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Home , Cosmopolitanism, Fernando Sorrentino, Jorge Luis Borges, Michael Emerson, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Waldo (bivalve)

RALPH EMERSON AND :

HARBINGERS OF

by

Elizabeth Joy Gillespie

A Dissertation Submitted to the Faculty of

The Dorothy F. Schmidt College of Arts and Letters

In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

Florida Atlantic University

Boca Raton, FL

May 2019

Copyright 2019 by Elizabeth J. Gillespie

ii AND JORGE LUIS BORGES:

HARBINGERS OF

by

Elizabeth Joy Gillespie

This dissertation was prepared under the direction of the candidate's dissertation advisor, Dr. Nancy Kason Poulson, Department of Languages, Linguistics, and Comparative Literature, and has been approved by the members of her supervisory committee. It was submitted to the faculty of the Dorothy F. Schmidt College of Arts and Letters and was accepted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

SUPERVISORY COM~EE: ~o/~h} (//~~ Nancy Kaso oulson, Ph.D.

Ada or .

,.. ~ ~'Y-L: ~~ Michael J. HorsWeii;Ph.D.

' h.. ~~1ve Studies /d: Michael J. ~ell, Ph.D. Dean, Dorothy F. Schmidt College of Arts and Letters Ar;(i\ ,s, 2019 Khaled Sobhan, Ph.D. Date Interim Dean, Graduate College

iii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to acknowledge my committee for their support and guidance throughout the dissertation process, and I am especially grateful to my advisor,

Dr. Poulson, for her consistent encouragement.

iv

ABSTRACT

Author: Elizabeth J. Gillespie

Title: Ralph Waldo Emerson and Jorge Luis Borges: Harbingers of Human Rights

Institution: Florida Atlantic University

Dissertation Advisor: Dr. Nancy Kason Poulson

Degree: Doctor of Philosophy

Year: 2019

This dissertation comparatively analyzes the works of Ralph Waldo

Emerson, a nineteenth-century American, and Jorge Luis Borges, a twentieth- century Argentinian, within the context of human rights. Through their writings, both Emerson and Borges provided a voice to the voiceless by addressing the most egregious violations of human rights during their respective days: For

Emerson, the most virulent social ill was ; for Borges, it was .

While Emerson and Borges differ in several ways, they are remarkably similar in their emphasis of natural laws and natural rights, notably and , which underpin humanity and comprise an integral aspect of civilization.

By counteracting the antithesis of civilization, barbarism, the works of Emerson and Borges ultimately embody the tenets that would ultimately constitute The

Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Thus, Emerson and Borges are indelibly linked through serving as harbingers of human rights.

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DEDICATION

This dissertation is dedicated to God, for giving me life; family, for giving me love; and , for giving me .

RALPH WALDO EMERSON AND JORGE LUIS BORGES: HARBINGERS OF

HUMAN RIGHTS

INTRODUCTION ...... 1

CHAPTER 1: EMERSON’S GENERAL FOUNDATION FOR SOCIAL

REFORM ...... 37

CHAPTER 2: EMERSON’S SPECIFIC FRAMEWORK FOR ABOLITION ...... 82

CHAPTER 3: BORGES’S INCISIVE COMMENTARIES ON AND

PERONISM ...... 158

CHAPTER 4: BORGES’S ETERNAL PREOCCUPATION WITH FUTURE

CIVILIZATION ...... 191

CHAPTER 5: EMERSON AND BORGES—HARBINGERS OF HUMAN

RIGHTS ...... 268

REFERENCES ...... 298

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INTRODUCTION

Humanity manifests itself as an intriguing paradox: a coexistence of civilization and barbarism. Unsurprisingly, the terms “civilization” and “barbarism” themselves are paradoxical, given the enormous array of potential, and at times contradictory, definitions associated with them. Civilization is often correlated to the concept of “high ,” often exemplified in the fine arts. However, the term requires more elaboration when examined in the context of the dichotomy between civilization and barbarism, or illuminating how civilization is the antithesis of barbarism. In broad terms, civilization is “the triumph of in the political, intellectual, and moral senses” (Goodrich 8).1 This triumph is observable in multiple mediums, from philosophical musings to entire political systems, particularly those ground within natural laws, or universal laws that have influenced humanity since its .2 Natural laws are influential across

1 Lee Harris seconds this definition, noting that he views civilization as “nothing to do with high or low culture but only to do with the way people get along with one another … This definition of civilization offers a completely objective way of determining which of two is more civilized, a way that can be applied equally well by people who actually might prefer living in a that was less civilized” (Harris 74). 2 Natural laws arguably acquired the most significant exposure during the : “The Enlightenment that Newton’s scientific methods could be used to discover the natural laws underlying all areas of human life led to the emergence in the eighteenth century of what the philosophers called a ‘science of man’” (Spielvogel 364). However, they have been discussed since recorded history. For example, “the Milesian philosopher Anaximander (610-547 B.C.) portrays nature itself as accomplishing moral purpose as it evolves, achieving ‘’ … by finally compensating for excesses or deficiencies in the operations of individual beings,” while “the Ionian philosopher Pythagoras (570-500 B.C.) emphasized the mathematical or geometrical harmony existing in the , and theorized that through a process of unification the human soul could become a participant in this harmony” (Kainz, Natural 1).

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all cultures, which underscores their importance in fomenting and developing civilization. While some have ascribed natural laws’ prominent influence to

Western Civilization, recent scholarship has noted how natural laws have also strongly influenced Eastern Civilization.3 In words, the concept of “” would be alien to natural laws. Furthermore, natural laws have endured numerous challenges since the dawn of humanity, as sagely noted by Yves René

Marie Simon: “There would be no eternal return of without an everlasting opposition to natural law” (4). The “everlasting opposition to natural law” illuminates the continuous tension between civilization and barbarism, and history is riddled with myriad examples of the “eternal return of natural law” in response to an egregious violation of humanity’s natural rights.

Thus, civilization and natural laws are closely intertwined for several . One of the most important reasons is that natural laws denote natural rights, which in turn should serve as the predominant influence that governs human relationships in all and . Foremost among these rights is liberty, which has been one of the most routinely violated rights across history and modern times. In The Political Economy of Natural Law, Henry Wood highlights the importance of a liberty that ensures both individual rights and collective goodwill:

3 As Guillermo Dionisio notes, “for a long time the dichotomy of concept of rights as emerging from Natural Law and concept of duties as springing from Confucian culture gives a prominent face to the East-West divide … the West or the European American is said to be democratic, while the East or the Asian ‘other’ is simply not … there has been emphasis on duty and a sense of rights in both East and West largely obscured by a selective perception of Natural Law tradition and a mistaken interpretation of . A closer look into Natural Law tradition and Confucian culture may show that they could only be as isolated from each other as two sides of the same coin” (62). 2

An excess of liberty to some may prove a tyranny to others. As

the good of is more important than the possible advantage of one

of its fractional parts, the operations of the few must be restricted when

the encroach upon the liberty of the many. In other words, the natural law

of liberty, as applied to society, is higher than that pertaining to the

individual; and while they are not in opposition, the lower is modified by it.

Thus human law should indorse and supplement Natural Law by

restricting private will when it conflicts with the will of society. This is

compatible with the greatest average for all. (130)

Liberty is a natural right, and it a right that must be exercised with respect to others.4 Countless throughout history undoubtedly enjoyed “an excess of liberty” given their absolute dominion over a given society, and this excess resulted in the abysmal violation of countless individuals’ liberty. In this vein, liberty is a right and responsibility, as everyone should exercise their rights with concern for others’ own liberty in mind, which generally occurs with an acceptance of egalitarianism.

In addition to liberty, another crucial, and closely related, natural right is egalitarianism; whenever liberty is violated, egalitarianism is also violated.

However, in spite of diabolical efforts to obscure egalitarianism, egalitarianism is applicable to all of humanity and brilliantly defined by in Rights of

Man:

4 Aaron Rhodes echoes this sentiment, noting, “Just as natural law set limits on positive law, it also put limits on natural liberty through the mechanism of reason. Natural law tempered the exercise of natural rights; it constrained men from violating the rights of others, and thus it preserved order and the liberty of all” (163). 3

Every history of the creation, and every traditionary account, whether from

the lettered or unlettered world, however they may vary in their opinion or

belief of certain particulars, all agree in establishing one point, the unity of

men; by which I mean that men are all of one degree, and consequently

that all men are born equal, and with equal natural rights. (26)

In other words, egalitarianism is another fundamental natural right, one that is embedded within everyone, no matter how or where they were born. It does not matter whether variances occur in an individual’s “opinion or belief of certain particulars”; it does not matter if one is born into “the lettered or unlettered world.”

The word “all” is unmistakable and uncompromising, and both liberty and egalitarianism are indisputable components of “equal natural rights.” These natural rights have also strongly influenced the burgeoning development of formalized human rights studies.5 Thus, in stark contrast to barbarism, civilization encompasses the concerns of all citizens, rather than destructive individual interests that can threaten the natural rights of others.

Barbarism is a violation of natural rights, manifested across all modes of human interaction, including social, political, and economic systems. These manifestations often include tactics designed to restrict liberty for a significant percentage of the population, as restricting liberty adversely influences virtually all areas of a given individual’s’ life. Succinctly speaking, barbarism prevails

5 An excellent example of this influence can be found in Matt Hann’s Egalitarian Rights Recognition: A Political Theory of Human Rights. In the opening lines of this work, Hann describes how various human rights definitions are contingent upon natural laws: “Such explanations of human rights rely, implicitly at least, on an understanding of natural law” (2). Hann also stresses the importance of egalitarianism in human rights, as “egalitarian rights recognition provides a powerful critique against false consciousness, exploitation and other systematic inequalities within otherwise rights-recognising societies” (93). 4

when adherence to natural laws fails. In Civilization and Its Discontents, Sigmund

Freud also notes how barbarism clearly contravenes nature:

The fateful question of the human seems to me to be whether and

to what extent the cultural process developed in it will succeed in

mastering the derangements of communal life caused by the human

instinct of aggression and self-destruction … Men have brought their

powers of subduing the forces of nature to such a pitch that by using them

they could now very easily exterminate one another to the last man. (70)

These “derangements” exemplify barbarism, which can be “defined and operationalized perhaps as wars, homicides, victims of violence, or some other variable,” all of which contravene the notion of egalitarianism. Additionally, barbarism “either correlates with periods of general enlightenment, perhaps even the Enlightenment, or increases with the development of history or modernity in general” (Mestrovic 28). In other words, enlightenment and progress can often be accompanied by violence and regression. Ironically, Freud himself illustrates this paradox, as the cultural progress in nineteenth-century Germany was inconceivably followed by violent fascism of the Nazi Party in the following century.6 This twentieth-century horror directly influenced the creation of R. G.

