only what others make you do, is the only way to avoid selfishness.  In Clamence’s telling, selflessness is a contradiction in terms, selfishness pervades everything, and a moral life is seemingly impossible.

These are tough questions and the format of The Fall adds to the difficulty of fathoming them. The format may itself also be a source of misunderstanding to readers.  In this book, unlike in most monologues, the speaker is talking to someone else in the story and not directly to us, the readers.  This makes the book different than Camus’ earlier novel The Stranger (1942), which is a sustained monologue in which the speaker addresses the reader.

In The Stranger, the main character, Merseault, is talking directly to us, the readers.  In The Fall, the main character, Clamence, is talking to a second person, the unnamed and unheard Listener.  We readers are overhearing their conversation.  In most interpretations of the book, Clamence is seen as the central character and a spokesperson for Camus’ existentialist and absurdist philosophy.  I disagree.  And I think this conventional interpretation is a misreading that is in part based on a misunderstanding of the book’s format.

Most interpretations of The Fall ignore or dismiss the role of the Listener and assume that Clamence is effectively talking to us, the readers.[7]  But Clamence is not talking to us and it makes a difference.  Camus knew how to write a monologue addressed to the reader.  He did it in The Stranger.  So, he must have had something in mind by inserting into The Fall a second person with whom the main character is talking and pleading.

I suggest that what Camus had in mind was that the Listener is the central character in the book and that his silence suggests a nuanced answer to the moral questions posed by the book, an answer very different than the extreme negativism promoted by Clamence.  In short, the Listener does not fall for the nihilistic arguments of Clamence and his empathetic silence, unlike the silent indifference of the universe, is telling.

Camus and Silence: Ivan Karamazov and the Grand Inquisitor.

Silence plays a big part in many of Camus’ works.  Camus’ father died during World War I when Camus was just a child and his mother was deaf.  As a result, Camus lived most of his youth surrounded by the sounds of silence.  There are many different kinds of silence.  There is the silence of ignorance.  The silence of indifference.  Silence as assent.  Silence as dissent.  Scornful silence.  Supercilious silence.  And, silence of support.  Camus used all of these in his writings.  The silence of the Listener in The Fall parallels the silence of Jesus in Fyodor Dostoevsky’s novel The Brothers Karamazov.  It is a book that Camus repeatedly returned to in his writings, particularly to both the character Ivan Karamazov, whom Camus considered a pioneer of absurdist philosophy, and a chapter in the book called the “Grand Inquisitor.”

In the chapter on the “Grand Inquisitor,” Ivan Karamazov recounts to his younger brother Alyosha a parable about Jesus returning to earth in the midst of the medieval Spanish Inquisition.  Ivan is an atheistic intellectual who is looking for rhyme and reason in the universe, but finding only meaningless brutality.  Alyosha is a novice and naïve monk.  In Ivan’s story, Jesus wanders about preaching His message of salvation through faith and love, and performing a few miracles.  Jesus is duly arrested for disturbing the peace and taken to be interrogated by the Grand Inquisitor.  The chapter consists of a long monologue on the part of the Inquisitor, during which Jesus says nothing despite being asked to respond and encouraged to admit His failings.  Jesus’ failing, according to the Grand Inquisitor, is his inveterate humility.

The Inquisitor chastises Jesus for rejecting the three temptations to earthly power that he had been offered by Satan in the desert.  If He had accepted them, He could have become the dictator of the world, which is what the Catholic Church had been attempting to do ever since.  Alluding to the original sin of Adam, The Inquisitor complains that “Man was made a rebel; but can rebels be happy?”  The answer, he insists, is “No” and, therefore, people must be enslaved, while thinking that they are free, in order to relieve them of the responsibility for making moral choices.  Responsibility is a burden.  Freedom from responsibility will make people happy.

The Inquisitor explains that enslaving people and relieving them of moral choices is what the Church has been attempting to do in Jesus’ name since His death, even though Jesus preached and practiced just the opposite.  And that is why the Inquisitor wants Jesus to leave and never come back again.  When the Inquisitor finishes, Jesus continues his silence, but then kisses the Inquisitor and leaves.  And, Ivan concludes, He hasn’t been heard from since.[8]  Ivan’s response to the silence of Jesus is scornful, but I think one can also see His silence as empathetic and understanding of the Inquisitor, even if He disagrees with him.  It is the same, I think, with the Listener in The Fall.

The theories and practices of the Inquisitor represented for Camus the epitome of that which he opposed.  Camus inveighed against “would be Caesars” who espoused a “despairing nihilism” and took advantage of people’s weaknesses to control them.  Referring to Dostoevsky’s novel, Camus complained that “These are the Grand Inquisitor who imprisons Christ and tells Him that His method [of love] is not correct, that universal happiness cannot be achieved by the freedom of choosing between good and evil, but by the domination and unification of the world.”[9]

In The Fall, Clamence represents the nihilism and will-to-power over others that Camus abhors.  At the same time, Camus portrays in the story an empathetic Listener whose silence compares with that of Jesus in Dostoevsky’s chapter on the Grand Inquisitor.  Just as in The Fall, Dostoevsky raises questions in his novel about whether and how one can be moral in a world steeped in evil.  Dostoevsky was a devout Christian and apparently found answers to these questions in God.  Camus was a non-believer who found solace in human solidarity.

The Plot(s): Circles Within Circles.

There is virtually no action in The Fall.  The story takes place over five days during which the characters meet in a bar in the red-light district of Amsterdam and elsewhere in and around the city.  In the course of the book, Clamence regales the Listener with tales of his fall from grace to damnation.  The “action” consists of Clamence talking, telling what he claims is his life story, with the Listener seemingly making an occasional gesture, and possibly uttering an occasional word that is not recorded in the book, to which Clamence reacts in the course of his monologue.  That’s the plot of Camus’s story.

The plot of Clamence’s story is in the form of a confession of all the immoral things he has done and of which he is supposedly ashamed.  They are not intentional harms that he has inflicted on others but unintentional byproducts of acting selfishly.  His story is a sustained guilt trip of selfishness.  The plot or plan which underlies Clamence’s story consists of his effort to get the Listener to join him on his guilt trip.  It is important to distinguish between Clamence’s life story, which he strategically reveals in bits and pieces over the course of the five days, and Clamence’s plot, which is to seduce the silent Listener into admitting his own guilt.  Clamence’s goal is for the Listener to come to see himself as an evil person, be ashamed of himself, and admit it.  That way, Clamence later admits, Clamence can feel superior to the Listener and less ashamed of himself.  He wants most of all to avoid being judged, and so he wants to be able to judge others instead.  That’s his plan.

Clamence’s life story is strategically told to induce the Listener to admit to a guilty conscience.  The story proceeds in stages, some of which are not consistent with each other except in their intent to sway the Listener. Clamence says that he is a lawyer and that seems evident in his adopting a shifty defense lawyer’s tactic of saying whatever might be convincing at any point in time even if it is inconsistent with what he has said before.  Many interpreters of the book take what Clamence says at face value as what actually occurred in his life.[10]  But his repeated admission that he is an unreliable narrator prevent both the Listener and we readers from knowing whether anything Clamence says happened actually did happen.

Clamence admits that “It’s very hard to disentangle the true from the false in what I am saying.”  But it doesn’t matter, he claims, because “Lies eventually lead to the truth…So what does it matter whether they are true or false?”[11]  That’s Clamence’s plot: to say whatever he must in order to get at what he thinks is the truth of the Listener’s sins, and get the Listener to admit it.  Everything Clamence says is centered around persuading the Listener, who is thereby the central character in the book.  But Clamence’s plot fails.  The Listener patiently listens for five days, seemingly sympathetic and even empathetic with Clamence’s anguish, but he leaves unpersuaded, undaunted and unbowed.  And that’s why I think he is the hero of the book.

Clamence’s Story: What a Tangled Web. 

As Clamence tells it, his life story is of a seemingly virtuous and successful man who does a very bad thing which leads to his downfall.  For the first half of the book, Clamence hedges around what this bad thing is, but then, exactly half-way through the book, he describes the event.  He says that he was walking one evening across a bridge over the Seine River in Paris.  “On the bridge I passed behind a figure leaning over the railing and seeming to stare at the river.”  When he had walked on for another fifty yards, he heard the loud splash of a body hitting the water and then “a cry repeated several times.”  He thought “Too late, too far” and went on home, informing no one and avoiding the newspapers for several days thereafter.[12]

Clamence’s failure to act, even though it is not clear that he could have done anything to save the woman or even that the woman actually drowned, is the turning point in his life, leading him to question and disparage everything he has done or thought before.  It is seemingly not so much what he could have done as what he felt at the time that most bothers him.  He was apparently feeling tired and didn’t want to be bothered, let alone take some risk in trying to get the woman out of the river.  Callous and cowardly seems to be his judgment of himself.  He says that he has never stopped feeling shame for apparently letting that woman drown when he might possibly have saved her.  And it is seemingly on the basis of this event that he eventually comes to the conclusion that all and everyone is evil in the world, whatever the pretenses.

Clamence’s name is symbolically ironic.  He says that it is Jean-Baptist Clamence, though he admits at one point in his story that he has gone by other names as well.[13]  Clamence is one letter off from “clemence,” which is the French word for clemency.  Jean-Baptist is French for John the Baptist, the Biblical saint who dispensed clemency through the cleansing process of baptism.  Clamence is not dispensing clemency.  To the contrary, he is engaged in trying to convince the Listener and probably many similar listeners before him of their guilt and shame.

At the end of the book, Clamence describes his strategy: “I accuse myself up and down…I adapt my words to my listener and lead him to go me one better.”[14] Clamence seems to be like the Ancient Mariner who is compulsively compelled to repeat his tale of woe, albeit instead of carrying a dead albatross on his shoulders, Clamence carries a dead woman in his conscience.   He says that getting others to admit their sins makes him feel better about his own.

In his fulmination against himself and humanity, Clamence effectively makes a mockery of the three main traditions of Western moral philosophy – deontology, virtue ethics, and utilitarianism.  His arguments and examples undermine their underpinnings.  Deontology is a rule-based moral tradition.  It insists that people follow a set of moral rules such as the Old Testament’s Ten Commandments, the New Testament’s command to give your wealth to the poor, or Kant’s Categorical Imperative to do only what you would have everyone do.

Virtue ethics is a character-based moral doctrine.  It promotes the cultivation of moral character traits such as truthfulness, selflessness, sincerity, and generosity, and is associated with Aristotle.  Utilitarianism is a result-based moral precept.  It contends that one should do that which will result in the greatest good for the greatest number of people.  Jeremy Bentham was a leading utilitarian.  Implicit in Clamence’s narrative is a rejection of each of these moral traditions.  Implicit in the Listener’s silence is, I believe, sympathy with Clamence’s rejection of traditional moral philosophy, which reflects Camus’ views, but not an acceptance of Clamence’s nihilism.

The Stages of Clamence’s Descent and Lament.

Clamence’s attempted seduction of the Listener proceeds in what can be seen as six stages over the five days of the story, with each stage more vehement and pathetic than the last.  His diatribe constitutes a series of guilt-trips, ego-trips, power-trips, shaming, and shamming in an ultimately fruitless effort to get the Listener to spill his own guts and open up his own bag of sins.

In the first stage, shortly after they have met, Clamence tries a simple shaming technique on the Listener by asking him whether the Listener has given up all his possessions to the poor, claiming that he has done so himself.  The implication is that a good man would follow Jesus’ command to sacrifice oneself for others.  “I possess nothing,” Clamence proclaims.[15]  This is a lie, as we later find out that Clamence has a nice home and lots of nice things.  But it is an example of the mind games that Clamence intends to play on the Listener, and a lie that Clamence would contend is in pursuit of the truth and is, therefore, acceptable.  In any case, the Listener apparently shakes his head “No,” meaning that he hasn’t given his all to the poor, but he does not rise to the bait of either condemning or defending himself.

