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Here is another nice visualization of American politics in antebellum America – I especially like how this one shows increases in political participation through voting.
Enjoy!
I definitely liked Patrick Wolfe’s topic on “Settler colonialism and the elimination of the native”. He enters academic debate very well in his article, and I think I agree with him after reading the article. Although almost all of the native peoples ended up dying because of European colonization, they Europeans did not actively practice killing the race (in a loosely used form of the word), so they did not practice genocide. He brought in outside examples to explain the difference between genocide, and taking land.
I definitely liked his conjecture of land being life, and how the settlers were taking land, and the byproduct of taking land was taking the lives of the Natives. He even explains how the views of the Europeans towards the American Indians included a nomadic, landless view of the native peoples. Therefore, they did not have a homeland, and if they did not have a homeland, the land was not theirs to be taken from. Although the native peoples actually did have a homeland, the interpretation of the settlers was different from that which was actually accurate, so their mindset did not actually involve killing people in order to take their land; it involved moving people from one place to another (worst case scenario being by force), so that they could settle the land and start the process of modernity. The settlers were killing the natives so passively, that, in the minds of the settlers, they were only taking land that no one owned and not taking lives of the native peoples.
Sherwood Callaway
HIS 141, Blog post 5
In response to this week’s readings, one of my classmates wrote:
“While I certainly agree that the tension between the nation’s founding principles and the oppression of slavery contributed to masters’ desire to see their actions as a form of paternalism rather than overt oppression, I don’t believe slave owners had any interest in acquiring the affection of their slaves.”
http://sites.davidson.edu/his141/author/alkarout/
I understand this perspective; it is hard to imagine a way in which “benevolence” can be associated with such a horrendous institution. Southern plantation society seems completely consumed by capitalist gain and self-interest— lacking a sense of morality, and malevolent— especially from a modern perspective. This conclusion is accurate, but not entire.
Consider this angle. We often conclude that northerners were more morally inclined than southerners because of they held more progressive positions on the institution of slavery. But the northern colonies also participated in slavery— the difference being that they maintained a “society with slaves”, rather than a “slave society.” I would argue that the north was independent of slavery only out of convenience. If the institution had been more useful for shipbuilding, fishing or commercial activity, I’m sure it would have had greater influence in those spheres. After all, it is reasonable to assume that southerners sought the same thing as northerners: monetary gain. The prevalence of slavery in a particular region seems to have depended solely upon its potential to produce in said region.
The issue of racism in the south, however, is less excusable. We learned from studying the Chesapeake colonies that racism was not necessarily a reason for slavery, but rather a byproduct. White solidarity developed out anxiety and fear—the anxiety of being a minority, and the fear of a deadly slave revolt. But over time, white solidarity developed into an aggressive, indiscriminate defense mechanism. This trajectory— from prolonged fear to aggression— is strikingly similar to colonial perspectives of natives during the 17th century.
(On a more general note, I think that the innumerable dangers of the “new world” explain the colonists’ aggressive behavior. They seemed to be constantly on edge!)
Ultimately, racism became malevolent, andcontributed to sustaining the institution of slavery. But this isn’t the complete story. Because of their spread-out communities, southerners enjoyed plenty of freedom from both the law and their peers. Their sense of personal liberty was second only to the frontiers peoples’. Also, they were English protestants. They held “good” Christian values, and wanted to save souls by spreading the faith. Southerners likely struggled to marry these ideological and religious beliefs to the institution of slavery. In some capacity, I feel sorry for plantation owners, because they absolutely needed slave labor to compete economically, but the institution was incompatible with their beliefs. Sustaining their livelihoods meant burdening an ideological and religious conundrum.
This is where I return to my classmate’s post. I would argue that “paternal benevolence” likely existed as an attempt to reconcile notions of freedom and Christian kindness with the institution of slavery.
In sum: slavery was perpetuated by commercial interests and malevolent racism, but slave owners were not necessarily without benevolence.
Our readings for Tuesday address the features of slavery in the South as well as the politics of slavery in the West. And though on both fronts the so-called ‘peculiar institution’ faced different threats, from Federalists and Republic ‘Restrictionists’ politically and from non-slaveholding whites and dissident slaves domestically, the responses of slavery’s supporters to each threat shared a noteworthy similarity: by appealing to established convictions—either political, religious, or philosophical—leaders of the pro-slavery minority established solidarity along political, social, and racial lines.