Collingwood’s The New Leviathan, which identifies barbarism as “the effort,

6 Furthermore, as Lee Harris notes, “ruthlessness does not arise from a lack of knowledge of civility, or civilization, on the part of its practitioners, but rather from that ‘hostility to civilization’ that Collingwood dubs ‘barbarian’” (69). This view of barbarism illuminates how seemingly erudite, educated individuals, including several members and leaders of the Nazi Party, can still ultimately represent barbarism rather than civilization. When viewing civilization through the lens of how people treat one another, rather than how they appear to one another, “a lowbrow WASP town in North Georgia might be said to be a more civilized place to live than the turbulent, but artistically vibrant, Florence of the Medici” (Harris 74). 5

conscious or unconscious, to become less civilized than you are, either in general or in some special way, and, so far as in you lies, to promote a similar change in others” (qtd. in Harris 70). Thus, both civilization and barbarism are dynamic and influential, albeit in a dichotomous manner: A primary goal of civilization is the collective perfectibility of humanity, whereas a driving force of barbarism is the deleterious destruction of mankind.

Given its dynamic nature, civilization thrives through communication. Oral storytelling represents one of the earliest forms of widespread oral communication, which helped nourish the development of society.7 The caveat to a purely verbal culture is the absence of a record left behind, which eventually led to the development of writing:8 one of the most powerful, influential forms of communication. The influences of writing are impervious to spatial and temporal boundaries: Writing has enabled civilization to thrive not only in the present, but also in the future. Each century that passes by leaves behind written records that connote the accumulation of human knowledge and development, which in turn impacts the following century. Furthermore, several these records highlight certain commonalities across all human , regardless of space or place.

While eyes have long been heralded as “the window to the soul” of an individual, literature could arguably serve as a window into the soul of humanity.

7 As noted by Martin Pucnher: “ had been telling stories orally ever since they had learned how to communicate with symbolic sounds … tales that gave communities as hared past and a common destiny” (28). 8 Sheila Steinberg analogizes stages of human development with stages of communication development, noting “the stages in human communication are associated with the development of speaking, writing, printing and the mass media” (3). 6

Literature encapsulates and preserves a priceless essence of humanity, or the elements that cannot be quantified or catalogued in a scientific manner; it

“[preserves] human experience, telling listeners how to act in difficult situations and how to avoid common pitfalls” (Puchner 28). An excellent example of this encapsulation can be found in the first European novel, Cervantes’s Don

Quixote:

By feeling overwhelmed, puzzled, and provoked by machines, Don

Quixote became more than a sad case of bad reading, he became

something of a modern hero … This is the genius of , a

helpless fool who is mad as hell at the world, capturing our collective

experience of modern mechanical civilization. (Puchner 202)9

While Don Quixote is an individual man, his experiences reflect universal struggle, particularly the ongoing tension between man and the machine. Thus, literature illuminates the commonalities of the human psyche in such a compelling way that it wields a powerful influence on a diverse array of readers; a work of fiction written in Japan could have a visceral effect on someone reading it halfway around the world.10 The reader might look and speak in a completely different manner than the author, but the visceral reaction does not result from similarities in appearance, but in the similarities that underpin all of human existence, or the similarities that underlie civilization. This visceral reaction

9 Ironically, “mechanical civilization was powering Cervantes’s novel itself. had introduced the art of papermaking to Spain, laying the foundation for the golden age of Spanish letters” (Puchner 202). 10 An outstanding example of such an author would be Haruki Murakami, whose work bears several similarities to fantastic short stories of Jorge Luis Borges. 7

underscores the value of comparative literature, an exciting, burgeoning field that traces the multitudinous intersections between seemingly disparate literary canons. One such intersection includes the correspondence between American and Latin-American writers.

In Redreaming America: Toward a Bilingual Culture, Debra A. Castillo quotes Giles B. Gunn’s summation of recent developments in the comparative literature field: “The literatures of the Americas have been in continuous conversation” (194). Castillo then cites several examples of this conversation that began “from the very first postcolonial exchanges,” mentioning intersections between and Domingo Faustino Sarmiento; Rubén Darío and

Walt Whitman; and Gabriel García Márquez and Toni Morrison. The intersection between Franklin and Sarmiento is particularly compelling, given that both men also served as principal founders of their : the and

Argentina, respectively. In Do The Americas Have a Common Literature?,

Gustavo Pérez Firmat quotes Sarmiento’s proclamations regarding the influence of Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography on his own literary works and : “I felt I was Franklin … prodding myself on and following his footsteps, I could one day become as accomplished … and make a name for myself in and ” (147).11 Given that Sarmiento wrote

11 In light of the opening discussion regarding the definitions of civilization and barbarism, it should be noted that “Sarmiento in his time was a highly controversial figure, well remembered by his compatriots today as the man who founded the Argentine school system. Some remember him also for pushing back the Indian frontier, severely curtailing the culture of the , and opening the door to extensive European immigration. They key model for these reforms was the United States, a nation Sarmiento first visited during the late 1840s and to which he later returned as a diplomat posted to Washington during Lincoln’s presidency. Thus, the publication of Facundo heralded a close association of Argentine ideas and policies with those of the United States” (Ross 18-19). 8

one of ’s most seminal texts, Facundo: Or, Civilization and Barbarism, and became Argentina’s first president,12 he clearly succeeded in making a name for himself in literature and politics. Furthermore, Facundo remains influential, as well as controversial, in modern Argentina.13

A century after the publication of Sarmiento’s Facundo, another intersection between the United States and Argentina emerged in literature:

Jorge Luis Borges’s poem “Emerson.” This poem, which assumes the perspective of Ralph Waldo Emerson, exemplifies a similar sense of admiration, particularly in the following lines:

And thinks: I have read the essential books

And written others that time will not efface.

I have been given more than mortal man

On earth has any right to ever know.

The continent reverberates my name (23-27).

Borges’s views on Emerson certainly echo Sarmiento’s views on Franklin, and both views underscore the power that a literary figure and philosopher has to shape a nation’s identity and carve its future. Clearly, Franklin’s and Emerson’s writings influenced the major themes underpinning Sarmiento’s and Borges’s

12 As Mark A. Healey notes, “In 1852, Sarmiento’s allies overthrew Juan Manuel de Rosas, a strongman who had dominated national politics for a generation. Sarmiento went on to serve as a general, governor, minister, ambassador, and finally president, as his political generation enacted much of the liberal program, turning the country from a backwater into an economic powerhouse” (1). 13 Diana Sorensen Goodrich provides rich insight into the influence of Facundo on Argentine culture, noting, its association of “gauchos, llaneros, people of African origin, or Native Americans” (10) as barbaric. She also notes the power of literature’s influence: “The nation’s past and future are dangerously conflated in a classic endowed with the power to hold it all as it foresees both the problems and the terms in which they are configured” (17). 9

major writings. At the same time, it is critical to remember that the intersections between American and Latin American figures are bidirectional; in other words, while the American figure’s writings may have preceded the Latin American figure’s writings in a linear sense, Latin American writings can influence modern perceptions and deepen complex understanding of early American writings.

In Make Us Wave Back: on and Influence, Michael Collier illustrates this perspective: “I’ll explore Borges’s influence not on a current or even a future writer but on an American writer of the past, Ralph Waldo

Emerson” (66). Through this exploration, using Borges’s “Kafka and His

Precursors” as a methodological framework, Collier intends “to show how

Emerson, the American , is sharpened and deflected by the younger

Borges” (66). Collier proceeds to outline philosophical themes and tropes that illuminate similarities between the writings of Emerson and Borges, referencing spheres, repetition, multiplicity, and universality, among others. His analysis leads to the ultimate conclusion that reading Emerson through the lens of Borges

“forces us to see that the transcendental—the labyrinth—is a form of the abyss from which no light emanates and as such it alters forever the way we read his great precursor” (73). Thus, some scholars have noted key intersections between

Borges and Emerson, particularly when examining both men’s broader, more transcendental philosophies.

Nevertheless, substantive scholarship on the intersections between

Emerson’s and Borges’s literature is relatively limited, particularly in comparison scholarship that analyzes intersections of other major literary figures. However,

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several similarities between both men, which lead to several potential avenues of scholastic inquiry. For instance, both men were prolific writers, and their varied writings not only served as critical building blocks for their then-nascent nations, the United States and Argentina, but also as strong influences on writers outside their domestic borders. In addition, both men were also voracious readers, spending substantive time in libraries. As a college student, Emerson became known for “his fund of general knowledge, much of it gathered from the Harvard

College Library” (McMullen 152), while Borges developed “an almost religious reverence for books and writing” through his experience with libraries, ultimately becoming Director of the Argentine National Library in 1955 (Piper 56-57).

However, as noted by Collier, “perhaps most importantly they were both born at the beginning of centuries, Emerson in 1803 and Borges in 1899, and as a result they were able to take advantage of revolutionary cultural movements, and modernism, respectively, without having to be revolutionaries themselves” (67). Collier does not develop this point further, shifting his focus to shortly after, yet this single statement alludes to numerous possibilities in scholarship. Specifically, Emerson’s and Borges’s respective engagements with “revolutionary cultural movements” represent an exciting, burgeoning avenue of inquiry in comparative studies. While some criticism exists regarding both men’s engagement with transcendentalism and other metaphysical philosophies, scholarship that analyzes how both men directly, and consistently, engaged with the most pressing social issues during their respective lifetimes is largely underdeveloped. A careful examination of both men’s lives,

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writings, and public speeches reveals that Emerson and Borges may both be more revolutionary than Collier them to be, particularly given the historical context grounding several of their writings. Specifically, both writers demonstrate a continuous concern with natural laws and natural rights, particularly liberty and egalitarianism. Emerson and Borges both witnessed egregious violations of these rights firsthand, and both writers were compelled to use their writings as a way to promote the “eternal return to natural law,” or a means to counteract barbarism.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Emerson is one of the most renowned figures from nineteenth-century

American literature and philosophy, wielding an indelible influence on both his contemporary and future readers.14 He is renowned for his philosophy of

Transcendentalism, emphasis on nature, and “faith in the infinitude of man”

(Hurth 483). Emerson is likely most famous for founding Transcendentalism, an

American offshoot of Romanticism that urged followers to retreat to nature and search for meaning within themselves. This movement gained immense popularity, particularly given the ongoing religious conflict that continued to plague the newly formed United States.15 In short, Transcendentalism represented a dramatic break, or an “alarmingly radical and new” (Felton 2)

14 Joséph Eugene Mullin argues “Emerson is more important in American thought than in American literature or even in that larger field, American letters. Truly, Emerson is influential everywhere in the nineteenth century” (567). 15 As James Elliott Cabot notes in A Memoir of Ralph Waldo Emerson, against the backdrop of “the Calvinists and Unitarians … battling with each other” in , “a young man named Ralph Waldo Emerson … starts a new doctrine of Transcendentalism, declares all the old revelations superannuated and worn out, and announces the approach of new revelations and prophecies” (39). 12

departure, from previous religious16 and philosophical assumptions that continued to plague the United States’ cultural , or lack thereof.