This leads to the second stage of Clamence’s attempted seduction on the same day.  In this stage, he portrays himself as someone who has inconspicuously practiced every virtue.  As a lawyer, “I never charged the poor a fee and never boasted of it,” he claims.  “I loved to help blind people cross streets,” he says, because they could not see who was helping them so that he was an anonymous do-gooder.[16]

But then Clamence turns the argument against himself, claiming that his virtuous behavior was really an ego-trip.  “I needed to feel above” everyone else, and doing anonymous acts of supposed virtue gave him this feeling of superiority.  Everyone looked up to him and “I looked upon myself as something of a superman.”[17]  He concludes this argument with the contention that you “can’t love without self-love,” that selflessness is really selfishness.  Having tainted virtue with vice, he seemingly hopes to provoke a response and a mea culpa from the Listener, but none comes.[18]

So, the next day, Clamence launches a tirade against virtue as a power-trip, seemingly trying to get the Listener to admit to his own lust for power.  Clamence claims that “one can’t get along without domineering or being served.  Every man needs slaves as he needs fresh air.”[19]  Love is domination, he insists, and virtue a means of control.  “When I was concerned with others, I was so out of pure condescension,” he confesses.[20]  “Power,” he declaims, “settles everything,”[21]  He seems to hope that this will provoke a response from the Listener.  It doesn’t and, frustrated with what he calls the Listener’s “polite silence,” Clamence pleads with him “But just think of your life, mon cher compatriot.”  To no avail. The Listener says nothing, but he returns the next day.

Shifting tactics somewhat the next day, Clamence tries to induce the Listener into admitting that everyone who pretends to virtue is a hypocrite  We are all in the business of judging others, he claims, and “People hasten to judge in order not to be judged themselves.”[22]  With respect to their own misdeeds, people want to believe that they were the result of “unfortunate circumstances” and not their own character flaws or selfish choices.[23]

In his own case, Clamence claims, “modesty helped me to shame, humility to conquer, and virtue to oppress.”  He practiced hypocrisy as a way of life and “brought out the fundamental duplicity of the human being” in others [24]  A false and fallen angel himself, he was only doing what everyone does.  In the end, Clamence concludes, “I have no more friends: I have nothing but accomplices” in the business of hypocrisy.  “And,” he taunts the Listener, “you first of all.”[25]  But the Listener does not take the bait.  He admits nothing, but again comes back the next day.

The following day, Clamence pulls out what he seems to think is his best argument.  This should be the clincher that the Listener cannot ignore.  He insists that it is impossible to live a moral life by living as you would have others live because living is itself an immoral act.  Living in the face of others’ deaths is inherently immoral and in living, we are effectively guilty of murder.  We are, in addition, guilty not only of our own crimes in living but also the crimes of others.  “Every man testifies to the crimes of all the others,” Clamence declares, and “we can state with certainty the guilt of all.”[26]  The Listener takes this in and seemingly does not disagree, but neither does he agree or denounce himself.  And he returns for one more day.

On the last day, Clamence resorts to his most pathetic argument, a warped form of utilitarianism.  He describes his experience in a German POW camp during World War II, having been captured while trying to flee France to safety abroad.  A self-confessed coward, he describes how he became the informal head of a group of prisoners, the “Pope of the prison camp,” and was given the power to dole out supplies.  He admits that he gave himself a larger share of the supplies and even drank the water of a dying man.  His rationale for this behavior was that he was needed by the other prisoners and so his first duty was to save himself.[27]

But then Clamence reverses course again, denounces this explanation as a rationalization of his selfishness, and makes his final plea to the Listener.  He explains to the Listener how he has been trying to seduce him into confessing his own sins.  It’s a method he has apparently used on many others.  Describing the method, Clamence says that he starts by “saying ‘I was the lowest of the low.’ Then imperceptibly I pass from the ‘I’ to the ‘we,” and then “I provoke you into judging yourself.”[28]  He corrals his listeners into identifying with him and then when he denounces himself, he gets them to denounce themselves.  But it hasn’t worked with the Listener.

Clamence closes his monologue with a plaintive plea to the Listener to confess.  The Listener remains silent.  So, Clamence pleads that the Listener should at least “Admit, however, that you feel less pleased with yourself than you felt five days ago.”  The Listener still says nothing.  Clamence concludes with a pathetic challenge.  “Now I shall wait for you to write me or come back.  For you will come back, I am sure.”[29]  Still no response.  Piteously, Clamence can’t let go.  “Say now that you are going to talk to me about yourself,” he whines.  No response.

In his final words, Clamence wishes that he could go back to that fateful evening and have once again the choice to try to save the woman.  But he no sooner wishes for that opportunity for redemption than he cynically dismisses it.  “Brr…!,” he complains as he imagines the scene, “The water’s so cold! But let’s not worry!  It’s too late now.  It will always be too late.  Fortunately!”[30]  There is no redemption and Clamence is grateful for that because undergoing redemption would be so hard.  He would rather be damned, or so he says.

Confession without Contrition: Universal Guilt v. Universal Responsibility.

Camus was raised as a Catholic and although he left the Church, he operated intellectually to a large extent within a Catholic framework.  His interest in confession, which is the form of both The Stranger and The Fall, is an example.  However, although Clamence’s monologue is in the form of a confession – he characterizes it as such – it is actually nothing of the sort.  He even confides at one point that the “authors of confessions write especially to avoid confessing,” and that seems to go for him too.[31]

For Catholics, confession is the prelude to penance and restitution, and to reconciliation with oneself and the world.  Clamence specifically rejects this process.  His goal is to admit to anything and everything bad that he can think of in order to put himself out of reach of any penance and reconciliation, and in order to induce others to admit to their guilty actions.

Clamence is mired in what Jean-Paul Sartre would call “bad faith.” He doesn’t want forgiveness from others or from himself because that would leave him in the position of having to make new moral choices.  He wants to plead guilty continuously so that he won’t have to face up to those choices and take responsibility for them.  In the course of his rantings, Clamence admits to ever more heinous thoughts and actions, amassing an ever-increasing debt of guilt.  This leaves an impression with the reader that he may be making most or even all of it up as a means of trying to manipulate the Listener, and Clamence even admits that he is making up at least some of it.[32]

So, it could be that Clamence’s so-called confession is all a lie, but if it is, it is a lie based on an undeniable underlying truth that there is evil in the world, and that most of us ignore most of it most of the time.  In proclaiming himself guilty for ostensibly having let a young woman die without trying to help her, Clamence may be just inventing what he conceives of as an extreme example of evil so as to highlight the general problem.  But whether he is lying or not, we are still left with the problem of evil in the world, and whether and how we can live moral lives in a world full of evil.

Clamence thinks we can’t.  He believes in what could be called “universal guilt,” which is that we are all guilty all of the time.  Given our chronic guilt, we must, in turn, live with perpetually guilty consciences and continuous judgments of guilt from others and from ourselves.  In this view, the human condition is a piteous situation.  Most reviewers seem to take Clamence’s lament at face value as expressing Camus’ views.[33]  I disagree.

Camus holds to what could be called “universal responsibility,” which means that we are responsible for everything, which means that we cannot sit around wallowing in guilt like Clamence does when we fail and fall.  We must pick ourselves up and get on with the next thing, which is what Dr. Rieux, the hero of Camus’ novel The Plague, does.  Faced with an impossible situation, an unstoppable and untreatable plague that is decimating the population, he continues to do what he can to help people.  But what comparable does the Listener do in The Fall?

I think the Listener does two important things.  First, he comes back every day for five days to hear Clamence out until Clamence is finished.  Second, he thereafter leaves and apparently gets on with his life.  Whereas Clamence is guilty of “bad faith,” I think the Listener should be credited with good faith as an empathetic listener to Clamence’s tale of woe, and as someone who is then literally ready to get up and get on with things.  That he is silent throughout is not an abdication of responsibility.  Having encountered Clamence in a bar, the Listener accepts responsibility for emotionally supporting Clamence even if he disagrees with Clamence’s conclusions.  The Listener’s actions are an example of the human solidarity that Camus promotes.

The moral and morale support which I think Camus ascribes to the Listener in The Fall is a key to Camus’ moral philosophy.  As Camus explains in his treatises The Myth of Sisyphus and The Rebel, and portrays in his novels The Stranger, The Plague, and, I contend, in The Fall, Camus believes that the indifference of the universe and the hostility of others can be overcome through acts of solidarity with others and a commitment to living with them in what could be called a caring community.

Camus’ Theory of Rebellion and Solidarity: All or Nothing v. All for One and One for All.

Camus’ The Rebel is an exploration of extremism and an exhortation to rebellion as an alternative to nihilism and totalitarianism, and human solidarity as an alternative to the reasonings of moral philosophy.  Rebellion is the legitimate response to meaninglessness in the universe, and solidarity is the answer to the question of how to try to be moral in an amoral universe.  The Listener in The Fall represents this answer.

Humans are inherently rebellious, Camus claims, and rebellion is “the first piece of evidence” that we exist.  Babies cry rebellion against their discomfort, and someone responds.  Babies know from then on that they exist.  In rebellion, individuals realize they have selves and are separate from other beings.  But, at the same time, they find through rebellion that they are not isolated beings.  One cannot rebel alone but only in connection with others.  If there is no response, there is no rebellion and no self-awareness. “I rebel – therefore we exist.”[34]  Selfhood starts with recognition of others and acceptance of them as comrades and equals   Rebellion starts with solidarity with others.  “Man’s solidarity is founded upon rebellion, and rebellion, in turn, can only find its justification in this solidarity.” [35]  In turn, solidarity starts with empathy.

Empathy is the root of rebellion but the antithesis of revolution.  Revolution is an all-or-nothing gambit.  Camus rejects revolution because it inevitably leads to murder and to the rationalization of murder as necessary for the cause.  Revolution also almost inevitably leads to oppressive and authoritarian regimes.  The Grand Inquisitor was the leader of such a regime.  Revolutions are organized around a theory of “us” versus “them,” and “them” deserve to be repressed.  Rebellion, to the contrary, is an incremental approach to social justice that emphasizes people’s commonalities, not their differences, that we are all in this together and that I can accept your disagreement as long as you can accept mine.  Rebellion must be militant but modest.

Camus’ answers to the questions posed by Clamence’s diatribe, as to how can one be moral in the midst of evil and how can one overcome selfishness, are empathy and solidarity.  Empathy – I feel your pain and your joy – enables you to identify with others and, thereby, define yourself.  It is the foundation of morality.  Solidarity – we are all in this together, and it’s one for all and all for one – subsumes self-interest and sublimates selfishness.  It is the means of reconciling the conflict between the One and the Many.  Empathy and solidarity are the antidotes to Clamence’s cynicism and nihilism.

The silence of the Listener is sympathetic and even empathetic.  He is seemingly not shocked or dismayed by what Clamence tells him, and he keeps coming back for more until Clamence is finished with his tale and his plea.  The Listener seemingly does not judge Clemence.  Based on Clamence’s reactions, the Listener seems to feel that “But for the grace of God, there go I,” which is a feeling that Clamence is aiming at.  But the Listener does not go from empathy to identity, as Clamence had hoped, and does not condemn himself.  Implicit in the Listener’s comradely support of Clamence is the possibility that Clamence will see in the Listener a model for how to get out of the vale of despair in which Clamence is mired.  It is not likely.  But in any case, the Listener is a model for us, the readers, as to how we might deal with nihilism and negativism in others.

The Listener politely and patiently listens to the whole of Clamence’s diatribe and then seemingly bids him farewell and leaves.  That, I contend, is for Camus a way of living morally in an amoral world.  It isn’t the only way but it is a legitimate response to the anguish of others.  It is the Listener’s empathy with Clamence that is his cardinal virtue, and is one of the cardinal virtues that Camus preached in all of his works.  Empathy is the best response to absurdity, and silence can be a legitimate form of empathy.  Although we can and should avoid deliberately harming others, we cannot always avoid doing so unintentionally.  It’s absurd but true.

