Tim Doherty History and the
American Renaissance I seriously considered majoring in History before
deciding to pursue Literature. So when historical events left their impression
on American Romanticism, I got excited. As it turns out, much of that history is
disturbing. It is no wonder to me that Gothicism and darkness became so
representative of Romanticism. Dark times darken the arts. From slave narratives
to the Great Emancipator to the founding fathers, history defined the American
Renaissance. Despite a lifelong interest in
history, the setting of Frederick Douglass’s narrative in Maryland rattled me.
Maryland did not appear in my mental list of
Southern states. However, slavery was
legal in the state until 1864 despite Maryland’s reluctance to secede. Lincoln
needed border states like Maryland and Delaware to remain in the Union no matter
the cost.[1]
This was the first of several history lessons I learned reading Douglass’s
first-hand account of slavery before reading another eye-opening slave
narrative. Harriet Jacobs’s story exposed the dark, sexual dynamics
and genealogical blasphemy of American slavery. A moment stands out in my memory
from Incidents in the Life of a Slave
Girl as the brutal keystone of the tale: “I once saw two beautiful children playing
together. One was a fair white child; the other was her slave, and also her
sister. When I saw them embracing each other, and heard their joyous laughter, I
turned sadly away from the lovely sight. I saw the inevitable blight that would
fall on the little slave’s heart. I knew how soon her laughter would be changed
to sighs. The fair child grew up to a be a still fairer woman. From childhood to
womanhood her pathway was blooming with flowers, and overarched by a sunny sky…
…How had those years dealt with her slave sister, the little playmate of her
childhood? She, also, was very beautiful; but the flowers and sunshine of love
were not for her. She drank the cup of sin, and shame, and misery, whereof her
persecuted race are compelled to drink.” These two paragraphs perfectly exemplify Romantic themes
of good and evil, light and dark, innocence and sin. As soon as that first
sentence ends, two stories diverge. One story is the fairy tale of little white
girls’ dreams, the other the nightmare of little slave girls’ waking reality.
Jacobs’s voice may be the most important in the course for the multiple layers
of oppression through which it had to rise to be heard and the crucible through
which Jacobs fought to tell her tale. History classes tend to tell aggregated
stories, devaluing the personal anecdote to paint the broad strokes in the time
allotted. Maybe that should change. Maybe some history needs to be personal. History is populated by characters large and small. The
character of Abraham Lincoln I’ve got in my mind is a century and a half old.
How did stories of Honest Abe begin? And how accurate are they? Nathaniel
Hawthorne’s description of Abraham Lincoln is fascinating to read. There is a
boyish enthusiasm in his writing that helps to illustrate how Lincoln was seen
by a certain segment of society. And you begin to realize, as you read it, that
Hawthorne, in these few paragraphs, is not reinforcing the Lincoln mythos. He is
creating it. Did a Romanticized version of Lincoln, written by the
writers of the Romantic era, become the historical reality? Or was Lincoln
really that amazing? How many of our nation’s formative figureheads are
remembered as cartoons? Romanticism certainly exists outside the chronological
confines of this course, especially in politics. One wonders whether Thomas Jefferson foresaw a day when
“all men” could literally mean all men, regardless of the man’s color. Thomas
Jefferson died a slave owner. But if you ignore the biography of the man and
simply appreciate the wording of the Declaration of Independence, a prophetic
quality of foresight seems evident. This document might have been based in the
Enlightenment philosophy of Locke, but it might also be the founding document of
the American Renaissance. Evident in the gothic and the transcendental, we begin
to wonder, as a nation, if we can be better. Why did it take nearly a hundred years for a country
founded on the idea of freedom to officially outlaw slavery? Why did it take
another hundred years for those freed African Americans to be granted basic
civil rights under the laws of that nation? Historical literacy leads to dark
revelations. The burden of angry questions with no easy answer is a side-effect
of learning about the past. Those of us who choose to study literature cannot
help but learn about the past and, hopefully, help our communities avoid the
repetition of past mistakes.
[1] Miranda
S. Spivack, “The not-quite-Free State,”
Washington Post, September
13, 2013.
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