Ironically, Emerson himself was not enamored with the term

Transcendentalism, given its origins in ’s 1781 Critique of Pure

Reason; whereas Kant spoke of Transcendentalism in terms of transcending experience, “Emerson preferred to think of movement as one that looked toward a bright future” (Felton 2). In other words, while Emerson realized that Transcendentalism was irrevocably intertwined with his burgeoning philosophy, he attempted to distinguish his philosophy from the

Transcendentalism that pervaded European philosophy. Specifically, in the

“The Transcendentalist,” Emerson argues that the Transcendentalist movement in the United States is more closely aligned with , plainly stating, “What is popularly called Transcendentalism among us, is Idealism” (311). Furthermore,

Transcendentalism also defies an easy definition, as it “is a loose affiliation of highly abstract, often vague, occasionally contradictory ideas”; thus, “it is therefore not surprising that there are as many definitions of Transcendentalism as there are critics to write them” (Felton 3). Given the complexity underlying the definition of Transcendentalism, this dissertation will refer specifically to the

Transcendentalism associated with Emerson, as illuminated in his writings.

One of the hallmarks of Emersonian Transcendentalism is individual self- reliance. Indeed, a thorough perusal of one of Emerson’s most seminal works,

16 In some ways, Emerson’s Transcendentalism was considered so radical that “charges of skepticism, unbelief, and haunted [him] throughout his career as a minister, poet, and scholar” (Hurth, “Between” 483). 13

Nature, which is widely considered “the founding document of

Transcendentalism” (Felton 3), focuses explicitly on the ameliorative impact of nature and solitude on one’s soul; in short, an individual ideally retreats from society and industry to find inner peace and enlightenment.17 Furthermore, self- reliance eschews the need for external dependency on static institutions for enlightenment; instead, it emphasizes the importance of internal transcendence.

In several ways, Nature defined the initial course of Emerson’s career, as well as how he would be studied and remembered long after his passing.18 In addition, since Emerson wrote during a time of great cultural uncertainty within the United

States, scholars have also focused on the role Emerson’s works have played in defining the new nation’s culture,19 as well as distinguishing it from Europe’s.

Nature was a particularly fortuitous publication given the United States’ ongoing struggle with cultural autonomy. While the nation had gained political, and to a degree, economic autonomy from Britain, it was still culturally dependent on Europe. This cultural dependence was harshly derided by Reverend Sydney

Smith, one of the founders of the Edinburgh Review, in his 1820 essay, “Who

Reads an American Book?”, in which he proclaims that Americans have “given

17 This call to retreat significantly influenced both and George Ripley, as Thoreau retreated from society and “went to Pond” while Ripley “founded the utopian ” (Felton 3). In a similar vein, this influence also “inspired the lyricism of ’s poetry and ’s dark glimpses into America’s past” (Felton 3). 18 As John Carlos Rowe notes, many of his surviving works have “primarily been Emersonian transcendentalism” (21-22), which has subsequently led to instantly associating Emerson with Transcendentalism. 19 As Jeffrey H. Hacker notes, “perhaps no individual contributed more to American letters in the nineteenth century than Ralph Waldo Emerson. His writings and thought—a fusion of literature, philosophy, religion, and politics—influenced a generation of American authors, from Henry David Thoreau and Frederick Douglass to and . Emerson is remembered today as the leader of the Transcendentalist movement” (33). 14

no indications of genius” (189).20 For this reason, Emerson’s Nature represented a particularly vital part of the germinating American literary canon. Not only did

Nature disprove Smith’s snide assertions regarding the absence of genius, but that it also managed, on some level, to supersede other similarly themed

European works: “The fact is that Emerson articulated in prose as no English

Romantic successfully did, the high Romantic argument concerning nature”

(Gravil 196). In other words, Emerson not only created an original American work that garnered international acclaim, including from the aforementioned Carlyle, but he also created a work that arguably achieved more than some of the largest titans of European culture, including the aforementioned Coleridge.21

Nevertheless, while Emerson is certainly indebted to Coleridge, among other

Romantic writers,22 he “applied [Coleridge’s] ideas to create a highly original and ground-breaking work,” which, upon publication, transformed into “a seminal work for Emerson and Transatlantic Transcendentalism” (Harvey 119).23

In fact, several of Emerson’s most prominent essays appear to transcend time and place entirely, including his lengthier essay, Nature. For this reason,

20 Smith argues that Americans haven’t shown genius in any regard, aside from some economic accomplishments: “The Americans are a brave, industrious, and acute people; but they have hitherto given no indications of genius … they have done absolutely nothing for the Sciences, for the Arts, for Literature, or even for the statesman-like studies of Politics or Political Economy … in the four quarters of the globe, who reads an American book?” (189-90). 21 As Gravil notes, “not even Coleridge came close to crafting a satisfactory, portable and unitary exposition of what he and his contemporaries meant by nature—or even recognising that such an exposition was needed” (196). 22 Nature was admittedly influenced by several Romantic figures in Europe, namely , with some critics noting how “the essay Nature marked the zenith of Emerson’s assimilative relationship to Coleridge” (Harvey 119). 23 Furthermore, “the validation of wilderness” omnipresent throughout Nature underscores its seminal characteristics, as this validation can be interpreted as “an attempt to distinguish American identity from European identity” (Outka 37), particularly given the American’s ability to literally withdraw into the wilderness. 15

many critics question how revolutionary Emerson really could be considered, given how thoroughly Emerson’s Transcendental philosophy is intertwined with perceptions of his work. After all, Emersonian Transcendentalism emphasizes

“the perfectibility of man” (Hurth, “Between” 494), an admittedly noble, albeit broad, belief that ultimately transcends social context and single-issue .24 Though Emerson engaged with the social issue of slavery as early as 1822, in “Vision of Slavery,” this essay was considered more of “a literary experiment … than a commentary upon a moral issue” (Moody 1). Furthermore,

Emerson’s early lectures, including “”25 and “The Divinity

School Address,” appear to underscore this philosophical isolation: “Emerson upholds the validity of feelings of discontent with existing laws and systems even so far as demanding them, but does not advocate any reform activity with the express aim of changing laws or systems” (Koch, Emerson 34). In other words, the self-reliant individual, as perceived in Emerson’s early writings, appears to advocate remaining contemplative, as opposed to revolutionary.

However, the self-reliance embedded within Transcendentalism is not limited to discovering one’s own divinity; it is also “to discover the relations in

24 Interestingly, the transcendentalist movement is purportedly why Thoreau separated himself from many pressing social issues. He never considered himself an abolitionist or a participant in any organized reform effort, going so far as to tell the Temperance Society that he “was too Transcendental to join societies for reforming other men” (Beck 42). Thoreau reinforces this rather ambiguous position in more than one section of Walden, particularly in the following: “It is hard to have a southern overseer; it is worse to have a northern one; but worst of all when you are the slave-driver of yourself” (4). 25 “The American Scholar” encompasses the core tenets of Emersonian self-reliance, including the critical, original thinking embodied by a true scholar: “The figure of the scholar runs through Emerson’s essay like a red thread and was, from the mid-1830s on, also Emerson’s self- descriptor” (Hamscha 94). Thus, this lecture embodies some of the most important traits of Emersonian philosophy: “Emerson’s description of the scholar as Man Thinking identifies rationality as the most valuable faculty and emphasizes the importance of intellectual independence” (Hamscha 95). 16

which one exists, and the fact of one’s being accountable for them” (P. Clark

323). Part of this accountability includes awareness of, and ideally engagement with, social ills that afflict virtually all elements of society, which Emerson broadly addresses even in his early essays, namely “The American Scholar” and “Man the Reformer.” During Emerson’s time, the most pressing social ill was slavery, as this unresolved issue nearly led to the dissolution of the recently liberated

United States. While this particular issue is quite complex on a number of levels, it can be generally stated that New England was largely in favor of abolition while was largely in favor of slavery’s continuation; both regions had various motivations for their respective stances. Regardless of regional motivation, slavery clearly represents a grotesque violation of both liberty and egalitarianism, and its legalization is an excellent example of how manmade law can contravene natural law, or how barbarism challenges civilization. Individuals deeply concerned with natural rights rarely remain silent for long, even individuals as naturally introverted and nonconfrontational as Emerson.

While Emerson arguably was not as vocal, at least initially, as other abolitionists, he did become increasingly engaged with the issue of slavery as his career progressed. Furthermore, due to Emerson’s meticulous, consistent journal entries, critics can rationally argue that “Emerson’s earliest writing reveals that his attention to slavery in the 1840s and 1850s was not a retreat from but a return to early beliefs that stayed with him throughout his life” (Strysick 140).

Emerson gradually became a more vocal opponent of slavery and a de facto representative of the abolitionist movement; he could no longer afford to isolate

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himself literarily, philosophically, nor intellectually from the rapidly growing division between the Union and the Confederate states. However, despite

Emerson’s well-known involvement and public speeches on behalf of the abolitionist cause, critics generally did not discuss his social activism at length until more than a century after Emerson passed away, and this avoidance can be attributed, at least in part, to some of the earliest, most influential biographies on

Emerson’s life.

Given Emerson’s dominance in American culture and world letters, it is unsurprising that out “of all the Transcendentalists, Ralph Waldo Emerson was the one whose biography was the most extensively and consciously rewritten”

(Habich 432). However, in spite of this significant attention, most early biographies either de-emphasized or altogether rejected his antislavery activism.

No fewer than six biographers published works regarding Emerson’s life shortly after his passing, though the most influential biographers “were the family’s choice, Cabot, and the publisher’s favorite, Oliver Wendell Holmes” (Habich 433).

Both Cabot and Holmes largely ignored Emerson’s antislavery activism, and

Holmes openly denies Emerson’s association with the abolitionists: “It must be remembered that Emerson had never been identified with the abolitionists” (304).