We live in a time of guilt-tripping on all sides.  On the political right, anti-abortionists try to guilt-trip women who want to terminate their pregnancies by labelling them as baby-killers.  On the political left, human rights advocates try to guilt-trip anyone who ever committed any act that could be construed as racist or sexist, no matter if it was unintentional or how long ago.  These are only examples of what seems to a plague of ill-will in our society today.  Empathy for the difficult positions and different conditions in which people lived in the past and live in the present is scarce.  In the midst of the diatribes, denunciations, guilt-tripping and hypocritical rationalizing that engulf us in our world today, the example of the Listener in The Fall can perhaps be a lesson for us.

[1] Albert Camus. The Myth of Sisyphus. New York: Vintage Books, 1955. P.28. 

[2] Albert Camus.  The Rebel. New York: Vintage Books, 1956.P.302.

[3] Albert Camus. The Myth of Sisyphus.  New York: Vintage Books, 1955. P.3.

[4] Albert Camus. The Myth of Sisyphus. New York: Vintage Books, 1955. P.50.  Albert Camus. The Rebel. New York: Vintage Books, 1956. P.301.  

[5] “Camus: The Fall.” The Philosophy.com

[6] Jacqueline Wallace. “What Albert Camus’ ‘The Fall’ Has to Say About Modern Society.” The Artifice. 3/23/2014.

[7] For example, “The Fall by Albert Camus.”  Shmoop. The Teaching Encyclopedia.  Jacqueline Wallace. “What Albert Camus’ ‘The Fall’ Has to Say About Modern Society.” The Artifice. 3/23/14.  “Camus: The Fall.” The Philosophy.com

[8] Fyodor Dostoevsky. The Brothers Karamazov. New York: Farrrar, Straus and Giroux,2011. eBook Edition, P.295.

[9] Albert Camus. The Rebel. New York: Vintage Books, 1956. P.60.

[10] Scott Horton. “Camus – The Fall.”  Harpers Magazine. 8/8/2009.

[11] Albert Camus. The Fall. New York: Vintage Books, 1991. P.119

[12] The Fall.  Pp.68-71

[13] The Fall.  P.125.

[14] The Fall.  P.139.

[15] The Fall.  Pp.9-10.

[16] The Fall.  P.20

[17] The Fall.  27-28.

[18] The Fall.  34.

[19] The Fall.  44.

[20] The Fall.  48.

[21] The Fall.  45.

[22] The Fall.  80.

[23] The Fall.  81.

[24] The Fall.  84.

[25] The Fall.  73.

[26] The Fall.  108, 110, 112.

[27] The Fall.  122-123, 126-127.

[28] The Fall.  140.

[29] The Fall.  140.

[30] The Fall.  147.

[31] The Fall.  P.120.

[32]  The Fall. P.119.

[33] See for example: Patrick Kennedy. “Study Guide for Albert Camus’ ‘The Fall.’” Thoughtco. 5/25/2019.

Jacqueline Wallace. “What Albert Camus’ ‘The Fall’ has to say about Modern Society.” The Artifice. 1/23/2014.

Daniel Just. “From Guilt to Shame: Albert Camus and Literature’s Ethical Response to Politics.” Project Muse. 4/21/2011.

[34] Albert Camus. The Rebel. New York: Vintage Books, 1956. P.22.

[35] Albert Camus. The Rebel. New York: Vintage Books, 1956.P.22.

John Steinbeck’s “In Dubious Battle.” Means, Ends and Morality in Popular Social Movements: An Organizer’s Casebook.

John Steinbeck’s In Dubious Battle.

Means, Ends and Morality in Popular Social Movements:

An Organizer’s Casebook.

Burton Weltman

“What though the field be lost?

All is not lost—the unconquerable will,

And study of revenge, immortal hate,

And courage never to submit or yield;

And what is else not to be overcome?”

Satan’s avowal in Paradise Lost by John Milton.

From the epigraph to In Dubious Battle.

 

Prologue: The Relevance of In Dubious Battle.

“Power without love is reckless and abusive.  Love without power is sentimental and anemic.” Martin Luther King.

I am writing this essay in January, 2019.  We have been living in recent years through an intense period of popular social movements stemming from both the political Left and the political Right.  In the United States, movements have been organized on the Left to further equal rights and social justice for women, blacks, immigrants, gays, and many other oppressed minority groups.  Movements on the Right have been organized to oppose these liberal goals and to promote, instead, the power of the men, white people, and Christians who have historically dominated the country.  Similar movements on the Left and Right have been organized in many other countries around the world.

The nature and extent of these popular movements make John Steinbeck’s novel In Dubious Battle particularly relevant for us today.  It is a book about the means, ends and morality of organizing and engaging in popular social movements.  The focus of the book is on the labor union movement of the 1930’s in the United States and, specifically, a campaign to organize migrant fruit pickers in California.  But the problems that the labor union organizers face in this book differ mainly in peripherals and not in essence with those faced by movement organizers today.  One such problem that is dramatized in the novel and that organizers must deal with today is whether they should try to base their movements on what could be called caring communities or hating communities, that is, whether to unite their movements based on whom their constituents care for and support or on whom they hate and oppose.

Right-wing movements are generally built on fear and hate.  The anti-immigrant movements that are befouling the world today represent this tendency, exemplified by the popularity of Donald Trump among right-wingers in the United States.  Trump, a rich, unreligious, libertine from New York City could not personally be more different from the lower-middle-class, middle-American, Evangelical Christians who make up the base of his support.  But Trump hates the people they hate, so they love him.  Among Left-wing movement organizers, there has historically been a debate about whether and to what extent theirs should be a strategy of favoring something versus opposing somebody.  In Dubious Battle portrays this ongoing debate on the Left.  It is a fictional case-study of an organizing campaign.

Written in 1935, In Dubious Battle has historically been overshadowed by The Grapes of Wrath, another novel about migrant fruit pickers in California which Steinbeck wrote in 1939 and which was made in 1940 into one of the best movies of all time.  In Dubious Battle has, however, a distinctive and important focus on the means, ends and morality of social movement organizing that makes it particularly relevant.  The book is apparently one of the ten favorite novels of President Barack Obama, who himself started out as a community organizer.[1]  It is recommended by veteran organizers for novice activists today.[2]  And the book was made into a major movie by James Franco in 2016.  It’s a bad movie that gets Steinbeck’s message wrong, but at least it demonstrates the book’s ongoing relevance.

I am typing these words on January 21, which is Martin Luther King’s birthday. King was one of the greatest popular movement organizers in history, and he repeatedly engaged in the debate about means, ends and morality that is portrayed in In Dubious Battle, for example in his differences with Malcom X.  That the novel is set during the 1930’s gives readers today an opportunity to examine the debate at a historical remove that might help us to explore the issues.     

A Dubious Battle: The Moral of the Story.

“Don’t Mourn. Organize.”  Joe Hill – an early twentieth century union organizer just before he was executed on a trumped-up murder charge.

In Dubious Battle is the story of a desperate strike by migrant fruit pickers in California during the mid-1930’s whose piece-work wage rates have just been cut from poverty level to starvation level.  The book portrays the workers’ struggles to organize themselves and try to force the owners of the orchards to raise their wages.  The strikers are assisted by two Communist labor organizers, Mac and Jim, and a local physician, Doc Burton.  The three of them have different attitudes toward the strike and approaches to assisting the workers.  The book focuses on their ideas, actions, and personal evolutions during the course of the strike.

Mac is a veteran Communist organizer who envisions the strike as part of a long-term project to help workers recognize their commonality and their potential collective strength.  His goal is to create a caring community of workers who will commit to each other and to the ideal of cooperation.  Jim is a recent recruit to the Communist Party and a novice organizer.  He is largely motivated by hatred of capitalists who reap the benefits of other people’s labor and run roughshod over their lives, consequences that he and his family have personally experienced.  Doc Burton works with Mac and Jim to care for the health of the strikers and ensure the sanitation of their encampment.  He is not a Communist but he sympathizes with the plight of the workers and wants to help them.

The 1930’s were a seminal decade for labor union organizing.  As part of the New Deal, Congress enacted the National Labor Relations Act (NLRA) in 1934.  The NLRA gave workers in most industries a legally protected right to organize labor unions.  Employers who interfered with employees’ rights to organize, as they had regularly and violently done in the past, became subject to penalties.  This didn’t stop bosses from trying to prevent unionization, and violence was still sometimes used against workers, but the NLRA spurred organizing in many industries.  Agricultural workers were, however, specifically left out of the NLRA and are still left out to the present day.  As such, the fruit pickers who are the subjects of In Dubious Battle were without legal protection, and their battle to organize was much tougher than that of other workers.

In the course of the book, the workers make heroic efforts to stick together against spies, strike-breakers, provocateurs, and vigilantes hired by the owners.  But they are being picked off one by one by vigilante snipers, picked up by cops, blocked from getting food and, finally, forced out of their encampment.  As the book is coming to a close, it looks doubtful that the workers can continue the struggle, and it seems that the strike is going to come to an inglorious end.

But then Jim is ambushed and shot dead by vigilantes.  His body is carried into the strikers’ encampment by Mac.  In an effort to make Jim’s death meaningful, so that Jim would not have died in vain, Mac displays the body to the workers as a means of rallying the demoralized strikers, binding Jim to them and them to the common struggle even in death.  In the last words of the book, Mac proclaims “Comrades!  He didn’t want nothing for himself –”  And so, the dubious battle may possibly continue.  And Mac’s appeal to the solidarity of the workers and their will to continue for the sake of each other is, I think, the moral of the story.

Setting the Scene: The Popular Front.

“I mean, when the world comes for your children, with the knives out, it’s your job to stand in the way.”  Joe Hill.

In order to understand In Dubious Battle, you have to mentally put yourself back into the United States during the 1930’s, and you have to put out of your mind almost all of the conventional wisdom propounded in this country about Communism and the Communist Party since the late 1940’s.  The main characters in In Dubious Battle are two Communists and an ally of theirs, conventionally denominated a fellow traveler.  With the advent of the Cold War against the Soviet Union in the late 1940’s, Communists and so-called fellow travelers were widely damned as traitors and purveyors of satanic evil in the United States. They were excluded from participating in mainstream politics, and to be considered a Communist or fellow traveler was to be disparaged in the extreme.  This was not always or everywhere the attitude toward Communists, especially during the 1930’s and early 1940’s.

During the Great Depression of the 1930’s, Communists and their allies were leading figures in the labor movement and in the struggles of small farmers and poor people to survive.  Although Communists were anathema to conservatives and big business interests and were generally condemned in the press, they were still generally accepted as within the range of political discourse in the country, albeit on the far-left side of the range.

In 1935, when Steinbeck wrote In Dubious Battle, the Communist Party of the United States declared that the best way to counter the Depression and the rise of fascism in the world was for all moderates, liberals and radicals to work together in a Popular Front.  Rather than rejecting America and Americanism, Communists proclaimed that “Communism was just twentieth century Americanism” and that their forerunners were Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, and other American patriots.  Communists claimed they were purveyors of the American dream.

The Popular Front was a populist strategy, which is not to be confused with the chauvinist strategies that are widely misconstrued and mislabeled as populist today.  When Donald Trump in the United States, Viktor Orban in Hungary, and other racists and chauvinists around the world claim to be populists, and are deemed as such by the mass media, they are misusing and disparaging the term.  Populists have historically sought to unite people, all of the people.  The assumption of genuine populists has historically been that ordinary people of all sorts – whatever their races, religions, ethnicities, or walks of life – have the most important things in common and should work with each other toward common goals.

The assumptions of the Popular Front of the 1930’s and of other people’s movements then and since have been that “when people get together and know each other as human beings,” they will cooperate with each other, and that, in the words of a Chilean popular front movement of the 1970’s, “the people united cannot be defeated.”[3]  Genuine populists see as their opponents those who would divide and conquer people based on racial, ethnic or other invidious differences.  Chauvinists such as Trump and Orban seek to do just that, to divide people on an “us versus them” racial or ethnic basis.  They create communities of hate rather than caring communities.  That is the opposite of populism.