On the political front, the assault on slavery by humanitarian Federalists and ‘Restrictionist’ Republicans evolved into a Constitutional debate with the admission of Missouri into the Union. For the pro-slavery Southern Democrats, this marked a crucial juncture for the protection and expansion of the institution which had experienced an unprecedented renaissance during the highly lucrative cotton boom of the 1790’s and early 19th century. Not only would the admission of Missouri as a slave state establish a pivotal four vote majority for the pro-slavery coalition in the Senate, but it would also ensure the expansion of slavery into the West, since, as Wilentz noted, “southerners worried that if slavery were banned in Missouri there would be precedent for doing so in all the states” (117). Characterized by intense factionalism on both sides, the debate over Missouri’s slave status echoed that of the Federalists and Anti-federalists just decades before. Insisting that the preservation of individual rights superseded that of the states’, Restrictionist Republicans argued for the Congressional power to restrict slavery in newly admitted states. Conversely, pro-slavery Southerners recalled the arguments of the Anti-federalists and Old Republicans, asserting state sovereignty and federal limitations. Missouri, they insisted, must decide the slavery question for themselves. Embroiled in the age-old debate of states’ rights and divided along regional lines, each faction became increasingly polarized and radicalized. In the South, “sectional bitterness spiked” along with “southerner’s militancy over slavery” (Wilentz 121). And in the fallout after the Missouri Compromise, bitter southerners made themselves known. Of those senators who voted against Senator Thomas’ clause, 2/3 were re-elected, a tremendous victory compared to the only 2/5 of Compromise’s supporters who earned reelection (123). By appealing to well-established Anti-federalist doctrines, pro-slavery Republicans ensured victory as well as political and regional solidarity.
On the domestic front, however, slavery faced much different opponents. Though outspokenly pro-slavery in the Senate, southerners themselves were not all slave-holders. In the antebellum South, “72 percent [of slaveholders] owned fewer than ten [slaves]” (Davis 198). In fact, the “typical” white Southerner at the time was a struggling small farmer, not a slaveholding great planter (185). Such a great number of non-slaveholders threatened the cohesion of the Southern slave society and plantation owner elites. In the Upper South, anti-slavery sentiment was on the rise, and in 1832, the Virginia unprecedentedly supported the notion that slavery was ‘ruinous to whites’ (185). Thus, “Southern slavocracy” entered a bitter battle with the threat of an alliance between non-slaveholding whites and dissenting slaves (185). But in the process, they treated each group similarly. To the enslaved, Southern elites adopted the practice of “Paternalism,” whereby slaveholders earned both the love and fear of their slaves by tempering their violent threats and abuses with acts of kindness and generosity, such as monetary bonuses and Christmas vacations (194, 196). To non-slaveholding whites, pro-slavery elites employed a strategy similar to that of paternalism, instilling a racist fear of freedom for slaves and a love of class cohesion for whites. By appealing to the long-established Aristotelean defense of slavery and the Biblical “Curse of Ham,” pro-slavery intellectuals, such as James Henry Hammond, fostered the notion of white supremacy in an effort to “command the loyalty of non-slaveholding whites” (192). Accordingly, African slaves were of a “inferior race. . . [that] will never effect . . . in any other condition as in that of Slavery” (189). In addition to the reinvigorated racism of the South, however, slavocracy had the two-fold effect of dissolving class differences amongst whites. Influenced by the disparity of liberty and equality between themselves and enslaved Africans, poor Southern whites could “take pride in their skin color and feel equal to the wealthiest and most powerful whites” (177). Thus, as in paternalism, pro-slavery elites exploited their subordinates—this time an increasing number of non-slaveholding farmer—by instilling both a fear of Africans through racism and and a love of white solidarity through class cohesion.