Thus, instead of focusing on his social activism, Cabot and Holmes emphasized

Emerson’s literary aesthetics and transcendental philosophy. Out of fairness, it should be noted that Emerson’s early biographers did not necessarily have ready access to all of Emerson’s most piercing antislavery speeches, as Emerson

18

himself did not prioritize their publications as he did with his fundamental essays.26

However, given that two early biographers did address Emerson’s antislavery activity, namely George Willis Cooke27 and Moncure Daniel

Conway,28 it is likely that Holmes deliberately chose to avoid detailing Emerson’s abolitionist activities.29 Interestingly, out of all Emerson’s early biographers, only

Conway “can properly be called a member of the Transcendentalist circle,” and he wrote “the most humanizing version of Emerson in Emerson at Home and

Abroad (1882)” (Habich 433). Unfortunately, Conway was not taken seriously for various reasons,30 particularly his overly liberal assessment of Emerson’s antislavery activities, which included some statements that were completely

26 Emerson did not publish all of his speeches, and “many of the manuscripts for these speeches have apparently not been preserved” (Gougeon, Virtue’s 2). Thus, “early biographers and commentators were deprived of valuable sources of information regarding Emerson’s earliest abolition activities, as well as his most articulate and detailed thinking regarding what was clearly the most pressing and important social reform movement of his time” (Gougeon, Virtue’s 3). 27 “Emerson’s first major biographer and commentator, George Willis Cooke, in his Ralph Waldo Emerson: His Life, Writings, and Philosophy (1881) devotes a full chapter to the antislavery movement … Overall, Cooke creates the impression of a very concerned and active Emerson who strongly supported abolitionoism” (Gougeon, Virtue’s 4-5). 28 “Conway, a former slave owner who became an abolitionist, was a personal friend of Emerson in his later years … Conway does succeed in calling attention to some of Emerson’s major abolition activities and furthers the idea suggested by Cooke of an early and constant commitment on Emerson’s part to the principles of abolition” (Gougeon, Virtue’s 5). 29 Other scholars have reached similar conclusions regarding Holmes’s perception of Emerson, given Holmes’s age and fairly conservative nature, and arguably even his desire for Emerson not to be used as a role model during Reconstruction, which would signify “social cataclysm”: “Holmes was seventy-six when he wrote his biography of Emerson … To a man of Holmes’s generation, works such as ‘The American Scholar’ had not, as yet, come to be regarded as literature but seemed rather to belong to an age of quaint juvenility, of hopeful, if somewhat amateurish, beginnings … Unwilling to disrupt the established order of society, Holmes’s Emerson repudiates not only the abolition movement but all reformatory causes … To many contemporary observers, the 1880s were characterized by numerous popular agitations that seemed harbingers of social cataclysm” (Fuller 32-33). 30 In contrast to Holmes, who “was late-nineteenth-century America’s embodiment of the genteel custodian of culture” and “one of its most prominent members in a brotherhood of taste and restraint,” Conway “was one of the century’s notable … nonconformists. His peripatetic career seems a veritable flow chart of the era’s progressive preoccupations” (Fuller 35). 19

false: “Emerson was the first American scholar to cast a dart at Slavery” (242).31

Thus, Cabot and Holmes’s perspective regarding Emerson’s purportedly minimal social involvement dominated critical discourse for at least a century,32 despite the initial protests from Emerson’s abolitionist friends, including Thomas

Wentworth Higginson.33

Fortunately, within the past couple of decades, some scholars have followed Cooke and Conway’s original lead by focusing more extensively on

Emerson’s social activism, particularly regarding slavery, notably Len Gougeon,

Joel Myerson, Daniel Koch, and others. In fact, it is through the stringent efforts of Gougeon and Myerson that modern readers have access to Emerson’s most incendiary antislavery speeches, which were previously unavailable and collectively published as Emerson’s Antislavery Writings in 1994. At present, perceptions regarding Emerson’s life “revolve around two strikingly different poles of thought” (Gougeon, Virtue’s 1), with one pole focusing on Emerson’s philosophical isolation and the other emphasizing his social activism.34

31 As Fuller has noted, “In Conway’s revisionary history, Emerson not only labors for the cause of abolition but ultimately frees the nation’s slaves” (39), which is clearly quite exaggerated. 32 For instance, Gougeon notes how most scholars were unaware of Emerson’s antislavery activities in the 1990s, more than a century after the first biographies of Emerson were published, in his preface to the 2010 edition of Virtue’s Hero, “When this book was first published nearly twenty years ago, almost no one was aware that Ralph Waldo Emerson had a lengthy and at times intense antislavery career” (ix). 33 After the publication of Holmes’s biography, “many old-time abolitionists like Thomas Wentworth Higginson, who had known Emerson to be very firmly in the abolition ranks, came forward to argue their case” (Gougeon, Virtue’s 3). 34 Gougeon also cites modern biographies that align with each polarity: “The first describes Emerson as a social reformer, a public figure who was very much caught up in the major reform efforts of his age, and an individual who, while a scholarly intellectual, wrestled with the thorny issues of the day and insisted upon the importance of action from principle. The modern mainstay for this perspective is Ralph Rusk’s monumental Life of Ralph Waldo Emerson (1949). The opposite polarity depicts a more withdrawn and philosophical Emerson, the transcendental philosopher who successively separated himself, intellectually and emotionally, from the various crises of the hour throughout the 1840s and 1850s, and who, trusting in the tendency of all things toward ultimate goodness, eventually surrendered to a serene acceptance of fate, that is, things 20

Furthermore, in one of the most recent comprehensive biographies, Emerson:

The Mind on Fire, writer Robert D. Richardson Jr. spends ample time examining

Emerson’s antislavery activities, nothing, “over the years Emerson gave the most emotional speeches of his career in the crusade against slavery” (499). In short, today’s scholars have the privilege of significantly greater access to Emerson’s lesser-known speeches and writings, including extensive journal entries, which further illuminate the nuances underlying Emerson’s critical, divergent thoughts and carefully crafted actions. Analyzing these new materials in conjunction with

Emerson’s classic transcendental essays offers exciting new avenues of research and synthesis, particularly during an age when the field of human rights has just started growing and the time for enforcement of these rights has never been more urgent.

Thus, given Emerson’s extensive involvement in the major social issues of the nineteenth century, he can be considered “more important in American thought than in American literature or even in that larger field, American letters”

(Mullin 567). In fact, given Emerson’s open, unapologetic engagement with “the

Other” in his writings, along with his global influence on countless writers, including several Latin American writers, it can be argued that he may be just as important, if not more important, during the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.

Borges “notably represents those Americans outside the United States who clearly caught Emerson’s infectious message” (Soressi 334). Part of this

as they are. The chief proponent of this view is Stephen Whicher, author of Freedom and Fate: An Inner Life of Ralph Waldo Emerson (1953), a seminal work that remains firmly established in the canon of Emerson scholarship” (Gougeon, Virtue’s 1-2).

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infectious message most certainly included the concept of infinity and man’s relationship to it, or “the faith in the infinitude of man” that characterizes

Emerson’s “inner life” (Hurth, “Between” 483). In addition, Borges’s notion of politics certainly embraced the self-reliance promulgated by Emerson: “The political philosophy latent in Borges’s works rests on the belief in a self-sufficient individual, the preeminence of liberty, a distrust of , and nostalgia for anarchy understood as a self-organized order” (Salinas, “Political” 299). In an interview with Ted Lyon, Borges also directly cites 19th century New England as

“a center of great thinkers … the center of thought” (Lyon 79). Several elements of this thought are replete throughout Borges’s work.

Jorge Luis Borges

Borges, similar to Emerson, is a defining figure in the culture and history of his own nation, Argentina, and he credits many writers who preceded him, including Emerson, for shaping his writings. Borges is globally renowned not only for propelling Argentinian literature to the international spotlight, but also for his immense contributions to Latin American and world letters as a whole. As a result of these contributions, Borges is often considered “the most influential author in the of modern times” (Williamson, “Introduction” 1). A truly prolific writer, Borges produced thousands of works over his lifetime, including poems, essays, journal articles, book reviews, and short stories. He was one of the foremost influences on the , a literary

“movement in which Spanish American literature had entered the international

‘mainstream’” (Cohn 2). Per some scholars, Borges was the most important

22

influence on this movement: “The single most important influence was probably one from Spanish America itself: Jorge Luis Borges” (Standish 71). Borges also was phenomenally erudite, having read countless works from an array of disciplines, including the sciences. For instance, some scholars have dedicated entire books to Borges’s hybridization of mathematics and literature, noting “there are very diverse mathematical elements throughout Borges’ work” (G. Martínez

5). In addition, Borges further cemented his reputation as a public intellectual by delivering several lectures throughout his lifetime, speaking “on a wide variety of topics, from poet to to Jewish religion to Spanish writers” (McNeese, Jorge 75). Over the course of his lifetime, Borges achieved worldwide acclaim, which is ironic due to his generally reclusive nature.

While Borges’s literary and scholarly activity is diverse, he is likely the most famous for his innovative, highly original short stories, which propelled him to worldwide fame and undoubtedly influenced the development of magical realism, a hallmark of the Boom. These fantastic, mind-bending short stories are characterized by lo fantástico, or “the fantastic,” and they are especially unique within the twentieth century, as they “challenged the supremacy of the novel in the hierarchy of modern literature” (Williamson, “Introduction” 1). Borges’s stories are as well-known for their mind-bending nature as they are for their brevity, and he often brings seemingly implausible worlds to life for the reader in just a few pages.35 Borges’s use of the fantastic “destabilizes the concept of a ‘definitive

35 For this reason, “Borges’s interest in and literary ideas fostered the impression that his work belonged in a kind of literary utopia, divorced from personal experience or historical reality” (Williamson, “Introduction” 1). 23

text’” and “challenges the supposed primacy of the center from where it comes, thus expanding the potential for writers in to create new literatures”

(Waisman 11).36 Given this expansion of literary potential, scholars generally focus on Borges’s use of lo fantástico, along with his copious and immeasurable influence on other writers. Thus, much scholarship on Borges has concentrated on the fantastic aesthetics of his short stories, rather than the historical and political context that helped produced them. Less critical attention has been paid to Borges’s non-fiction works, particularly the political and cultural commentaries he wrote throughout the 1930s and early 1940s. These commentaries, which he began writing prior to his first ficción, provide valuable insight into the social and political undertones that underlie Borges’s often enigmatic, ambiguous .

Furthermore, one of the earliest biographies of Borges’s life denies

Borges’s concern with social ills, which arguably influenced scholarly perception of Borges’s works, as evidenced by the generally underdeveloped discussion of

Borges’s social activism. Since Borges passed away more than a century after

Emerson, not quite as many biographies yet exist for Borges; however, Borges remains similar to Emerson in that initial biographical efforts largely avoided

Borges’s involvement with antifascist efforts, thereby downplaying his contributions as a social reformer. In fact, according to one of the earliest biographies, Borges was essentially unconcerned with severe political

36 Indeed, this trait became a defining aspect of modern Latin American literature, and “fantastic narration is often defined as alteration of the physical world, particularly of the laws that regulate and control world events from natural and rational perspectives” (Ocasio 92). 24

grievances, as outlined extensively, and at times repeatedly, in Pedro

Orgambide’s 1978 Borges y su pensamiento politico (Borges and his political thought; my trans). It is important to note that Orgambide’s work is based heavily upon Borges’s initial praise of the military government in Argentina, which was widely condemned by several others. However, Borges was understandably ebullient that was finally finished, and he was optimistic about the nation’s future. However, by 1980, Borges began recognizing the military regime for the dictatorship that it was, and he spoke out against its atrocities. However, these actions occurred after Orgambide had already written about Borges.