As a result of the Popular Front strategy of the Communists and similar populist strategies of other left-of-center political groups, there was from the late 1930’s through the mid-1940’s an upsurge of grass roots organizing of all sorts.  The watchword of the period was “the people.” The goal was to organize the people into labor unions, farmers cooperatives, neighborhood clubs, political parties, theatre companies, musical groups, and other organizations of all sorts that would cultivate and pursue the common goals of ordinary people.

The influence of the Popular Front is exemplified in the popular song Ballad for Americans that was written in 1939 by two men who were either Communists or fellow travelers.  Significantly, it is not always clear from the historical record who was a member of the Communist Party and who merely allied with Communists in various organizing campaigns.  Once the Cold War and anti-Communist campaigns began in the late 1940’s, it made a big difference whether or not you were or had been a card-carrying Communist, but in the context of the Popular Front during the 1930’s, it did not really matter.  The point of the Popular Front was to bring together like-minded activists to help organize the people.  So, some activists became Party members, others merely joined in campaigns in which Communists were participants.

The song Ballad for Americans recounts American history as the struggle of an ethnically and racially diverse people to achieve ever greater liberty, equality and fraternity for all.  It was first recorded by Bing Crosby, the most popular singer of the time, and later made famous by Paul Robeson, who was himself either a Communist or fellow traveler.  The song proclaims that in the midst of depression and repression, the American ideal lives on because “We nobodies who are anybody believe it, we anybodies who are everybody have no doubt.”  The song ends with a call for Americans to unite and fight against social and economic evils.  “Out of the cheating, out of the shouting, out of the murders and lynching, it will come again.  Our marching song will come again!”  Ballad for Americans was highlighted at two national political party conventions in 1940, the Communist Party Convention and the Republican Party Convention.

Communists were true believers in the possibilities of a radically better society.  They were also convinced that the only way to thwart the rise of fascism and overcome the Depression was through organizing the people.  Communists were, in turn, willing to sacrifice themselves for the cause by standing in the forefront of organizing efforts and suffering the concussions and repercussions of being the standard bearers.  Communists were particularly active in organizing the industrial unions of the 1930’s, such as those of the auto workers, steel workers, electrical workers, and other unions that made up the newly founded Congress of Industrial Organizations (CIO).  Most CIO unions included Communists in their leadership positions, and their field organizers were frequently Communists and fellow travelers.

In understanding Steinbeck’s portrayal of Mac and Jim in In Dubious Battle, one needs to take into consideration at least three things about Communism in America during the mid-1930’s.  The first is that the worst about Stalin and the Communist regime in the Soviet Union was not generally known.  In particular, that millions of people had died as a result of Stalin’s brutal collectivization of small farms in the late 1920’s and early 1930’s was not widely known.  Stalin was also just beginning in 1935 the large-scale purge trials, executions, and incarcerations for which he is infamous, and these were not known about in full until many years later.  As such Soviet Communism was not yet as universally damned as it was later, and American Communists were not seen as connected to a brutalitarian regime as they were later.

The second thing is that while the Western capitalist countries were wallowing through the Great Depression during the 1930’s, the Soviet Union was essentially unaffected by it and was undergoing massive economic growth.  The Soviet Union essentially went from an underdeveloped to an industrial economy during the decade.  So, whatever might have been rumored about Stalin’s repressiveness, Communism seemed able to produce the goods.

The third thing is that most outside observers and Communists themselves generally distinguished between the ideologues and politicians who occupied national leadership roles in the Party and the Communist organizers who did grass roots work.  Party officials dispensed proclamations from their offices as guardians of ideological purity and political loyalty to Stalin’s regime. They were widely disparaged, even among Party members.  In contrast, the Party’s union organizers and community activists were usually working men and women concerned with getting things done and bettering people’s lives, and were quite effective in doing so. They were generally respected, even by anti-Communists.

The Communist Popular Front had significant popular appeal during the 1930’s and 1940’s.  It was in this context that in 1935 Steinbeck joined and participated in the League of American Writers, a group organized by Communists.  He also worked during this time with Communist organizers for the Cannery and Agricultural Workers Union who provided much of the material about union organizing in the fields that he used in In Dubious Battle.  Reflecting the differences between Party bureaucrats, whom Steinbeck despised, and Communist organizers, for whom Steinbeck had respect, there is no mention in In Dubious Battle by Mac, Jim, or the omniscient narrator of Stalin, the Soviet Union, Marxism, or Communist ideology.

Mac and Jim, in turn, make no attempt to proselytize the workers about Communism or get them to join the Party.  Mac and Jim are merely union organizers who have become Communists seemingly because the Communist Party was taking the lead in union organizing.  Their faith lies not in ideology or in the cult of a personality such as Stalin, but in the solidarity and strength of the people, and the possibilities for a better world if and when the people are properly organized.

Steinbeck paid a price for his connections with Communists and was apparently harassed because of them by the FBI and the IRS.  He remained, however, a vocal supporter of the Soviet Union through the mid-1940’s.  Thereafter, Steinbeck became an anti-Communist, a supporter of the Cold War against the Soviet Union, and an informer for the CIA.   But his book In Dubious Battle stands as a testament to Steinbeck’s participation in the Popular Front during the 1930’s along with many other non-Communist progressives.  Communists, with their focus during this period on organizing people into unions and community groups, did not seem satanic as they were later portrayed during the Cold War.  The Popular Front, in turn, provides the context for the debate about the means, ends and morality of community organizing that goes on in In Dubious Battle.  That is why putting oneself into the shoes and mindset of a progressive during that period is a key to understanding the book and its relevance for us today.

The End is the Means: Three Ways of Countering Evil.

“There is pow’r, in a band of workingmen when they stand hand in hand.”  Joe Hill.

In describing In Dubious Battle, Steinbeck said that it “has three layers. Surface story, group-psychological structure, and philosophical conclusion.”  The first layer, the surface story, is the events of the strike, which are riveting and realistic.  Steinbeck claimed to get his facts about strikes from “Irish and Italian Communists whose training was in the field, not in the drawing room,” thereby honoring the Communist organizers but disparaging Communist Party officials.[4]

It is this surface story that is generally discussed in reviews of the book.  Reviewers sympathetic to the Left generally see the book as a tragedy.  The strikers go through hell on earth and the tragedy of the book, said one reviewer, is “the sense that all they suffered will have happened for nothing.”[5]  Reviewers on the Right have scorned the book as promoting the “fanatical machinations of red agents to foment discontent” in America.[6]  I don’t agree with either view.  I think the book is neither tragic nor rabid.  It is a fairly objective portrait that leaves the reader with some hope for the workers and some sense that better things might come in the long run.

The second layer, the group-psychological structure, refers to “group-man” and mass psychology theories of human behavior that were popular during the 1930’s as explanations of the rise of fascism and other mass movements.  The basic idea is that groups of people are like organisms and obey organismic laws of behavior.  Individual people are like cells in an organic body.  These organic groups of people can be controlled by manipulative leaders and can easily become irrational mobs. The group-man theories are espoused in the book by Doc Burton,[7] and the actions of the strikers seem sometimes to be illustrations of these theories.[8]  These theories constitute a pessimistic view of the possibilities for people organizing themselves into caring communities and are, as such, generally disputed by the more optimistic Mac.[9]

Steinbeck apparently gleaned these group-man ideas from Ed Ricketts, a marine biologist and friend of Steinbeck.  Most reviewers of the book claim that Doc Burton speaks for Steinbeck and that the moral of the story resides in these pseudo-scientific group-man theories.[10]  It is my view that while Steinbeck may have identified with Doc Burton as an outside observer of the sorts of conflicts that the book describes, and that Steinbeck seemingly approved of the group-man theories, it is the activist and optimist Mac who speaks for the book.

The third layer, the philosophy of the book, refers, I believe, to the debate among Mac, Jim, and Doc Burton over their theories about community organizing and ways to battle evil in the world.  The book has been widely noted for raising “classic question of means and ends, of ego and selfishness.”[11]  Most critics have claimed that Steinbeck promotes a philosophy that “the ends justify the means,” with conservatives condemning this philosophy as callously Communistic and liberals accepting it as a necessary evil to further the cause of social justice.[12]  I don’t agree that the book promotes a view that the ends justify the means. I think that it is quite to the contrary and that Mac voices the book’s philosophy.

There are many ways of trying to rid the world of evil.  One way is simply to ignore evil while doing good yourself, and essentially doing good for goodness’ sake.  Dr. Burton represents this approach in the book.  He helps the strikers merely because they need help. Organizations such as Doctors without Borders might represent this approach today.  This strategy is ideologically and politically neutral, except to the extent it is implicitly critical of governments and societies that do not do enough to help the helpless so that charitable individuals and organizations need to take up the slack.

A second way is to attack evil head on, countering hate with hate and thereby defeating evil in combat.  This way represents an unwillingness to tolerate evil and a personal need to eliminate it.  Evil is taken personally and is generally personalized in us-versus-them terms.  As such, this way can be characterized as doing good for one’s own sake, that is, to save one’s own soul by adamantly rejecting evil.  And in this view, the ends can justify the means.  Evil must be defeated no matter what the means.  As Jim evolves in the book, he comes to represent this approach.  Jim needs to release his anger through attacking the bad guys.  The Antifa movement might represent this approach in the United States today.

A third way is to try to contain evil, and to surround and overwhelm it with good.  Organizing people into cooperative groups that will eventually replace the oppressive institutions of society is both the means and the end in this approach.  In this view, the end as a stopping point means nothing.  Movement and the movement are everything.  It is an all-for-one, one-for-all ethic that can be characterized as doing good for the sake of others.  This third approach is represented in the book by Mac.  Jesse Jackson’s National Rainbow Coalition might be an example of this approach in recent years.  And, although conventional interpretations of the book claim that Doc Burton represents the voice of Steinbeck, I think that Mac not only has the last word in the book but also the best word.

Organizing Strategies: Common Interests vs. Communal Goals.

“Keep hope alive!”  Jesse Jackson.

In representing three different approaches to countering evil, the three main characters in the book also represent three different approaches to organizing people.  Doc Burton represents a “let it be” approach to organizing.  He believes that groups of people come together naturally and then behave according to their natures and natural laws.  He is largely an observer, but also a facilitator for the side in a dispute with which he sympathizes.  Mac derides Doc Burton’s approach as contradictory since he invariably ends up choosing to help the oppressed rather than their oppressors.[13]  While Doc Burton may represent Steinbeck’s social position as just an observer who wrote about what he saw, the real debate in the book is between Mac and Jim.

The book opens with Jim going into a dilapidated office to join the Communist Party.  When asked by the Communist activist running the office, a man named Nilson, why he wants to join the Party, Jim says that “My whole family has been ruined by this [capitalist] system,” and that “Hell, I’ve got nothing to lose.”  Jim is thereby echoing Karl Marx’s famous proclamation “Workers of the world unite, you have nothing to lose but your chains.”   But Nilson counters Jim by telling him that he actually has “nothing [to lose] except hatred.”  “You’re going to be surprised,” he tells Jim, “when you see that you stop hating people” once you start working to help change things.  At the same time, Nilson warns Jim, that when you are encouraging people to make changes, “Even the people you’re trying to help will hate you most of the time.”   So, Nilson concludes, “You’ve really got to want to belong to the Party pretty badly” in order to be willing to take the abuse that comes with it.