In her blog this week entitled “Not-So-Benevolent Paternalism,” Alia Karout stated “personally, I am not convinced that nineteenth century figures are above criticism for their faulty morality” (http://sites.davidson.edu/his141/not-so-benevolent-paternalism/). Though she conceded that perhaps Southerner’s “lack of humanity” could be attributed to “their misguided systems of belief,” I would encourage her to consider the typical Southerner of the antebellum South, the small, struggling farmer. Consider their exploitation by Southern politicians to endorse slavery for the sake of states’ rights, by Southern intellectuals to embrace white supremacy for the sake of ancient truths and Biblical legends, and by Southern elites to ignore class disparity for the sake of their liberty and equality. Can we not sympathize with white Southerners? Were they the victims of “misguided systems of belief” or the exploitative Southern elite?
For the first time, I was not bored while reading about how we made our government (which is arguably the most important time in American History). Willentz does an excellent job of making politics more appealing. I don’t entirely agree with his portrayal of Adams, though. He illustrates that he “believed that political leadership should come from America’s aristocracy” (Willentz 32), but he fails to stress the importance of how Adams believed that he was doing what was best for the country. Although his views were not egalitarian, he did have a heart for the good of the country. I love Willentz’s explanation of the person of Jefferson. He iterates that although Jefferson made decisions that increased federal power, he always made decisions based on the good for his people, down to creating a national symbol of the mastodon for the American people. Who wouldn’t double the size of their country at 3 cents an acre? I do agree with Willentz when he argues about the importance of the War of 1812; for the first time, the new country garnered international respect. I also like his characterization of the wild Andrew Jackson, a very emotionally motivated man.
Environment also played a huge role on early American History. Willentz alludes to its importance on politics when describing the Federalists’ fear that the Democratic-Republicans would make an innumerable amount of rural states composed of citizens more likely to support the Democratic-Republican platform. Turner explains many different facets of the importance of the frontier and American history. Not only did the frontier shape early American politics, but, as AJ pointed out, Americans were able to create a new identity through expansion. The increased national identity was even helped by the gradual changed of state-federal relations over time. “In 1789 the States were the creators of the Federal Government; in 1861 the Federal Government was the creator of a large majority of the States” (Mr. Lamar, quoted by Turner). Although American land was expanding rapidly, the national identity became more cohesive even though the distances between American citizens became greater and greater. Expansion also helped lead to the Civil War, which further increased the number of American citizens via the 14th Amendment.
Our readings this week address the evolution of the early American Republic and, in doing so, suggest a seemingly unified American spirit, described by Semonin as the nation’s “conquering spirit” (2) and by Turner as it’s “consolidated nationality.” Though one could point to the Americanization of the West, with its ever-advancing lines of demarcation, or the rise of Moderate Republicanism, with Jefferson’s unifying inauguration speech or the promise of young nationalists Clay and Calhoun, as indicative of this unified spirit of the age, I think the Mastodon—the gentle giant cast as a “tyrant of the forests”—best exemplifies the real state of the American character at the time (Semonin 4). Simply put, despite the initial successes in the West by the Louisiana Purchase and in Washington by the Jefferson presidency, the United States suffered a serious identity crisis, particularly during in the War of 1812.
Though by the end of the war the US “commanded international respect,” American victory didn’t come without serious threats on the home front (Wilentz 88). Naval victories by the USS President and ‘Old Ironsides’ might have invigorated Americans with confidence, but that confidence seems more like hubris when one considers the embarrassing defeat at Detroit in August 18012 or the psychological trauma of the new capitol’s destruction in July 1814. Equipped with a meager regular army and disorganized state militias, Madison and the US appeared to be biting off more than they could chew by confronting the real imperial powerhouse of Britain. The initial strategy of invading Canada seems ambitious at best considering the United States’ military disorganization. Even more, amidst the perils of war at home, the Union faced serious internal threats both before and during the war. Exploiting disgruntled and disorganized American military officers, then-Vice President Aaron Burr conspired to establish a new, seceded nation comprised of the western states and territories in the build-up to the war with Britain. And later in 1814, a dissatisfied and decidedly Federalist New England convened at Hartford, CT to propose seven “nonnegotiable” amendments as a restitution for its wartime grievances (82). Were it not for the remarkable success of the well-outnumbered US navy or the unlikely victories of Andrew Jackson in Louisiana, the young republic might not have survived its first, real international conflict.