Consequently, Orgambide’s biography perceives Borges’s political thought as prejudiced and totalitarian, which is clear in statements such as the following: “La simplificación, por el prejuicio, es una de las características del pensamiento totalitario de Borges” (38).37 This work reflects the following common perception of Borges’s politics in the late : “Borges the writer is a genius; Borges the political man, an idiot” (Rodríguez Monegal 55); it was undoubtedly influenced by

Borges’s “perceived leanings to the right” (O’Ryan 130), including admittedly unwise commentary38 regarding military of the 1970s, which preceded Orgambide’s work.39 This commentary continues to plague Borges’s

37 (“Simplification, through prejudice, is one of the characteristics of Borges’s totalitarian thought”; my trans; 38). 38 For instance, Borges, perhaps naively believing that Videla’s coup was “a purifying undertaking” (Finchelstein 148) of Argentina, infamously stated, “I personally thanked [Videla] for the coup on March 24th, which saved the country from ignominy, and I expressed by support for his having taken over responsibility for the government” (qtd. in Finchelstein 147). 39 Mariana Casale O’Ryan provides greater insight into this problematic commentary in Jorge Luis Borges: The Making of an Argentine Cultural Icon: ““Borges’s perceived political leanings to the right and his support of the military governments of Chile and Argentina in the late 1970s are said to have cost him the … By contrast, the fact that it was the Chilean communist poet who was awarded it instead in 1971, sealed Borges’s image as a conservative 25

legacy to a degree. For instance, the famed Bolivian poet, Humberto Quino, defends another Bolivian writer, Jaime Saenz, by likening Saenz’s early sympathies regarding the Nazis to Borges’s purported support of 1970s military juntas: “Saenz was … fascinated by death and the occult, and his youth he was very seduced by mystical fascist … You know Borges spoke fawningly of the dictator Videla, and praised his ‘iron hand’ during the ‘,’ no?” (qtd. in Gander and Johnson 4).40

While one could certainly perceive Borges’s remarks towards Videla and other dictators as deeply problematic, it should also be noted that Videla seized power from Borges’s arch-nemesis, the Peronist regime, which had openly persecuted Borges and continued with its longstanding habit of coupled with extensive restrictions of other civil . In 1976, Isabel Perón,

Juan Perón’s second widow, attracted “the military’s intense dislike,” as well as

Borges’s, given that “her totalitarian government … sent into writers such as Tomás Eloy Martínez” (Ocasio 179). In contrast, Videla “did tell the writers that cultural development was essential to the nation” (Finchelstein, “Argentine”

writer in the public eye … Borges’s ill-advised remarks about three of the most notorious dictatorships in the twentieth century, namely that of his own country, General Pinochet’s in Chile and General Franco’s in Spain, also circulated in the domestic and international media” (O’Ryan 130-31). 40 However, Gander and Johnson include an extensive footnote regarding Quino’s quote about Borges’s presumed support of Videla after Eliot Weinberger interceded: “It is important to note that Borges was actually a political conservative who was also an ardent anti-fascist, and he stood against the rise of fascism when significant numbers of Latin American writers and artists enthusiastically supported its European manifestations—including some who later became prominently identified with . While Borges did indeed offer lamentable endorsements of the vicious far-right Chilean and Argentine juntas late in life, some of which he later repudiated, it bears emphasizing that he publicly attacked fascism throughout its officially sanctioned apogee in the Peronist era. And he courageously stood up against anti-Semitism as early as 1934, in his essay ‘I, a Jew.’ We thank Eliot Weinberger for pointing out the need for this clarification” (4). 26

148).41 Borges, at least initially, was encouraged to hear the Argentine state’s public encouragement of cultural development, though in reality Videla’s regime appeared to simply replace one form of censorship with another. Furthermore,

Borges was much older and completely blind at this point in his life, and arguably not entirely as aware of the atrocities unfolding as he would have been decades earlier. This supposition is further supported by remarkably clandestine nature of the military regime’s horrific actions, which many were unaware of until after

1983.42 Nevertheless, Borges still rescinded some of his initial support for the military juntas, particularly when he became aware of los desaparecidos, or “the disappeared ones.”43 Lastly, Borges’s decision to be buried in , which he perceived to be an epicenter of civilization, as opposed to his native

Argentina, underscored the degree to which he had become disillusioned with

Latin American politics. This disillusionment could certainly be attributed to the extreme polarities that characterized Argentinian politics throughout Borges’s life.

Edwin Williamson explicates these polarities in his extensive biography, Borges:

A Life, noting that Borges’s social activism and ardent antifascism has been largely, and tragically, “erased from memory” (344).44

41 However, this belief is obviously challenged by the fact that Videla’s “dictatorship ‘disappeared’ writers and thinkers, closed publishing houses, newspapers, and magazines, and waged a true campaign against books and more generally against Argentine liberal culture as a whole” (Finchelstein, “Argentine” 148). 42 As Rafael Ocasio notes, “it was only after the fall of the military government in 1983, however, that the Argentines and the rest of the world would know the truth about the horrible abuses of human rights perpetuated against the activists” (179). 43 For instance, in 1980, Borges “supports ‘Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo’ and calls on junta to provide information on the ‘disappeared’” (Jansen xx). 44 Specifically, Williamson notes, “in the late 1950s, a new generation of intellectuals was undertaking a reevaluation of Peronism. Although socialists or Marxists, these young men and women chose to gloss over Perón’s , his ideological roots in Italian fascism, his affinities with General Franco in Spain, hailing him instead as an emancipator of the working class and as a defender of the patria against neoimperialism. Borges, inevitably, came under fire 27

It is also important to note that a significant percentage of Borges’s works have not been translated into English, which naturally limits the scope of scholarly discussion regarding the true depth of Borges’s engagement with antifascism. Fortunately, in the past couple of decades, some Jewish scholars, notably Ilan Stavans, Eliot Weinberger, and Edna Aizenberg, have focused attention on Borges’s early essays, along with his other famed works. For instance, Stavans recently published Borges, the Jew, a book-length work of scholarship that examines Borges’s fascination with Judaism and analyzes the myriad Jewish presences throughout Borges’s writings; within the preface,

Stavans identifies Borges as “un judío honorario, an honorary Jew” (x). In addition, Aizenberg questions, “would Borges have been ‘Borges’ without World

War II and ?” (“Jew” 339).45 Furthermore, Weinberger made several of these earlier essays available in English for the first time in Selected

Non-Fictions, an anthology of Borges’s lesser known works. In the introduction to this work, titled “A Note on this Edition,” Weinberger notices that despite the brevity of Borges’s prose, he “was a man sworn to the virtue of concision who

as a cosmopolitan writer with little feeling for ‘lo nacional.’ This had become a familiar charge by now—he had been hearing it from a chorus of assorted nacionalistas and ‘’ since the early 1930s. In those days Argentina had largely been associated with the right, and Borges’s own kind of nationalism, his criollismo, with its hospitable ideal of creating a ‘new man’ in Argentina, was correspondingly perceived as belonging to the left. But in the 1960s, Borges would come to be regarded as a ‘reactionary’ by the new generation of intellectuals: his record as a democratic, pro-Irigoyen nationalist and as a defender of intellectual freedom against Argentine sympathizers of the Nazis and fascists was overlooked and eventually erased from memory” (344). 45 As noted by David N. Myers, “Aizenberg answers this question by demonstrating the depth of Borges's pre-occupation with the plight of Jews as an organizing principle in his writing. She reviews his early biography (in Switzerland, Spain, and Argentina), as well as his early fiction in the 1920s, to make this point, before homing in on his writing in the 1930s and 1940s, when he came to confront directly the perversity of Nazism as a political and cultural project” (336-37).

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couldn’t stop writing” (xi). Thus, along with the thousand pages of stories, hundreds of pages of poetry, and twenty-four books of translations, Borges also left behind “thousands of pages of non-fiction; some twelve hundred essays, prologues, book reviews, film reviews, transcribed lectures, capsule biographies, encyclopedia entries, historical surveys, and short notes on politics and culture”

(xi). These pages provide strong insight into distinct elements of Borges’s literary production, including those ground in the political and historical context of

Borges’s time.

Thus, Borges’s writings are also suffused with social and political significance, even if this significance most obviously occurs in his early writings.

In addition, Borges’s engagement with specific social issues is generally under- analyzed relative to the more well-known aspects of his immemorial ficciones.

Some scholars have commented on key themes of Borges’s political philosophy, which are largely grounded in natural law, including “the belief in a self-sufficient individual, the preeminence of liberty, a distrust of government, and nostalgia for anarchy understood as a self-organized order” (Salinas, “Political” 299). This

“self-organized order” is reminiscent of Emerson’s self-reliance, and Borges’s belief in the “preeminence of liberty” undoubtedly originates from his observations of the rise of fascism in Europe, which spread like a contagion to

Argentina and threatened to not only destroy humanity’s cultural achievement, but also humanity itself. These disturbing developments strongly influenced

Borges’s political commentaries, where he openly criticized specific social ills, including the rise of Nazism in Germany and the growth of fascism in Argentina.

29

However, unlike Emerson, whose most controversial antislavery writings were written later in his career, “most of Borges’s anti-Nazi texts were written between

1937 and 1944” (González 171). Nevertheless, it is important to remember that these early essays profoundly influenced his fantastic short stories.

Furthermore, in Jorge Luis Borges: Conversations, Borges directly commented on the influence of the Second in his ficciones, namely

“Deutsches Requiem”: “I wrote that after the Second World War because I thought that, after all, nobody had a word to say for the tragedy of Germany. I mean such an important nation. A nation that had produced Schopenhauer and

Brahms and so many poets and so many philosophers, yet it fell victim to a very clumsy idea” (21). This commentary illuminates the political that underpin many of Borges’s numerous short stories, even if such ideologies are not as immediately apparent as the fantastic elements. However, a comparative analysis of other Borgesian tales illuminates that Borges’s engagement with antifascism extended well beyond the 1930s and 1940s, albeit in a broader sense. Thus, Borges’s works are also far more engaged with the most pressing social issues of his time than one may initially assume.46

Synthesis

Emerson and Borges may not immediately spring to mind as a natural pairing, at least not in the same way that Emerson and Thoreau and Borges and

46 Fortunately, more scholars have begun focusing on the other aspects of Borges’s writings, which are typically ignored in scholarship. For instance, Postcolonial Borges: Argument and Artistry, published in 2017, posits Borges’s work as postcolonial, noting, “over the 1920s and subsequent decades, he will address themes of geography and culture, history and nationhood, self and other, in a configuration that comes to resemble more and more closely the stock-in- trade of postcolonial studies” (Fiddian 3-4). 30

Bioy Casares typically do. However, even a casual perusal of both men’s lives will reveal striking commonalities, from their general introverted nature and distrust of organizations to their ironically fundamental role in shaping their respective nations’ cultures. Furthermore, examining both scholars’ works from a different perspective reveals a host of similarities, several of which have already been enumerated. For instance, both scholars had the misfortune of their earliest biographies downplaying, if not altogether rejecting, their social engagement and clear concern for social ills. Due to these biographies’ critical acclaim, at least in part, much scholarship regarding both men’s works has tended to focus on aesthetics and other literary elements. Fortunately, readers today now have access to previously unpublished works by Emerson and newly translated works by Borges, which open entirely new scholarly discussions and perspectives.