Nilson then goes on to explain to Jim how the Party and the field organizing work: “You’ll get a chance to vote on every decision, but once the votes are in, you have to obey.”[14]  This is a process that Communists called democratic centralism.  Open debate on all issues but then disciplined acceptance of the outcome.  The picture that Nilson paints of Communist organizers is like that of martyrs to the cause of humanity, or maybe fallen angels in the eyes of the established authorities.  It was this intense do-gooderism and absolute faith in their cause that helped make Communist organizers effective but also that Steinbeck often found off-putting about them.  “I don’t like Communists,” he wrote to a friend in the mid-1930’s, “I rather imagine the apostles had the same waspish qualities and the New Testament is proof that they had the same bad manners.”  But he still admired them.[15]

Nilson then introduces Jim to Mac, whom Nilson touts as the best organizer in the state.  Mac explains that organizing is not a scripted process and that you just have to go with the flow and be prepared to adlib.  Mac also explains that the primary purpose of a strike is not to win.  Winning is good, but more importantly “We want the men to find out how strong they are when they work together.”  He describes a strike as by nature a peaceful action on the part of the strikers – merely a passive withholding of services from the boss.  But it is usually the case that the bosses respond forcefully and even violently to a strike so that strikers sometimes need to defend themselves.

Mac explains that the repressive response of bosses almost always radicalizes strikers, and this helps with the organizing effort. “There is nothing like a fight to cement the men together,” he explains, so that the bosses are essentially helping to organize the workers.  In any case, the primary goal of a strike is for workers to learn to care for and take care of each other, and to create a caring community among them.  Even losing a strike can help build solidarity in the long run.  Mac is hardnosed but essentially an optimist.  He believes that a caring society will come out of caring communities.  And this is the philosophy that Mac tries to implement throughout the struggles in the book, a philosophy in which organizing is the means but also the end.[16]

When Mac and Jim get to the orchard they have been assigned to organize, Mac helps to deliver a baby.  It is the sort of adlib situation that he had hoped for.  In so doing, he gets as many people involved in helping with the birth as he can, getting them to bring hot water, clean towels, warm blankets, and many more things from many more people than is needed.  When questioned later about this by Jim, Mac responds that “There is a hunger in men to work together” and “There’s no better way to make men part of a movement than to have them give something to it.”  And the tactic worked.  Participating in the birthing event brought the men together so that they were later more willing and able to trust each other in the strike.[17]

While the wage cut set the stage for the strike, the catalyst for it was a defective ladder that had been provided by the bosses and that broke under a worker so that he fell and was seriously injured. Mac uses this event as an opportunity to try to stir the workers to strike action.  His appeal is based on solidarity among the workers. He said while the bosses don’t care enough for workers to provide them with decent ladders, essentially treating the workers as fungible goods that can easily be replaced if they should be injured or die, workers should care for each other.  This is the gist of Mac’s appeal throughout the book, and it generally works.[18]

Thereafter, there are repeated instances of violence by vigilantes and local cops in the pay of the bosses against the striking workers and their supporters in the local community.  In each case, Mac uses the incident to rally the workers to continue the strike, describing it as a battle for decency and dignity, and not just money.  But it is a dubious battle both in terms of its outcome and some of its methods.

Early in the strike, a vigilante murders an old colleague of Mac who had just convinced a trainload of strikebreakers brought in by the bosses to join the strikers instead of scabbing.  When Mac organizes a big public funeral for the colleague and uses the man’s death to rally the strikers, Jim questions whether this isn’t a disrespectful way to treat their colleague, using his death as an organizing tool.  Mac admits to feeling bad about what they were doing but responds that “We got damn few things to fight with.  We got to use what we can. This little guy was my friend.  Y’can take it from me he’d want to get used any way we can use him.”[19]

Questions of means, ends and morality dominate the book.  When Jim seems to want fight violence with violence, Mac responds “What we got to fight with? Rocks, sticks, when the other side has guns.”  So, Mac’s strategy is not to attack evil with violence, but to respond to violence with unity and sympathy, and to create a caring community of workers.  Mac explains that “You win a strike in two ways, because the men put up a steady fight, and because public sentiment comes over to your side.”  By remaining as unified and peaceful as possible, the public may be won over to the side of the strikers, and the bosses will be surrounded and have to surrender.[20]

It is a strategy that requires a maximum of buy-in and discipline on the part of the strikers.  For this reason, Mac emphasizes to Jim that “Leadership has to come from the men,” and not from outside organizers like themselves.  A movement must be organized from the bottom-up and not the top-down.  When the strike begins, Mac advises the workers to elect a leader, which they do, and then Mac advises the elected leader to have the men vote on everything, which he does.  This is the workers’ strike, Mac says, and they have to make the decisions.[21]

Mac’s strategy of organizing from the bottom-up and playing for public support is essentially that which was being used during the 1930’s and 1940’s by Ghandi in India and that was later used by Martin Luther King during the 1960’s.  This strategy was widely promoted during the 1930’s and 1940’s in the United States by A.J. Muste, a well-known union organizer and later peace activist.  Muste was a pacifist, which Mac is not — Mac is not averse to punching out an agent provocateur — but Muste believed in organizing from the bottom-up, which is Mac’s approach.  Muste emphasized developing “shared values and the practice of solidarity.”  His goal was a caring community with communal goals rather than merely common self-interests.[22]

An alternative strategy for organizing was promoted during this period by Saul Alinsky, who has been considered by many the guru of community organizing.  His book Reveille for Radicals, first published in 1946, has been a guidebook ever since for organizers.  But his approach was different in many ways from that of Mac in In Dubious Battle or Muste.

Like Muste and like Mac, Alinsky declared his belief in “the people.”  He claimed to have “one article of faith” which was that “if people have the power, the opportunity to act, in the long run they will, most of the time, reach the right decision.”  Notice, however, the qualifiers in this statement of faith in the people: “in the long run” and “most of the time.”  Bottom-up democracy was for Alinsky only one among various means and not an end or a principle as it was for Muste and Mac.  In a given organizing campaign, Alinsky might promote a top-down strategy in which professional organizers, like himself, or strong charismatic local leaders would control things.[23]

Unlike Mac and Muste, who abjured organizers to avoid acting out of anger, Alinsky insisted on cultivating anger and aggression against one’s opponents.  He ridiculed and “reject[ed] so-called objective decisions made without passion and anger.”  Anger is more powerful than love or reason, he insisted, and anger is a key tool for organizers.  He also ridiculed and rejected making decisions based on morality.  For him, the end justified the means, and “it is not important if one must go through a few devious valleys and shadows in the struggle for the people’s world.”  “[I]n the war against social evils,” he insisted, “there are no rules of fair play.”[24]

Whereas Mac and Muste tried to appeal to the better angels of humankind and promoted what was in effect the Golden Rule in action, Alinsky adjured idealism, claiming that “only a fool” would preach ideals.  People are selfish and materialistic, he claimed, so the organizer must make “use of greed to get good” and use “individualism and self-interest” to get cooperation.  People are also narrowminded, Alinsky claimed, so that the organizer must make use of “community chauvinism,” that is, ethnic bigotry, to get people to work together.  While celebrating the selflessness of organizers who don’t want anything for themselves, Alinsky was quite cynical about the people he and his colleagues were trying to help.[25]

Although many of Alinsky’s methods were brilliant and are still followed, many organizers have rejected the amorality of his proposals on both ethical grounds and grounds of effectiveness.  If organizers see themselves as selfless angels but their constituents as selfish materialists, they will not be able to create the sort of caring community that might make things better.  Among Alinsky’s critics was Barack Obama, the one-time community organizer.  Obama promoted a hard-headed but warm-hearted and pragmatic approach to organizing.  Known as the “No Drama Obama” President, he promoted the same calm and caring approach to community organizing.

Obama described what he saw as the three keys to successful organizing.  The first was seeing the problems of the community as a matter of power and “a lack of power” of the people.  The best plans are nothing without the power to implement them.  The second was “organizing people and money around a common vision.”  Without a communal goal, an organizing effort will likely founder on the shoals of conflicting selfish self-interests.  Idealism is effectively realism in community organizing.  And, the third was “a broadly-based indigenous leadership – and not one or two charismatic leaders.”  The people must lead themselves.  In each of these points, Obama paralleled Mac in In Dubious Battle and A.J. Muste but differed from Alinsky.[26]

Jim acts as a foil to Mac in In Dubious Battle in ways that point up the differences between the philosophies of Alinsky, on the one hand, and Muste and Obama on the other.  Jim starts out as a naïve nice guy full of anger and hatred for the bosses, but who is told by Nilson, the Communist Party official, that he will lose his anger and hate as he starts working with the fruit pickers.  And Jim initially does.  He is euphoric to be amongst a caring community of workers.  He is also initially offended by the calm and calculating approach that Mac takes toward the strike and the strikers.  He thinks that Mac is callous.  But then Jim encounters the vigilantes and the violence they wreak upon the strikers and is himself wounded by them.  The vigilantes are hateful and portrayed in the book as communities of hate. “They like to be cruel,” Mac tells Jim.  Their cooperation with each other is predicated on venom and violence against others.[27]

Jim’s anger returns in spades and is turned not only against the vigilantes and cops but against strikers who might be weakening in their resolve.  He begins to think that Mac’s calm and calculating approach is a sign of weakness, and he feels that anger and hate are the proper response to the anger and hatred of the bosses.  Jim begins to voice a philosophy of ends justifying means, opining, for example, that it is good if the strikers are brutalized and hurt because it will make them fight harder.  Jim becomes so hardened that he begins to scare Mac.  “You’re turning into a proper son-of-a-bitch,” Mac tells him, “I hope I don’t get to hate you.”[28]

I think that Jim’s trajectory from angelic innocent to devilish hard guy, and Mac’s horrified response to the change in Jim, reflect a rejection of the amoralistic ends-justify-the-means approach to organizing that most critics mistakenly see in the book.  Speaking for the book, Mac essentially holds, instead, that moral means are the desired end.

The Movie: James Franco seemingly goes out of his way to disparage Steinbeck’s book.

“If the workers took a notion, they could stop all speeding trains, every ship upon the ocean they can tie with mighty chains.”  Joe Hill.

A movie based on Steinbeck’s In Dubious Battle, directed by James Franco and written by Matt Rager, was released in 2017.[29]    The movie is, in my opinion, cinematically good, dramatically bad, and thematically awful.  It got generally bad reviews.  Most reviews focused on the movie’s incoherence, irrelevance and dramatic failings   Reviewer Stephen Holden, for example, complained that the movie is full of “stale boilerplate dialogue” and is “too flatfooted and sloppy to explore the obvious parallels between then and now.”[30] Another reviewer similarly complained that the movie “dispenses with the book’s moral and dramatic complexity.”  It is pedestrian and plodding and fails to “bridge the gap between the union struggles of the Depression and those of our ever-divided moment.”[31]

Still other reviewers complained that the movie was “monotonous in its messaging” without explaining what its message was,[32] and that it was a “humorless dirge.”[33] Yet another reviewer’s opinion was aptly summarized in the title of his review: “James Franco has directed some bad movies, but none as boring as ‘In Dubious Battle.’”  He went on to describe the movie as “conventionally dismal” and “about as urgent as required reading.”[34]  Stephen Holden concluded his review with what he seemingly thought was the consolation that “At least it means well.”[35]

I think that if James Franco and Matt Rager meant well in their film adaptation of Steinbeck’s novel, so much the worse for them because it is an insult to the book.  The problem with it isn’t just that it is a bad movie dramatically and a hodge-podge maladaptation of the novel.  Nor is the problem merely the insertion of gratuitous sex scenes that are apparently required for a Hollywood movie these days.  The problem is that the movie is stupid and gratuitously insulting to Steinbeck’s thematic intentions.

As to stupidity, two things particularly stand out.  First, the premise of the strike in the movie is that the fruit pickers are outraged they had been promised a wage of three dollars per day and it is being reduced to one dollar per day. This premise is repeatedly reiterated throughout the movie.  Now, such a reduction in a promised daily wage would certainly be grounds for workers’ anger if they were being paid a daily wage and would make a good premise for a strike. The problem is that fruit pickers are not paid by the day.

Paying pickers by the day would be a stupid thing for orchard owners to do, and they don’t do it in real life or in the book, because there would be no incentive for workers to pick very many pieces of fruit and the worst picker would get paid the same as the best.  In turn, the bosses would have to closely supervise the pickers to make sure they were working hard, as masters had to do under slavery because slaves had no incentive to work hard.  Such supervision would be expensive and troublesome.