Considering the many crises, both military and political, faced by the United States, the Mastodon seems a fitting symbol of the American spirit at the time. Sylvia Strauss notes in her blog this week that “having a fierce symbol, like the mastodon, gave Americans [an] idea . . . . [which] transferred to western expansion, where Americans felt it was their calling to gain more land and power” (http://sites.davidson.edu/his141/the-beginnings-of-western-expansion/). I agree. I also, however, think that symbolically the mastodon not only motivated, but reflected the events of the time. Influenced by the same “conquering spirit” of the American frontier, the United States challenged a daunting European empire and received a much-needed reality check (Semonin 2). Though the initial successes of the Jefferson presidency, Westward expansion, and a new, revolutionary republic might have led Americans to believe they were a ferocious carnivore ready to rival the “British lion” or its European counterparts, they were in fact no more than an eleven-foot-tall, prehistoric herbivore—imposing and noteworthy, but certainly no “tyrant [in] the forests” of international politics (Semonin 4).
We spent last Thursday’s class discussing the imperial wars in North America and how—in many ways—the French, British, and Spanish colonies functioned as a microcosm of the imperial conflicts in Europe. I think we see some continuities of this theme in our latest reading.
In Chapter 19, Taylor directs our focus westward to the Pacific, detailing the Russsian and Spanish colonization efforts along the west coast of North America. Eager to reap the commercial rewards of colonization, Russian explorers ventured east through Siberia into present-day Alaska; meanwhile, their Spanish counterparts crept northwest from Mexico into Alta California. Though separated by thousands of miles, the Pacific colonies shared some interesting similarities with those of the British and Spanish in the East. Taylor notes that in their treatment of the Siberians—and later the Aleut—Russian promyshlenniki resembled the Spanish conquistadors, intimidating Native peoples into hunting furs later to be traded with Chinese and Russian merchants (447). I, however, found even more striking similarities in Taylor’s description of the Spanish missions in Alta California that I’d like to share:
Though there were certainly many continuities in the colonies from the Atlantic to the Pacific, I found the most interesting example in the European motivation to colonize. In his blog last week, A.J. described how North America served as the stage for European power struggles (http://sites.davidson.edu/his141/old-world-competition-comes-to-the-new-world/). As he aptly noted, “now battles would take place on New World land which would greatly affect the people living there.” I think the same occurred on the Pacific coast. This war, however, was much unlike the war to the East, where geopolitical struggles culminated in numerous violent conflicts. Rather than engaging in a violent conflict, the Russia and Spain entered a cold war. Though Russian colonial efforts in Alaska remained small and insignificant—only 400 settlers by 1800—in the scheme of geopolitics, the Spanish saw them as a threat to Spanish supremacy in America (454). Paranoid that Russia settlers or British fur-traders might assume control of the resource-rich North American West, Spanish ordered the colonization of Alta California, a project rife with economic, domestic, and environmental trouble. Though they never engaged in full-scale war, the colony of Alta California was born out of imperial paranoia and geopolitical conflict. Indeed, the Spain and Russia did engage in a political struggle for power in North America, characterized by unwarranted fear. So, one could say that Spain and Russia engaged in a cold war in the Pacific.
The more I study the Witch Trials of the 17th century, the more questions I have about the cause and effect of the trials themselves. Many different aspects of the culture could have easily affected the witch hunts, including, the religious, social, and political life of the colonial town. Although I think that there were social factors in the trials, (http://sites.davidson.edu/his141/witchcraft-and-religion-in-the-colonies/) I think that the religious aspect had the greatest effect on the trials. Religious motivation led to susceptibility of finding guilt in the accused, and this caused more accusations against anyone who opposed the accuser. I like that the essays use links to credit their sources, but I feel like links affected the writers by not explaining their sources as much as they would have in a print essay. When Norton alluded to the study of Ergot and its possible effects on the health condition on the ‘afflicted’, I wish she would have explained the validity of the evidence in the study, rather than leaving the reader to find out for his or herself.