Emerson’s poignant antislavery speeches provide a new lens for reviewing his classic essays, such as “The American Scholar,” whereas Borges’s political commentaries reveal even greater depth to his famed literary puzzle boxes, such as “.” Furthermore, scholars can also deduce even more similarities between Emerson and Borges in terms of their social activism.

Given the similarities between both scholars, it is unsurprising that Borges credits Emerson more than once for his influence. Aside from the aforementioned poem, “Emerson,” Borges has openly commented on the superiority of

Emerson’s influence on his work, relative to other writers. For instance, In Mr.

Emerson’s , Beniamo Soressi quotes Borges’s surprising proclamation in 1967: “I think that Emerson is a finer writer and finer thinker than Nietzsche”

31

(334).47 Soressi also indicates that 1967 coincided with the “Nietzsche

Renaissance” occurring throughout the European continent, which served to

“retrieve [Nietzsche] from his ignominious association with the Nazis”; thus, not only the message itself, but also the timing of it, made Borges’s proclamation

“audaciously bold” (334). The timing of Borges’s statement is also interesting because followed the publication of most of Borges’s most famed stories, suggesting that Borges felt Emerson’s influence to a greater and greater degree as he continued writing, at least in a latent sense. Part of this influence may absolutely be Emerson’s realization of the fundamental role a writer can play in engaging with social issues that threaten to destroy the very foundations nascent, recently liberated yet continuously floundering, nations are built upon: natural law and natural rights, particularly liberty and egalitarianism.

Comparatively analyzing Emerson and Borges in the context of their respective engagement with natural laws and social issues that violated them within their respective nations is particularly exciting when considering not only

Borges’s open acknowledgement of Emerson’s influence, but also when considering how readings of Emerson’s texts are enriched when examining them from a Borgesian lens. Specifically, Borges’s writings arguably contain elements of Emersonian Transcendentalism and social activism, which enhance

47 This comment aligns with other scholars’ analysis of Borges’s evolving views over time, particularly related to politics, as Borges the dangers of without concern for the surrounding community. As Alejandra M. Salinas notes, “thus, the late Borges deplored the type of individualism that was indifferent to community, one that breeds a lack of social and causes civic disorder by giving preeminence to individual convenience over the good of the whole. Borges’s corollary is that in the political realm only law-abiding people and a disposition to respect impartiality can prevent the need or occasion for undue State interference and may make a liberal setting plausible” (16). 32

appreciation and catalyze complex analysis of Emerson’s major themes. This dissertation aims to track the respective evolution of both men’s engagement with social issues, underscoring how their distinct approaches ultimately lead to the same conclusions, which are grounded in the natural laws that underpin civilization. Specifically, this dissertation will trace Emerson’s broader contemplation of reform, which ultimately led to his specific engagement with slavery. Borges, on the other hand, began engaging with fascism and antisemitism directly by criticizing Nazi Germany in early essays, which prefigured his seemingly ambiguous, fantastic stories to follow, particularly during the rise of Peronism. In short, Emerson adopted a deductive approach to engagement with social issues, whereas Borges adopted an inductive approach.

Despite this difference, Emerson and Borges share a critical commonality, one that makes a convincing argument for their ongoing presence in scholarly debates today: Both writers, through their open, ongoing engagement with the most pressing social issues of their respective periods, not only made incalculable contributions to their respective nations and others during their lifetime, but also left behind a veritable treasure trove of writings that helps move humanity towards progress and civilization, rather than destruction and barbarism.

The first two chapters of the dissertation will focus on Emerson’s evolution as an antislavery activist. Specifically, the first chapter will analyze Emerson’s initial approach to social reform, as outlined in “The American Scholar” and “Man the Reformer.” Emerson’s initial reticence to align with specific organizations was

33

not due to his indifference towards social ills; instead, he was resistant to “single issue” reform. Thus, in his early essays, Emerson chose to promulgate a framework for holistic reform, which is based on natural laws. He believed that individuals must undergo complete spiritual renewal and transformation, which should naturally lead to the elimination of social ills, including slavery. However, as the second chapter demonstrates, Emerson soon realized that he needed to engage with slavery explicitly, and he produced a series of antislavery addresses that appeared to represent a radical departure from his early essays, though a close analysis of these addresses reveals that Emerson never abandons his transcendentalist beliefs, particularly those associated with natural laws, entirely.

Overall, these chapters will provide significant insight into the political and historical context in which Emerson’s writings were produced, illustrating the extent of Emerson’s engagement with abolitionist activities.

After detailing Emerson’s evolution as an antislavery activist, the dissertation will transition into Borges’s own evolution as an antifascist. The third chapter will provide strong insight into Borges’s sensitivity towards the plight of

Jews, including how this sensitivity influenced some of his most polemical political commentaries. Furthermore, this chapter will also illuminate the contagion of fascism, as Argentina became increasingly fascist under the Perón regimes,48 which ironically occurred after the Second World War. Given their

48 It should be noted that Perón served as President of Argentina twice, and while his second presidency is generally regarded as authoritarian (1973-1974), controversy remains over the extent of the fascism practiced during his first presidency (1946-1953), particularly during the early years. Sarmiento’s liberal project had led to some undesirable outcomes, particularly rural poverty. Perón became extremely popular after helping rebuild the impoverished province of San Juan after a horrific earthquake in 1944, and Healey believes “the ruins were an invitation to transformation, to building a new Argentina, more just, inclusive, and resilient … the ruins of San 34

brevity, several of Borges’s political commentaries will be discussed, ranging from the more well-known “Yo, Judío” (“I, a Jew”) to the relatively unknown, or under-analyzed, “L’Illusion Comique.” The third chapter’s discussion will naturally segue into the fourth chapter, which will analyze the antifascist elements of selected ficciones. While “Deutsches Requiem” is generally the most well-known

(and controversial) for its depiction of the evils of Nazism, other works also reveal a strong antifascist sentiment, including “,” which can be interpreted as a protest against Peronism.

Lastly, the fifth and final chapter will comparatively analyze both Emerson and Borges’s respective engagements with natural law and subsequent evolutions as social activists on an individual, national, and global level. On an individual level, both Emerson and Borges were profoundly erudite, sensitive scholars, engaging extensively in self- along with formal education.

Both men also traveled, and these experiences significantly influenced their perspective of the world and the development of their writings. Ultimately, the combination of education and experience led both men to effect change on a national level, namely by serving as public intellectuals. Emerson became prominently associated with the abolitionists, while Borges became famous for his opposition to the fascists. Furthermore, both men still held firm to this stance, despite the grave discomfort, and at times danger, that both faced. This bravery is extremely fortunate for the ongoing development of human progress, as both

Juan inspired the rise of Perón and his visions for a new Argentina” (6). Furthermore, Crónicas de la Resistencia underscores the popularity Perón had amongst the working class, who helped secure his 1946 electoral victory, noting how Perón symbolized “the return of decency and dignity for us workers” (qtd. in Seveso 239). 35

Emerson and Borges have arguably left an indelible impact not only on their own nations’ history, but also humanity as a whole. Their influence is impervious to spatial and temporal boundaries. It is truly remarkable to see the number of intersections between both scholars, given that they wrote in different languages in different nations during different centuries, yet in spite of all these distinctions, both arguably served as harbingers of human rights.

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CHAPTER 1: EMERSON’S GENERAL FOUNDATION FOR SOCIAL REFORM

Given the tenets of Emersonian Transcendentalism, Emerson initially appears to be an unlikely candidate for any form of major social or political activism. Critics in the twentieth century onwards continue to perceive Nature as a declaration of the “poet’s” need to largely withdraw from society, which would obviate the need for engagement with social reform: “Although [] maintains contact with the material, economic, and social aspects of the world, the poet, unlike the pure capitalist, avoids being absorbed by them. Instead, he uses nature as a springboard for elevating his (and others’) understanding of and faith in the essential unity and beneficence of creation” (Birch 388). In short,

Nature very much embodies the ideals of nineteenth-century Romanticism, which advocated the withdrawal from society and reunion with nature, particularly during the advent of the Industrial Revolution, which not only revolutionized the global economy, but also irrevocably altered people’s relationship with both others and their surrounding natural environments. Thus, “Nature articulated an

American response to a central question of Romanticism—how are nature, spirit, and the human mind interconnected?” (Harvey 119-20). The interconnection of nature, spirit, and human mind are particularly crucial to contemplate at this point in time, given that Nature was published against the backdrop of a stormier political context, or a period in which withdrawing one’s self from society would be compelling from an individual’s, though not from society’s, standpoint.

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Aside from the ongoing tension with Europe, the fledgling United States was also suffering from internal divisions over major social ills, and Emerson generally avoided direct public engagement with these issues during the earlier years of his career. One of the most significant ills was slavery, which had been integrated with American history long before the United States ever declared independence from Britain.49 This integration is particularly ironic given the

United States’ founding political principles, including “an ideology so fiercely dedicated to individual liberties, and so assertive of the fundamental natural rights of man,” that it “would clash with the principle of slaveholding” (Rael 44).

Thus, before the United States’ independence, some efforts had been made to give freedom to African-American slaves, though they were largely stymied.50

Decades after independence, slavery continued to thrive in several states, though it became an increasingly controversial social and political issue. By the mid-1830s, two distinct factions had begun developing: abolitionists and anti- abolitionists.51 Thus, the 1830s not only marked the inception of Emerson’s career with the publication of the aforementioned Nature, but also “a critical turning point in the slavery controversy in America” (Snay 38).