The fact is that fruit pickers are paid by the quantity of fruit they pick and were paid that way in Steinbeck’s book.  The genius of the piece-work system is that workers are essentially self-supervised.  They will work as hard as they can in order to make as much money as they can.  Steinbeck clearly states in the novel that the workers’ grievance is that the piecework rate has been reduced, not some daily wage.  How could Franco and Rager have missed this point either in reading the book or in exercising their common sense?  It’s insulting to Steinbeck and to the movie’s audience.

Second, the movie portrays Mac, Jim and their fellow organizers as willing to sacrifice anything and everybody to win this strike.  But there is no reason given for why this little strike in one orchard should be so important to the organizers.  Steinbeck clearly explains in the book that this strike was just one in an extensive series of strikes that the organizers were promoting.  They did not expect to win them all and did not think any one of the strikes was crucial to their long-term organizing goals.  In fact, they opined that losing individual strikes can be almost as good as winning in the long run.  But the way Franco and Rager portray the situation, you would think it was Armageddon and the fate of the world was at stake.  It is just not believable.

In a significant departure from the book, the movie also does not clearly portray Mac and Jim as Communists.  Whereas the book opens with Jim going to a local Party office to join the Communist Party, the movie opens with him going to a nondescript office to join Mac in an organizing campaign.  The movie’s makers may have thought it would be hard to convince audiences to be sympathetic to protagonists who were Communists, but I disagree.  Movies such as Reds and The Front were able to portray erstwhile Communists in a sympathetic light without looking as though they endorsed Communism.  In any case, I think it would be useful to see how public opinion can change so quickly and thoroughly, as it did about Communists in the 1940’s.

We have seen such changes in the United States in recent years as, for example, with respect to sexual orientation.  Just a couple of decades ago, homosexuality was widely condemned and even illegal in many places, and so-called homosexuals were disqualified from public life.  That is no longer the case, and the change in attitudes toward gays, lesbians and others whose sexual orientations are other than so-called straight has been dramatic.  So, it is instructive to see that attitudes can abruptly change from rejection to acceptance as in the case of sexual orientation, but also from acceptance to rejection as it was in the case of Communist political orientation.

Worse than these blunders are the havoc the movie thematically wreaks on the novel.  The movie portrays Mac as a manipulative monster who is willing to sacrifice anybody and anything to win the strike.  He is in cahoots with a female organizer named Edie who is not in the book. The two of them mastermind and manipulate the strike.  Unlike the book, Mac and Edie make the key decisions and Mac doesn’t insist the workers make them.  And the things the movie has Mac do are not believable.

So, for example, at the beginning of the movie, instead of a ladder collapsing because of the negligence and callousness of the bosses, Mac sabotages the ladder so that a worker will be seriously hurt, which creates an opportunity for Mac to manipulate the pickers into striking.  Later in the strike Mac, not Jim as in the book, berates and brutalizes workers for weakening in their resolve.  And whereas in the book, a crazed striker burns down an orchard owner’s empty barn and no one is injured, in the movie, the daughter of a strike leader burns down a house, killing at least one person.  Mac then covers it up.

Several times during the movie, Mac and Edie set up the workers to be brutalized and shot by vigilantes and cops.  At the end of the movie, as the strike is fizzling, Edie sets up Jim to be ambushed and killed by the vigilantes as a means of creating a martyr to rally the workers to continue striking.   In a moment of remorse, Mac replaces Jim and is killed instead.  The movie closes with Jim using Mac’s body to rally the strikers.  In a postscript which runs with the credits, some discussion of union organizing under the NLRA, which is inapplicable to the fruit pickers’ situation, is irrelevantly flashed onto the screen.

In its treatment of Mac and Edie, the movie essentially equates the “ends justifies the means” approach of the bosses with that of the union organizers.  They are all equally callous, brutal and murderous in the movie.  This is contrary to Steinbeck’s intentions and insulting to organizers.  It is also insulting to workers because the implication of the movie is that the only way one can get ordinary people to stand up for themselves is to manipulate and trick them, and to organize them into communities of hate.

Steinbeck’s book starts with the assumption that organizing against oppression is worthwhile and then moves on to questions of strategies and tactics.  It essentially constitutes a debate about the means, ends and morality of organizing against oppression.  Franco’s movie rejects the assumption of Steinbeck’s book and raises, instead, the question of whether it is worthwhile to organize against oppression at all, given that you will have to engage in awful activities, face horrible repercussions, and almost certainly lose anyway.  The movie’s answer seems to be that resisting oppression isn’t worth it.  But then Franco has the audacity to insert into the closing credits a recording of Pete Seeger, a one-time Communist and unionist himself, singing the old union song “Which side are you on?”  What was Franco thinking?

The dubious in In Dubious Battle: Which side is God on?

“Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.”  Satan in Paradise Lost.

Most critics and interpreters of In Dubious Battle have problems with the title of the book and its epigraph.  The epigraph, from which the title is abstracted, is excerpted from John Milton’s epic poem Paradise Lost.  The poem describes Satan’s fall from Heaven in a momentous battle between his band of angels against the angels and the Son of God who remain loyal to God.  Decrying God as a tyrant, Satan declares for what could be considered a republic in place of God’s monarchy, and courageously rallies his troops time after time after being repeatedly defeated by God’s forces.

Written during the 1650’s in England, just after King Charles I had been deposed and decapitated, Satan voices arguments in the poem against God’s rule that Milton had previously voiced in political tracts against the King.  Satan’s arguments are persuasive, and interpreters almost universally declare Satan to be the most interesting and attractive character in the poem.  As a result, first time readers of the poem, and especially college students in freshmen English literature classes, almost invariably declare in favor of Satan as the hero of the poem.

But because God is God and not merely a mortal man, and because Milton was a devout Christian as well as a political rebel, Milton held that it is one thing to rise-up against an authoritarian King and another to rebel against the authority of a righteous God.  Rather than blaspheming against God’s almighty power, Milton described the poem as an attempt “to justify the ways of God to man.”  So, Milton clearly could not have intended Satan to be the hero of the poem.  But maybe he is anyway.  William Blake, himself a poet and devout Christian, said of Milton that he was “of the Devil’s party without knowing it.”  What about Steinbeck?

The epigraph to In Dubious Battle describes Satan recovering from another lost battle, rejoicing that although he had not yet defeated God, he had “shook his throne.”  Satan’s “unconquerable will” and his “courage never to submit or yield” will carry him and his cohort on in their dubious battle.  So long as they can keep up their rebellious spirits, “what is else not to be overcome?”  This sentiment aptly describes the theory and practice of Mac in the book.  Is Steinbeck using the epigraph to disparage Mac’s efforts as sacrilegious and unrighteous?  Sacrilegious maybe, I think, but not unrighteous.[36]

I think that Mac and Steinbeck his creator might agree with the irreverent community organizer Saul Alinsky in his celebration of Satan as “the first radical known to man who rebelled against the establishment and did it so effectively that he at least won his own kingdom.”  Satan was, in Alinsky’s view, the first and most effective organizer in history.  Imagine convincing a bunch of angels to rebel against God and to keep up the fight against literally all odds.[37]

Steinbeck grew up in a conventionally Christian family but firmly rejected his religious upbringing.  While attending church with his family when he was nineteen years old, he heard the minister preach that “the soul is a creature that wants [spiritual] food to its satisfaction as truly as the body” wants material sustenance.  This was in 1921 in the midst of a severe economic depression featuring massive unemployment and homelessness.  Upon hearing the minister’s homily, an outraged Steinbeck stood up and shouted to the congregation “Yes, you all look satisfied here, while outside the world begs for a crust of bread or a chance to earn it.  Feed the body and the soul will take care of itself.”[38]  This sentiment pervades In Dubious Battle.

Steinbeck was not a college freshman when he took from Paradise Lost an epigraph for In Dubious Battle that is seemingly in praise of Satan.  But I think he was taking a poke at the smug, self-righteous, economically secure Christians of his day who scorned the migrants and immigrants who could not find gainful employment during the Great Depression or who had the audacity to rise-up against bosses who exploited them.  In Steinbeck’s view, voiced in the book by Mac, wealthy Americans worshipped in the religion of capitalism and Mammon was their god.  Among conservatives during the 1930’s, organizing strikes against greedy capitalists was the equivalent of Satan’s rebellion against God.  So be it, Steinbeck seemed to be saying.

The battle in the book was dubious both because its outcome was doubtful and because the rebels were continually faced with moral challenges in what they were doing.  It was not that they were deliberately causing anyone harm, and certainly not deliberately causing harm to their own people in order to stir up rebellion as Franco’s movie would have it.  It was that any rebellion risks retribution and will likely result in harm to at least some of the rebels.  Was it right to encourage people to take those risks and repeatedly lose battles in the short run in the hope of winning the war for a better world in the long run?  “Someday we’ll win,” Mac tells Jim at one point, “We’ve got to believe that.”[39]  That is, I think, Steinbeck’s answer to the question in this book.

BW 1/2019

[1] Geoffrey James. “Obama’s Picks for The Best Novels of All Time.” Inc. inc.com, 2015.

[2] Peter Ferenbach. “These are a few of our favorite books…” rethink. rethinkmedia.org, 12/20/16.

[3] Saul Alinsky. Reveille for Radicals. New York: Vintage Books, 1969 (originally 1946), p.157.

[4] Quoted in Warren French. “Introduction.” In Dubious Battle by John Steinbeck. New York: Penguin Classics, 2006.

[5] Shmoops Editorial Team. “In Dubious Battle.” Shmoop University, Inc. Shmoop.com. Accessed 1/14/19.

[6] Kirkus Review. “In Dubious Battle.” 10/5/11.

[7] John Steinbeck. In Dubious Battle. New York: Bantam Books, 1970. Pp. 103-105.

[8] John Steinbeck. In Dubious Battle. New York: Bantam Books, 1970. Pp. 229, 239.

[9] Stephen Cooper. “How John Steinbeck’s ‘In Dubious Battle’ Helps Us Navigate Social Discord.” Counter Punch Podcast, 6/21/17.

[10] Warren French. “Introduction.” In Dubious Battle by John Steinbeck. New York: Penguin Classics, 2006.

[11] Peter Ferenbach. “These are a few of our favorite books…” rethink. rethinkmedia.org, 12/20/16.

[12] Paul Wilson. “On John Steinbeck’s In Dubious Battle.Critical Mass. National Book Critics Circle, 1/11/17.

 [13] John Steinbeck. In Dubious Battle. New York: Bantam Books, 1970. P.105.

[14] John Steinbeck. In Dubious Battle. New York: Bantam Books, 1970. Pp.4-7.

[15] Quoted in Warren French. “Introduction.” In Dubious Battle by John Steinbeck. New York: Penguin Classics, 2006.

[16] John Steinbeck. In Dubious Battle. New York: Bantam Books, 1970. Pp.21-22, 34.

[17] John Steinbeck. In Dubious Battle. New York: Bantam Books, 1970. P.43

[18] John Steinbeck. In Dubious Battle. New York: Bantam Books, 1970. Pp.70-71.

[19] John Steinbeck. In Dubious Battle. New York: Bantam Books, 1970. P.12, 124, 149.

[20] John Steinbeck. In Dubious Battle. New York: Bantam Books, 1970. Pp. 107, 122.

[21] John Steinbeck. In Dubious Battle. New York: Bantam Books, 1970. P.73

[22] Staughton Lynd. “John L. Lewis and His Critics: Some Forgotten Labor History that Still Matters Today.”  Class, Race and Corporate Power, Vol.5, Issue2, Article3, 2017 P.13.

[23] Saul Alinsky. Reveille for Radicals. New York: Vintage Books, 1969. Pp. XIV, 17.  Staughton Lynd. “John L. Lewis and His Critics: Some Forgotten Labor History that Still Matters Today.”  Class, Race and Corporate Power, Vol.5, Issue2, Article3, 2017, P.10.