For the most part, I think that Taylor’s analysis of the Great Awakening is very subjective. I wish he would have talked about Edwards more, but that’s little more than an opinion. I think that Edwards had great impact on the awakening, and therefore deserved a little more attention. I did not know that the Great Awakening had a much greater effect in the northern and middle colonies, and did not greatly affect the southern colonies. I like and agree with Taylor’s analysis of the Old Light versus the New Light and the beginnings of Christian Rationalism, but I definitely think that he could have talked about the genesis of Christian Rationalism in greater depth. I ultimately agree with his main argument that the Great Awakening created a desire throughout the colonies for the religious groups to “transcend the world” (362), which grew the idea of differentiation from the British.
Sherwood Callaway
HIS 141, Blog Post 4
In the colonies, the advent of evangelical Christendom can be plausibly linked to heightened paranoia regarding witches on the grounds of their common “experimental” nature.
Taylor juxtaposes evangelicalism with its conservative counterpart, rationalism. He describes the former as “cultivating a spontaneous, direct, and individual religious experience” (343). Plainly, evangelicalism embraced superstition to an almost unprecedented level, arguably rivaling the mystic spirituality of Medieval Christendom. Furthermore, evangelical Christians were extremely emotionally invested in their worship. Rationalism, on the other hand, “held that God created the natural universe and thereafter never interfered with its laws” (344). Rationalists “found guidance” in understanding the methods of science and order (344). They condemned evangelicals as “enthusiastic,” or fanatical—and not entirely without fair reason.
I have little evidence to support the following claim, but I found the prospect much too intriguing to ignore: Could the “experimental” nature of evangelicalism have contributed to the rationalization of witchcraft in colonial New England? I believe so.
Consider a few hard facts:
1) Evangelicalism emerged most prominently in the Congregational communities of New England. For example, the evangelical George Whitefield had little success in the southern colonies, “because most Anglicans distrusted his emotional preaching and ecumenical support… [and the south] also lacked the dense settlement and many printing presses” (348). In New England, however, these essential elements were present, and he achieved much larger audiences.
2) Norton writes in her essay Witchcraft in the Anglo-American Colonies that “the vast majority of known witchcraft cases arose in Massachusetts or Connecticut or developed among Puritan New Englanders.” Furthermore, to extend my tentative comparison of evangelicalism and medieval Christendom, she explains: “only New Englanders established the sorts of small, relatively self-contained communities that in Europe tended to generate witchcraft charges.” Norton suggests that these communities facilitated interaction between neighbors, which facilitated conflict between neighbors, which—when coupled with the unpredictable hardships of colonial life, and a pre-enlightenment worldview—likely escalated into accusations. Quite frankly, the farming societies in the Chesapeake and the Carolinas were not as conducive.
So it is clear that New England was more evangelical, and also more prone to witchcraft charges. But the question remains: was this relationship a correlation or causation? A partial causation, I would bet—contribution is probably a better word.
I’m interested to hear the perspectives of my fellow students on the issue.
Although the pilot for Sleepy Hollow entertained me, it was, as Dr. Shrout puts it, “woefully inaccurate”. The only correct reference to The Legend of Sleepy Hollow is Ichabod Crane’s name. He never marries Katrina. Also, the Headless Horseman is not one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, and the Catholic Priest would look at the apocalypse with anticipation, rather than dread. Also, the fact that the Horseman is not a man makes his character a misnomer. I could continue about non-historical inaccuracies, but I won’t.
From a historical perspective, the episode is wrong about many historical aspects of the Salem Witch Trials. First of all, they occurred in the 17th century, not the 18th century. If the writers worried about being historically accurate, they would have changed this aspect. After seeing the first episode, I don’t see how vital the time period would have been to the story, but the time period of Ichabod Crane’s origins and his wife’s trial could become more important later on in the show. Also, at the time of the Salem Witch Trials, the Church was the organization prosecuting all of the supposed witches, but in the story, Kristina and the priest are on the same side. The story would fall apart if it were historically accurate.
Luckily, I can still look at entertainment in the historical fiction genre as entertaining even when it is inaccurate. I do, however, appreciate these narratives much more when they are historically accurate. Accuracy gives a greater sense of reality in the situation, where as inaccuracy seems to take these stories out of the historical fiction genre and put them into the fantasy genre.