49 The Virginia colony was one of the first to recognize slavery officially in its laws, and its March 1661 passing of Act CII “recognized the condition in which some blacks were assumed to serve their masters for life” (Rodriguez 4-5). 50 Specifically, during the First Continental Congress (October 14, 1774), and Benjamin Franklin successfully persuaded delegates to approve a measure designed to end the slave trade (Rodriguez 21). Ironically, the First Continental Congress seemed far more concerned with the purported enslavement of British North America by Britain, as the delegates declared, “in the course of our inquiry, we find infringements and violations of the foregoing rights … which demonstrate a system formed to enslave America” (Walton 324). 51 For instance, 1835 marked of the Anti-slavery Society, as well as the rise of anti-abolition movements: “The rise of militant sparked violent opposition among a population deeply imbued with racism and social disorder … anti-abolition riots broke out in various places, including , New York, and Canterbury, Connecticut” (Snay 38). 38

Emerson initially resisted publicly aligning himself with abolitionist organizations and avoided explicit references to the abolitionist cause in his essays throughout the 1830s and early 1840s.52 Given his general demeanor and discomfort with organizations, it is unsurprising that many of Emerson’s earlier, more well-known writings generally do not engage explicitly with specific social issues.53 As Emerson scholar Len Gougeon notes, “there were many reasons for Emerson’s aversion to such public reform activity, not the least of which was his temperament” (“Historical” xix), which was decidedly not combative. Additionally, Emerson remained highly suspicious of organizations, and he often struggled “to understand and mediate the relationship between duty and his fierce emphasis upon individuality” (Strysick 144). In terms of the abolitionist movement, this struggle was particularly difficult, as Emerson “was not at all comfortable at this early juncture with many of the persons who were the loudest and most conspicuous proponents of abolition, which he still saw only as a partial reform” (Gougeon, “Historical” xix).54 Emerson disapproved of some abolitionists’ more abrasive tactics, but he also perceived them to gravitate towards a herd-like mentality, which would entail an absence of self-reliance and

52 As Gary Collison notes, “the works of his early career … give little hint that he was at all concerned with the immediate social issues of his day” (180). 53 An exception to this early stance was a letter to President , dated April 23, 1838, which concerned “the forcible removal of the Indians from their lands in the South to a western wilderness” (Gougeon, “Historical” xvii). While Emerson’s letter is quite bold, “privately, he recorded his unhappiness at entering this debate over public policy, expressing his inner conflict between his literary calling and his sense of a citizen’s public duty to advance progressive political causes” (Robinson 104). 54 Furthermore, the more vocal abolitionists could be considered self-aggrandizing, which Emerson noted in one of his journal entries, remarking, “the abolitionists with their holy cause … are an altogether odious set of people, whom one would be sure to shun as the worst of bores & canters” (Journals 120). William Pannapacker also notes that Emerson initially perceived the militant abolitionists as “lawless, unkempt, and self-righteous” (225), though this perception would gradually change with time. 39

individual thought, major cornerstones of his beliefs.55 However, despite his initial aversion to abolitionists, it is critical to note that Emerson was not opposed to the elimination of slavery.

Emerson was gravely concerned with the splintered state of society as a whole, given its numerous social ills, including slavery, an abysmal violation of natural law. As William Pannapacker notes, “Ralph Waldo Emerson was always a deeply committed social reformer, but he was often ambivalent about the means to achieve his ends” (225). Generally speaking, he strongly preferred interpersonal harmony over discord, particularly in the earlier stages of his career. Thus, he was deeply uncomfortable with the abolitionist movement’s militant, divisive methods, at least during the 1830s.56 In contrast to his feelings towards the abolitionists, Emerson’s personal journals57 do reveal long-term sensitivity towards the plight of slaves, which further illustrates his opposition to the institution of slavery itself.58 At the same time, a number of other serious

55 Oliver Wendell Holmes’s biography of Ralph Waldo Emerson, published in 1884, also continued to propagate Emerson’s general aversion to the abolitionist movement, particularly when it states, “it must be remembered that Emerson had never been identified with the abolitionists” (304). Holmes’s proclamation regarding Emerson’s adverse relationship with the abolitionist movement prevailed throughout scholarship for multiple decades. 56 The decade of 1830-1840 marked the rise of militant abolitionism, which also coincided with the start of Emerson’s public career. As James M. McPherson notes, “by the 1830s, militant abolitionists in the North and equally militant proslavery spokesmen in the South were engaged in a war of words that foreshadowed the war or bullets that would begin a generation later” (xvii). 57 Emerson’s regular journal entries can be attributed to the influence of his aunt, , who biographer Robert D. Richardson notes as the single most important part of Emerson’s education was that provided by his aunt Mary Moody Emerson” (23). One of the most important effects of this influence was Emerson’s decision “to begin writing a regular journal, his vehicle for recording self-awareness over the next half century” (Cole 164). These journals are invaluable; without them, it would be difficult to prove Emerson’s early concerns with slavery. 58 For example, in 1827, Emerson recalled when he “did come face to face with the miseries of the institution,” namely a “slave auction at St. Augustine, Florida, where [he] had been vacationing for his health” (Gougeon, “Abolition” 354). Emerson frequently referenced slavery in his journals, though in the early years, “his consideration remained on the level of moral abstraction” (Gougeon, “Abolition” 354). In 1836, the same year Nature was published, Emerson still demonstrated his preoccupation with slavery when he “devoted a notebook—one hundred 40

issues and grave abuses were plaguing the United States, including the forcible removal of the Cherokee Native Americans, which Emerson did publicly oppose, though he had strong reservations doing so.59 Given the onslaught of controversies plaguing various aspects of American life, Emerson’s earlier writings generally avoided extensive engagement with solitary social issues and focused on holistic reform and spiritual renewal, which would be applicable to myriad social and political issues. This applicability has also garnered increasing attention in recent years, with various scholars noting the social and political connotations embodied in Emerson’s general philosophy in his earlier essays.60

Of these scholars, has perhaps made the greatest contributions to this scholarship.61 Throughout his extensive publications, Cavell discusses “a useful picture of the political, or prepolitical, to be found” (188) in

Emerson’s most prominent earlier essays. Cavell believes that this political

pages long in its present published form—to ideas for his impending lecture series, and they included by far his most extensive thinking on slavery” (Sacks 63). 59 In 1838, Emerson did speak publically about the treatment of the in an open letter to President Martin Van Buren, as well as in a Concord protest meeting, but even this outspokenness made him uncomfortable: “Occasionally in the late 1830s, Emerson would allow himself to be persuaded to assume the role of a specific social reformer, but his feelings about these efforts were ambiguous, to say the least … In the spring of 1838, the Cherokee Indians were being removed from Georgia to west of the Mississippi River in accordance with a treaty considered by many to be a fraud. A protest meeting was held in Concord, and Emerson spoke at it, although very unwillingly” (Gougeon, Virtue’s 57). 60 For instance, James M. Albrecht notes that “any assessment of Emerson’s ethics or politics must begin with a discussion of his metaphysics” (26). In addition, Sam McGuire Worley also echoes this sentiment, noting that Emerson’s writings, “in all their prickly complexity … have proven to be compatible with a sense of social duties and attractions” (4). 61 As Cary Wolfe comments, “But no one has had more to do with Emerson’s renascence than the Harvard philosopher Stanley Cavell, who—in what by now amounts to hundreds of pages— has made large and persuasive claims for the intellectual rigor and cultural centrality of the Emersonian project” (137). Douglas R. Anderson also notes these efforts in his scholarship, stating that Cavell’s project, which began with The Senses of Walden, is “important” since it “has indeed illuminated much in Emerson that has been otherwise overlooked and misconstrued” (69). Joseph Urbas also acknowledges, “for well over three decades now, Stanley Cavell has been Emerson’s foremost philosophical interpreter and defender” (558).

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picture does not begin emerging in Emerson’s writing until after the publication of

Nature, which he states does “not yet constitute the Emersonian philosophical voice, but to be the place from which … that voice departs, in ‘The American

Scholar,’ ‘The ,’ and “Self-Reliance’” (122). Cavell’s scholarship aligns with the general scholarly consensus regarding Emerson’s philosophical fixation on the individual, but Cavell also insists that Emerson’s focus on individuality does not come at the expense of contributions to a society’s collective well-being. This insistence is one of the key aspects of

Cavell’s scholarship, as he argues, “the endlessly repeated idea that Emerson was only interested in finding the individual should give way to or make way for the idea that this request was his way of founding a nation, writing its constitution, constituting its citizens” (122). In other words, Emerson’s philosophy does not begin and end with the individual; it begins with individual growth and ends with how that growth ultimately manifests itself as a unifying force, one that promotes a civilization grounded in natural laws over a barbaric state that seeks to destroy them.

Thus, despite Emerson’s clearly cautious approach to specific social issues in the early years of his career, a careful examination of Emerson’s earlier speeches reveals that Emerson’s focus on the individual incorporates clear social and political implications. As clearly concerned as he was by his time’s most virulent controversies, Emerson believed the unilateral focus on one major social ill could come at the expense of a society’s complete spiritual renewal, as the elimination of one social ill does not guarantee the subsequent removal of

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another. Furthermore, Emerson’s earlier writings suggest that all society’s numerous social ills originate at the individual level. Thus, Emerson focuses strongly on the importance of holistic reform early in his public career, beginning with the individual, which ideally leads to the complete transformation of society and subsequent elimination of its numerous vices.62 Thus, even though Emerson does not take an overt stance on abolition and other social issues in his most prominent early essays, he does begin to lay the groundwork for the eventual development of his own abolitionist sensibilities and subsequent social activism.63 In short, Emerson’s earlier essays indicate that individuals must reform themselves entirely before any long-term societal reform is plausible.

Two of Emerson’s most famous essays, “The American Scholar” and

“Man the Reformer,” are particularly intriguing to examine from this perspective; though these essays are distinct in various ways, they embody a concentrated concern with reform. Furthermore, while Cavell has dedicated considerable scholarship to “The American Scholar,” his major works do not include an extended analysis of “Man the Reformer.” Nevertheless, “Man the Reformer” echoes several important sentiments from Cavell’s interpretation of “The

American Scholar,” particularly in terms of thinking. Thus, through analyzing these two essays concurrently, this chapter will extend Cavell’s arguments regarding the under-discussed political nature of Emerson’s earlier essays by

62 As noted by Dominic Mastroianni, “Emerson insists that the task of the citizen is to unleash a revolutionary force capable of destroying an existing world and constituting a new one” (31). 63 Kenneth S. Sacks recognizes the clear compatibility between Emerson’s metaphysical philosophy and eventual social engagement, recalling how Emerson was the only who “argued for reform of the soul,” and his “pursuit of spiritual reform put him on course, almost despite himself, to greater social awareness and commitment” (31). 43

detailing a framework wherein holistic reform can occur: an interdependent symbiosis of thought and action at the individual level, which is prerequisite to spiritual transformation at the societal level.

In “The American Scholar,” Emerson delineates the role of the scholar, namely the philosopher, or public intellectual, who should play a fundamental role in the holistic transformation of society. Specifically, the scholar should undergo individual reformation, which not only includes the acute study of nature and history, but also the development of original, progressive thinking. Once this individual renewal is achieved, the scholar is then equipped to guide others on a path of similar self-transformation, ultimately culminating in societal transformation. Thus, Emerson begins the essay by detailing the importance of the development of thinking, as he stresses that thought must precede action.