[24] Saul Alinsky. Reveille for Radicals. New York: Vintage Books, 1969. Pp. IX, 131, 133, 185.

[25] Saul Alinsky. Reveille for Radicals. New York: Vintage Books, 1969. Pp.89-90, 92, 95, 98, 167, 169.

[26] Quoted in Dylan Matthews. “Who is Saul Alinsky, and why does the right hate him so much.” Vox dylan@Vox.com

[27] John Steinbeck. In Dubious Battle. New York: Bantam Books, 1970. Pp. 70-71, 120.

[28] John Steinbeck. In Dubious Battle. New York: Bantam Books, 1970. Pp. 132, 135, 193-194.

[29] In Dubious Battle (Movie). James Franco, Director.  Matt Rager, Screenplay. Momentum Pictures, 2017.

[30] Stephen Holden. “In Dubious Battle.” The New York Times, 2/16/17.

[31] Justin Chang. “James Franco takes a page from Steinbeck in the laborious drama “In Dubious Battle.” The Los Angeles Times, 2/16/17.

[32] Brian Tallerico. “In Dubious Battle.” RogerEbert.com, 2/17/17.

[33] Jude Dry. “’In Dubious Battle’ Review: A James Franco Period Protest Drama, Dubiously Made.” IndieWire.com 2/18/17.

[34] Ignately Vishnevetsky. “James Franco has directed some bad movies, but none as boring as ‘In Dubious Battle.’” film.avclub.com 2/15/17.

[35] Stephen Holden. “In Dubious Battle.” The New York Times, 2/16/17.

[36] John Milton. Paradise Lost. London: Penguin Classics, 2000.

[37] Saul Alinsky.  Rules for Radicals. “Introduction.” New York: Random House, 1971.

[38] Quoted in Susan Shilinglaw. “About John Steinbeck.” Steinbeckinstitute.org, 2012.

[39] John Steinbeck. In Dubious Battle. New York: Bantam Books, 1970. P. 111.

Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea.” Pride goeth before a fish. Lions have small hearts and little stamina.

Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea.

Pride goeth before a fish.

Lions have small hearts and little stamina.

 

Burton Weltman

 

School Days/School Daze: The wiseacre kid has a point.

A discussion of Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea is in progress in a class of high school sophomores.  The teacher is discoursing on the meaning of the novelette.  Most of the students are bored stiff, others are feverishly taking notes. This stuff may be on the test.  One kid is lounging in the back of the room with his hand raised.  The teacher is studiously ignoring him.

The Old Man and the Sea was first published in 1952.  Over the years, it has become a widely assigned book in middle and high school literature classes.  It is a famous book and won a Pulitzer Prize.  It was also cited when Hemingway won the Nobel Prize for literature shortly after its publication.  It is a short and easy read, and it is full of potentially interesting things to discuss.  Assigning the book is a way of connecting young adult readers with one of the great writers of the twentieth century without requiring too much effort from them.

The story is about the struggles of an old and impoverished fisherman from a small Cuban village.  It seemingly takes place in 1949, as the old man, who is an avid baseball fan, mentions that Joe DiMaggio, the great New York Yankee outfielder, is injured with bone spurs, and DiMaggio suffered that injury in 1949.  As the story opens, the old man has gone eighty-four days without catching a big fish and is being shunned by some of his neighbors as a purveyor of bad luck.  The old man has apparently been a loner for most of his life, but has taken on a young assistant in recent years to help him fish in his old age.  But now the parents of his assistant have banned the boy from fishing with him for fear the boy might catch the old man’s bad luck.

The book’s opening line is “He was an old man who fished alone,” thereby highlighting the old man’s isolation.  The old man’s name is Santiago but the third person narrator of the story consistently refers to him as “the old man,” which also highlights his alienation. The old man fishes in a skiff, a small boat with oars and a sail.  The boat can be handled by one person but the other fishermen in the book seem to go out in their skiffs in groups of two or three, as had the old man with his young assistant before his shunning.  The old man is on his own and is desperate.

In his desperation to catch a big fish, the old man decides to sail farther out from the coast than he and the other fishermen have ever gone.  After most of a day of frustration, he finally hooks a huge marlin but cannot bring in the fish all by himself.  The marlin, hooked but still game and very strong, drags the skiff farther and farther away from the coast, with the old man hanging on for dear life.  This goes on for three grueling days until the fish finally tires and the old man is able to kill it with a harpoon.  The marlin is bigger than the old man’s boat so he has to tie it to the side of the skiff, leaving the fish to float in the water as they sail back to the shore in tandem.

The old man sets sail for home with what he celebrates as a glorious prize that will make him a lot of money and very famous.  But, no sooner does he start for home than sharks begin to attack the fish.  The old man furiously fights and kills many of the sharks, but it takes him a day to get back to shore and the marlin is completely devoured by sharks before he can get it home.  He arrives with a huge fish skeleton attached to his boat, much to the marvel of the villagers, but with nothing to sell in the market.

In the course of landing the fish and then trying to bring it back home, the old man suffers enormously from the elements, lack of food and water, lack of sleep, and injuries he sustains while fighting first with the marlin and then with the sharks.  The book contains extremely detailed descriptions of the sailing and fishing methods and the skills of the old man.  Hemingway is adept at making a riveting and moving adventure story out of complicated technical information about sailing and fishing.

Hemingway is also able to describe well and with great empathy the suffering of the old man, whose mental and physical endurance are remarkable.  But the old man suffers lapses in both.  In the course of struggling to land the marlin, for example, the old man comes to regard the fish as simultaneously his brother and his nemesis, and he talks to the fish as though the fish is his companion.  He sporadically realizes that he is becoming delusional, but can’t stop himself.

When the old man finally reaches home, he goes almost straight to sleep.  And that is how the book ends, with the old man having a recurring dream about a group of lions he had apparently once seen on a beach in Africa when he was a young sailor working on commercial vessels.  The last line is “The Old Man was dreaming about lions.”  He loves those lions, and throughout the story he repeatedly thinks and dreams about them, and wonders “Why are they the main thing that is left?” in his memories of his life.[1]

The Old Man and the Sea tells a simple story, but that does not mean its interpretation should be simple.  Immediately upon its publication, however, the book was saddled by influential reviewers with a simplistic interpretation describing it as a paean to heroic individualism. In this view, the old man triumphs over a hostile natural and social environment, bagging his fish even though he cannot bring it home.  He is a winner in his solitary struggle for self-respect against nature and his fellow men. And the book holds his individualism up as a model for humanity.[2] This view has over the years become fixed as the conventional interpretation of the book.

A recent reviewer, for example, referring to the old man’s perseverance in fighting the marlin and the sharks, and to his reveries about lions, has characterized the old man as a dreamer.  “A world without dreamers would be a nightmare,” this reviewer claims, and concludes that the moral of the story for readers is to persevere in their dreams, no matter what the obstacles or what other people say.[3]

Another recent reviewer similarly sees the moral of the story as “Heroism is possible in even the most mundane circumstances.”  That is, even a lowly fisherman can be a hero and we, who are most likely mundane people, should take a lesson in heroism from the old man.[4]  Placing a seal of establishment approval on this conventional interpretation, the Encyclopedia Britannica describes the book as a “heroic novel” about man proving himself through “overcoming the challenges of nature.”  The encyclopedia concludes that the story illustrates “The ability of the human spirit to endure hardship and suffering in order to win.”[5]

The underlying theme of conventional interpretations of the book is that the old man is a winner in his struggles with the fish, his environment, his society, and himself, and he is extolled as a heroic model for us to emulate.  This interpretation is the gist of the teacher’s discourse to the class.  When the teacher finishes, the student in the back is finally recognized by the teacher and the kid proceeds to proclaim that in his opinion the old man was an idiot who ended up with nothing, which is what was coming to him.  The teacher coolly rejects the student’s claim, in a tone that suggests this is the sort of wiseacre comment one would expect from this kid.  But is the kid wrong?  I think not, and I think it matters.

Conventional Interpretations: Doing a disservice to our students.

I have two main objections to the conventional interpretation of The Old Man and the Sea.  The first is that it confounds the differences between individualism and individuality.  Individualism essentially consists of doing your own thing, of, by and for yourself, irrespective of any relation with others.  Individuality essentially consists of finding your own voice and place within a group, and to make your own individual contribution to the collective effort.  The conventional interpretation describes the moral of the story as promoting individualism, whereas I think it promotes individuality.

The second problem I have with the conventional interpretation is that it misconstrues the form of the book.  There are many ways in which literary works can be characterized and categorized.  One way, which dates back to Aristotle and the ancient Greeks, is to distinguish between melodramas, tragedies, and comedies.  Melodrama can be described as a story of good against bad, good guys against bad guys, for example, or a good person battling against hostile circumstances.

Tragedy can be defined as a story of too much of a good thing becoming bad.  Tragedy involves a character who pursues a too narrowly prescribed good too far until it turns on itself, becomes bad and precipitates disaster.  The character’s tragic flaw is pride and a lack of perspective, the failure to see things in a broader context beyond his own narrow vision.  Tragedy is a story of hubris versus humility, the failure of the tragic character to recognize his personal limits.

Comedy is generally defined as a story of wisdom versus folly, for example, wise people versus foolish people or a well-intentioned person doing something stupid.  A comedy need not be funny.  It is the stupidity of the fools that makes it comic.[6]

The lines between melodrama, tragedy, and comedy are not hard and fast, and the story forms overlap in many respects.  Each, for example, can contain elements of stupidity, conflict, violence, and pride, and each can have an unhappy ending.  Too much of one element can transform one story form into another.  Conventional interpretations describe The Old Man and the Sea as either a melodrama or a tragedy, or some combination of the two.  I think it is better read as a comedy.

Following the conventional interpretation, educational websites devoted to guiding students and teachers toward understanding the book all take the view that the story promotes individualism and takes the form of a melodrama, tragedy or combination of the two.  I think that this is a mistake and that it does a disservice to the story and to our students.

Typifying these academic helpmeets, the website Sparknotes.com describes the story in melodramatic terms as portraying “Heroism in struggle.”  According to this website, the novel describes a kill-or-be-killed world in which each man must heroically fight for his livelihood and life.  Pride may tragically lead a person to go too far, as it did when it led the old man to sail too far from shore, but pride is the “source of greatest determination” in men.  Without pride, men are losers.  The moral of the story, according to Sparknotes, is contained in a pep talk the old man gave to himself when he said that “Man is not made for defeat” and that a man may be “destroyed but not defeated.”  Sparknotes concludes that the story teaches us that men must follow their pride and never admit defeat.[7]

In a similar blog addressed to school teachers and students entitled “What lessons we can learn from The Old Man and the Sea,” the writer claims the moral of the story is that “Perseverance is a universal law.”  This blogger claims the book teaches us the virtues of individualism and going it alone.  Focusing on the shunning of the old man by the villagers, the blog concludes that the lesson of the book is that each of us must individually fight our own battles no matter whether or not other people support us.[8]  Study.com, another website for students and teachers, similarly claims that a combination of hope and pride may have led the old man to go too far in search of a fish, but the marlin symbolizes redemption for him even though he loses it.[9]

Many of these study guides for students and teachers focus on the old man’s preoccupation with lions.  They invariably claim that this preoccupation symbolizes the heroic perseverance and individualism that the old man exhibits.  Litcharts.com claims, for example, that the lions represent the “rejuvenation” of the old man and the return of his pride.  Pride may be a tragic flaw, the website acknowledges, but it is a virtue as well as a vice because it spurs the hero to action.  Symbolically, according to this website, “a group of lions is called a ‘pride.’”[10]

Shmoop.com, yet another website for persevering students, also claims that lions are persevering predators who symbolize the perseverance of the old man. The old man, this website insists, identifies with lions and they inspire his perseverance.[11]  Finally, enotes.com, whose author advertises himself as “a certified educator,” claims that the lions represent the old man’s vitality and “his victory over village prejudice.”  According to this educator, the lesson of the book for young students is to go their own ways no matter what others say.[12]

Echoing the conventional interpretation of the book, the common theme of all these educational websites is that the old man is a winner even though he ends up empty handed, seriously injured, and completely wiped out.  And the websites all claim that the book promotes the old man’s actions as a model of individualistic heroism for readers of the book.  I don’t agree.  I think these educators have misread the book and missed the boat and, speaking as a former teacher and former professor of education, I think they are doing a disservice to students.

Prides Foolish, Tragic, and Leonine: Getting things straight.

Pace the conventional interpretation, I agree with the wiseacre kid’s take on the book.  And I think his reaction reflects that of most students when they read it, which is that the old man is portrayed in the story as a fool.  It was my reaction when I first read the book some sixty years ago.  And I think the reaction of most people would be that the old man should not be fishing alone, should not have gone out as far from shore as he did, and should not have continued fighting the marlin and then the sharks, but should have cut loose the fish rather than fight him to the end and the sharks thereafter.  And, most significantly, the old man acknowledges all of this in the course of the book.

The old man repeatedly mourns that he does not have someone else with him in the boat. “I wish I had the boy,” he recites over and over.[13]  He frequently berates himself for having forgotten to bring some necessary piece of equipment. “You should have brought many things, he thought. But you did not bring them, old man.”[14]  He admits in the end that he has been defeated and is a loser.[15]  “They truly beat me,” he acknowledges.[16]  And he blames his disastrous loss on his own foolish pride.[17]  “You violated your luck when you went too far outside,” he complains to himself.[18]  So, the wise guy reaction is the old man’s own reaction, and the conventional interpreters and teachers have got him wrong.

I think the book is best described in literary terms as a comedy since even the old man denominates himself a fool.  That does not mean we are supposed to mock or reject the old man.  He is someone with whom we are intended to identify and empathize based on our own sometimes foolish pride and risky inclinations, but he is not someone whose behavior we should emulate or promote as a role model for young people.  Rather than a paean to individualism and individual heroism, the book is an argument against individualism and an argument in favor of cooperation.  And the old man’s fixation on lions supports this conclusion.

Contrary to the way lions are mistakenly described in conventional interpretations of the book, lions are widely known for hunting in groups rather than alone, and for lacking stamina and perseverance.  Lions are the only cats who live and hunt together in groups rather than individually.  And it’s a good thing for them that they do because they have small hearts and lack stamina.  They can run fifty miles per hour for a few hundred yards, but then they are finished and give up.  If a gazelle gets a head start on a lion, it is home free.  If lions didn’t help each other with hunting, by surrounding an animal so that it can’t get away, they would starve.

These are facts of leonine life that a big game hunter like Hemingway would surely have known, and these facts completely undermine the conventional interpretation of the lions in the book.  It is also the case that a “pride” is a group of female lions, and it is the females who generally do the hunting for the larger group of male and female lions.  A group of male lions is called a “coalition.”  Using the word “pride” to characterize the old man is, therefore, not, as conventional interpretations claim, a macho masculine reference to male lions.  In any case, the old man thinks and dreams of groups of lions who are playing together, not solitary individual lions.  His preoccupation with lions seems, therefore, to be a dream in favor of collective life, not individualism.

The conventional interpretation also misreads the book in describing the story as a struggle of man against nature as though nature is the enemy of man and the old man must wage war against nature.  But neither the narrator in the book nor the old man describes things in those terms.  The old man and his fellow fishermen are, instead, portrayed as links in the natural chain, in the circle of life as it is popularly described in the musical “The Lion King.”  Nature is the fishermen’s element, not their enemy.[19]  When some of his neighbors shun the old man, they are essentially saying that he is a weak link in the chain and they don’t want him to break it for them altogether.  They still care about him and take care of him, but they need to protect the community.

It is the old man who declares war against nature, not vice versa.  When he decides to sail farther out than he naturally would, and then battles a fish and a pack of sharks that are too much for him, the old man undertakes an unnatural act.  It is a proudful act that takes him out of the natural chain of things, as he later admits.  In the natural chain, big fish catch and eat little fish, and people catch and eat big fish.  That is in the nature of things.  It is a struggle, but an ordinary course of business.  The old man declared war on nature where none naturally existed.

The old man compounds this misstep by anthropomorphizing the marlin and characterizing their struggle as a battle of egos and wills.  Speaking of the marlin, he says “I will show him what a man can do and what a man can endure.”[20] The old man treats the fish as though it is a self-conscious competitor, like Ahab chasing after Moby Dick, rather than merely a fish looking to eat other fish and survive.  Speaking to the fish, the old man says “Fish, he said, I love and respect you very much.  But I will kill you dead before the day ends.”[21]  Commenting on the unnatural implications of this statement, one reviewer has asked “Is killing what you love a tenable position?”[22]   In his foolish pride, the old man has left even his human nature behind.

Another crucial mistake that conventional interpreters make is to take things the old man says in the midst of his difficulties as being the old man’s and the book’s final conclusions about things.  When the old man says that a man can never be defeated and other proudful things in the course of his struggles, he is trying to egg himself on to keep up the fight.  And it works.  He fights his way through to the end of his Quixotic voyage, exhibiting a perseverance no lion could.

But then the old man reflects further on what he is doing and has done, and he comes to conclusions opposite to what he was saying before.  Finally, he collapses and dreams of lions playing on the beach.  Not a heroic ending and not a self-styled hero.  Just a fisherman who foolishly got carried away with himself and with a fish.  And in his last conversations with the boy before he nods off to sleep, he says that he is never going to do anything so foolish again.

The Moral of the Story and the Story of the Story.

I think the moral of the story of The Old Man and the Sea consists of a plea for cooperation, pragmatism and humility. The old man’s redemption is not in catching the fish as some conventional interpreters hold but in ultimately recognizing that he is a person who needs people, as the popular song goes.  Not individualism but collectivism, and not pride but humility, is the moral.  “I missed you,” the old man admits to the boy just before he falls asleep at the end.[23]

This moral is consistent with other of Hemingway’s writings, such as his most famous book For Whom the Bell Tolls. That book takes its title and its main theme from a poem by John Donne that asserts “no man is an island,” that all people are interconnected, and that one person’s life is everyone’s life, one person’s death everyone’s death.  Hemingway is known for his macho heroes but like Robert Jordan, the hero of For Whom the Bell Tolls, they generally fight for the common good alongside common people.  The old man learns this lesson in the book.

So, how could it be that The Old Man and the Sea has been so widely misinterpreted for so long?  And how can it be that teachers routinely override a critical reading of the book by students so as to make studying the book an indoctrination in an individualistic ideology that the story doesn’t support?  I think the original misinterpretation was a product of the times in which the book was first published, and it was then carried forward by intellectual and educational inertia.

The book was published in 1952, shortly after the United States had come out of the fight against totalitarian Nazism and fascism in World War II, and when the country was engaged in a burgeoning Cold War against the collectivist Soviet Union and Red Scare against domestic Communists.  Fears of totalitarian collectivism and mindless conformity were widespread on both the anti-socialist political right and the anti-Communist political left.  Concerns that the United States was becoming a mass society in which politicians, corporations and the mass media were promoting mind control and mediocrity for political and commercial ends pervaded the political spectrum.

These concerns were typified by the popularity among conservatives of Ayn Rand’s book (1943) and movie (1949) Fountainhead which extolled individualism and excoriated collectivism.  Among liberals, The Lonely Crowd (1951) by David Reisman and others was a widely praised sociological study of conformity, focusing on the transition of Americans from being “inner-directed” by their consciences to being “other-directed” by the need to conform.  Among socialists, The Authoritarian Personality (1950) by Theodor Adorno and others was a highly regarded sociological study of the susceptibility of people, and Americans in particular, to demagogues and dictators.  On all sides of the literary political spectrum, intellectuals were looking to save the individual from being swallowed up in a mass society.

Bur there are significant political differences between individualism and individuality.  Individuality is a pro-social attitude promoted by most liberals and socialists.  Society for them is a caring community in the nature of a family.  Individualism is an anti-social attitude promoted by most conservatives.  Society for them is just a collection of individuals who are connected mainly by contracts. What happened with the interpretation of The Old Man and the Sea is just a small example of what happened to American culture during the Cold War.  Conservatives grabbed the upper hand and individualism became pervasive throughout the culture.

The conventional interpretation of The Old Man and the Sea feeds into an anti-social conservative attitude which is not supported by the book.  When he wrote the book, Hemingway was still a man of the 1930’s for whom the individual should operate within a cooperative context.  He was still the author of For Whom the Bell Tolls.  And that, I think, is what The Old Man and the Sea is about.  “No man is an island” would be a fitting epigram for the book.  Hemingway was promoting individuality in the book, not individualism.

Although the Cold War is long over, much of its cultural legacy lingers and this has consequences, as I think we see in the political and social conflicts occurring in the United States today. It is, therefore, long overdue to set the record straight about The Old Man and the Sea.  It is about individuality, not individualism.  The old man learns in the course of the book that he can be an individual without becoming an isolated individualist, and that he is part of a caring community.  After he gets back from his multi-day ordeal, the old man asks the boy “Did they search for me,” as though he thought the community might not care if he was lost.  The boy replies “Of course.  With coast guard and with planes.”  The old man seems gratified.  He is a part of a community and the community cares about him.  This communalism in the story is generally lost in the conventional interpretation which itself gets lost in individualism.

As teachers, we need to promote the individuality of our students.  They have to be able to think for themselves so as to better understand what is going on around them and, most important, recognize whom they can trust.  We now live in an age of “fake news” in which the mass media, and especially the all-pervasive internet, are filled with false stories and false interpretations of anything and everything.  The President of the United States has himself become our liar-in-chief and, amazingly, we cannot take as reliable truth a thing that the highest official in our country says.  So, whom can we trust and how do we know we can trust them?

It has, therefore, become more important than ever for young people to learn how to think critically and not merely accept what someone tells them, not even their teachers.  That is, I think, the moral of the moral of the story of The Old Man and the Sea.

BW 12/14/18

[1] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. pp.20, 41, 48, 72.

[2] Robert Gorham Davis. “Books: Hemmingway’s Tragic Fisherman.” Archives.NYTimes.com 9/7/52.

[3] Russell Cunningham. “Books to give you hope: The Old Man and the Sea.” theguardian.com 8/24/16.

[4] James Topham. “The Old Man and the Sea, Review.” thought.com  3/17/18.

[5] Encyclopedia Britannica. The Old Man and the Sea.” EncyclopediaBritannica.com 11/23/18.

[6] Aristotle. Poetics. New York: Hill & Wang, 1961. pp.59, 61, 81-86. Kenneth Burke. Attitudes Toward History. Boston: Beacon Press. 1961. pp 37, 39, 41. Paul Goodman. The Structure of Literature. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.1954. pp.35, 82-100, 172.

[7]The Old Man and the Sea.” Sparknotes.com  11/23/18.

[8] Matt Reimann. “What lessons we can learn from The Old Man and the Sea.” Blog.booktellyouwhy.com 10/1/15.

[9] Joe Ricker. “Symbolism of the marlin in The Old Man and the Sea.” Study.com Retrieved 12/7/18.

[10]The Old Man and the Sea: Symbol Analysis.” litcharts.com  Accessed 12/7/18.

[11]The Old Man and the Sea: The Lions.” Shmoop.com  11/23/18.

[12] Belarfon. “What significance do the lions on the beach have in The Old Man and the Sea?” enotes.com/homework-help.

[13] Ernest Hemingway. The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. pp.30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 39, 49.

[14] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.65.

[15] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.69.

[16] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.71.

[17] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.62.

[18] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.68.

[19] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. pp.22, 27.

[20] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.41.

[21] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.34.

[22] Mary Eisenhart. “Book Review: The Old Man and the Sea.” commonsensemedia.org

[23] Ernest Hemingway.  The Old Man and the Sea. New York: Scribner Classics, 1952. p.72.