Once this intellectual development, coupled with personal introspection, is achieved, appropriate actions will naturally follow. Thought alone cannot catalyze reform, which is why Emerson also argues for the scholar to act by guiding others on a similar transformative process, always remembering that character, or integrity, is a vital aspect of every action. While avoiding explicit references to slavery, “The American Scholar” does conclude by envisioning a new nation for all men, clearly suggesting Emerson’s belief in all of humanity’s inherent inclination towards unity.

“Man the Reformer” is distinct from “The American Scholar” in terms of both tone and audience, and unlike “The American Scholar,” “Man the Reformer” directly references slavery, albeit just twice. Despite the differences between the

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essays, they share similar sentiments regarding reform, as Emerson continues to stress the importance of combined thought and action. In terms of thought,

Emerson focuses on assessing one’s accountability, particularly in light of the economic changes that have engulfed society. This assessment should naturally reflect in one’s actions, and Emerson specifically recommends manual labor as a way to live simply, yet freely. Furthermore, manual labor also guides individuals towards self-sufficiency, and when accountable, self-sufficient individuals comprise society, several social ills should naturally eliminate themselves.

Slavery thrived in part due to people’s preference for convenience over manual labor, which is precisely why it was able to pervade the entire nation: Even states that did not practice slavery indirectly benefitted from its production of goods for consumption, which Emerson states directly. Thus, even though Emerson does not extensively engage with specific social issues in these particular essays, his earlier contemplations regarding reform, namely the holistic transformation of individuals and society, illustrate the germination of his eventual social reform efforts.

“The American Scholar” (1837): A Symbiosis of Thought and Action at the

Individual Level—The Development of the Scholarly Visionary

After the 1836 publication of the aforementioned Nature, Emerson’s transcendental masterpiece, Harvard unsurprisingly extended an invitation for

Emerson to speak at a commencement ceremony. On August 31, 1837,

Emerson delivered one of his most famous speeches of all time,64 which was

64 Cavell cites “The American Scholar” as the key influence on his own speeches: “In the course of thinking how I might respond in this Scholar’s Day address to the honor of the invitation to 45

ultimately named “The American Scholar,” to the Phi Beta Kappa Society of

Harvard College. This speech was so groundbreaking at the time that Oliver

Wendell Holmes, Sr. proclaimed it to be the United States’ “intellectual

Declaration of Independence” (Gibian 199).65 This concise, yet prescient, observation underscored the importance of Emerson’s speech, as it helped establish a distinctly American identity, an identity divorced from the cultural of Europe. Furthermore, this speech also helped develop Emerson’s perception of the active role the public intellectual, or scholar, should take in the newly formed United States.

Emerson’s major objective in “The American Scholar” is to redefine the modern scholar and outline the scholar’s duties, which involve a symbiosis of thought and action. He opens his essay by describing how the scholar can reform his thinking, focusing in particular on the influence of nature and books on the mind, as well as the importance of original, individual thought. After detailing the scholar’s new line of thinking, Emerson then segues into the second major point of his speech, namely when he describes how this new line of thought would naturally compel the scholar towards action, and the scholar’s key responsibility is to guide other individuals towards that similar renewal and transformation. Throughout this discussion, Emerson emphasizes the importance of character and collective concern, though he also cautions against unilateral

deliver it, I found myself recurring to the most famous address, and I suppose the best, ever given by an American thinker … Emerson’s ‘The American Scholar,’” (20). 65 Interestingly, the son of Holmes, Sr. would eventually become a Supreme Court justice, effecting significant change with his decisions and subsequently mirroring the call to action that Emerson sets forth: “More than any other single person, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., is responsible for the position that occupies in American society today” (Healy 35). 46

focus on one major social concern, as the scholar should be concerned with complete, not partial, amelioration of society, which commences with individual reformation. While “The American Scholar” clearly focuses on the role of the scholar, a careful analysis of the aforementioned nuances of thought and action depicted in the speech reveals that Emerson is laying the groundwork for the holistic reform he believes every individual should undergo prior to trying to reform society, which he explicates in even greater detail in “Man the Reformer.”

The opening of “The American Scholar” alludes to the need for broad reform across the United States, starting with the intellect, particularly given the nation’s strong focus on economic prosperity at the expense of intellectual development. Emerson appears to implicitly agree with the fact that the United

States has proven itself more formidable economically than culturally, which is why he believes, “perhaps the time is already come … when the sluggard intellect of this continent will look from under its iron lids, and fill the postponed expectation of the world with something better than the exertions of mechanical skill” (11). Indeed, while the focus on mechanical abilities has led to economic prosperity, it has also led to the “divided” society, wherein its “members have suffered amputation from the trunk” (12), given that the increased focus on material prosperity supplants virtually all other concerns. In Emerson’s society,

“man is thus metamorphosed into a thing, into many things” (12), which is why it is unsurprising that such as society has led to its individuals representing “a good finger, a neck, a stomach, an elbow, but never a man” (12). Furthermore, the division of the individual has resulted in the diminishment of original, unique

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thought, which Emerson alludes to by invoking religious references: “The gods, in the beginning, divided Man into men, that he might be more helpful to himself; just as the hand was divided into fingers” (12). In other words, just as a finger conforms to the will of the hand, an individual also conforms to society’s will, and

Cavell has noted that this comes at the expense of unique thought.66

In short, individuals are not synonymous with their thoughts and beliefs; instead, they are defined by their labor, or professions, which leads to the commodification of an individual: “The priest becomes a form; the attorney, a statute-book; the mechanic, a machine; the sailor, a rope of a ship” (12).67 This analogy is significant, as it underscores the clear commodification of labor that has thus far characterized the United States, and the fixation on the money accrued through labor comes at the expense of minimal interest in higher self- development. Furthermore, these priorities lead to a violation of natural laws in that individuals are subjugated for profit, which runs counter to of liberty and egalitarianism. As Emerson notes, “the tradesman scarcely ever gives an ideal worth to his work, but is ridden by the routine of his craft, and the soul is subject to dollars” (12). Needless to say, slavery represents the vilest form of labor commodification in the early nineteenth century. While Emerson does not

66 Cavell references this passage specifically in his analysis, stating, “what goes on inside of us now is merely obedience to the law and the voices of others—the business Emerson calls conformity, a rewriting of what Kant calls heteronomy. That no thought is our own is what Emerson signals by interpreting the opening fable of his essay, concerning the gods’ original division of Man into men” (153). 67 This quote brings to mind ’s frequent in his seminal work, Das Kapital, particularly the commodification of labor: “Owing to the extensive use of machinery and to , the work of the proletarians has all individual character, and consequently, all charm for the workman. He becomes an appendage of the machine” (69). In the context of “The American Scholar,” the “machine” is representative of the United States’ booming economy while the “appendage” is a composite of the myriad laborers who ultimately power the economy. 48

use the term “slave” in this particular essay, he ironically does refer to agricultural work specifically, noting, “the planter, who is Man sent out into the field to gather food, is seldom cheered by any idea of the true dignity of his ministry. He sees his bushel and his cart, and nothing beyond, and sinks into the farmer, instead of

Man on the farm” (12). Clearly, Emerson believes that society’s divided state can be attributed to the de-emphasis of the individual beyond labor, namely when the term “farmer” has supplanted “Man on the farm,” and he resists the notion that an individual is to be valued for little more than material contributions. Furthermore, if individuals working in paid professions are still ultimately defined by little more than the capital associated with their labor, then slaves have clearly suffered an even greater, unmeasurable degradation of their humanity, as they neither own the capital nor reap any monetary reward from their labor. This particular discussion is also crucial since it forms a central tenet of the 1841 essay “Man the Reformer,” wherein Emerson explicitly engages with the issue of slavery.

Against the backdrop of this materially driven yet intellectually directionless society, Emerson clearly underscores the necessity of the scholar, otherwise known as “the delegated intellect” or “Man Thinking” (12), given the scholar’s ability to promote intellectual evolution through careful, critical thought.68 Throughout the first half of the essay, he spends substantive time describing the various influences on thought, which determine the development

68 In addition, Cavell also notes that the American Scholar is presently nonexistent from Emerson’s perspective: ““Whoever Emerson invokes as belonging to the class of scholars that commencement day at Harvard in the summer of 1837—himself, his audience (whether as poets, preachers, or philosophers)—the principal fact about the class is that it is empty; the American Scholar does not exist” (145). 49

of the thinking process.69 Emerson cites nature as “the first in time and the first in importance of the influences upon the mind” (13) of the scholar, given that nature the “boundless” (13) power of the intellect.70 For Emerson’s scholar, nature “resembles his own spirit” (13), which is why “the ancient precept, ‘,’ and the modern precept, ‘Study nature’ become at last one maxim”

(14).71 The symmetry between these ancient and modern precepts underscores

Emerson’s strong belief that a lack of engagement with nature will lead to a lack of self-development, and he draws a direct parallel between the absence of engagement with nature and the insufficient development of intellect: “So much of nature as he is ignorant of, so much of his own mind does he not yet possess”

(14). The scholar avoids this ignorance to the best of his abilities and recognizes that nature’s beauty reflects “the beauty of his own mind” (14), which in turn leads to his ability to develop “an ever expanding knowledge as to becoming creator” (14). Emerson’s reference to the scholar “becoming creator” also alludes to his aforementioned belief in the perfectibility of mankind,72 and such a

69 Cavell focuses extensively on the thinking process in his analysis in “The American Scholar,” justifying the focus by stating, “ not know of any commentary on this text that finds Emerson to be thinking about the idea of thinking” (33). 70 The emphasis on intellect is critical, given that Emerson’s scholar “creates intellectual property that serves as a public good”; more specifically, the scholar “discovers and expresses laws and correspondences that unite the human spirit with nature,” which “comes to symbolize a creative spirit … to which all human beings belong” (Birch 390). 71 Emerson’s focus on the symmetry between nature and self-knowledge previews major themes that underpin Emerson’s later essays, namely “The Over-Soul.” Published in 1841, “The Over- Soul” exemplifies Emerson’s musings about the symmetry and universality of nature, which binds together all of humanity: “Man is a stream whose source is hidden. Our being is descending into us from we know not whence … The Supreme Critic on the errors of the past and the present, and the only prophet of that which must be, is that great nature in which we rest, as the earth lies in the soft arms of the atmosphere; that Unity, that Over-soul, within which every man's particular being is contained and made one with all other” (385-86). 72 As Elizabeth Hurth notes, Emerson believes “the individual is capable of self-determination” (Between 199), which is distinct from other philosophies that fixate on predetermination; she also states that Emerson “is convinced that individuals can perfect themselves” (Between 199). 50

perfectibility would naturally precipitate holistic, complete reform. In addition,

Emerson believes that the mechanization of the body adversely impacts the perfectibility of an individual, particularly if an individual’s body and will are opposed to one another, as Richard Hardack has noted.73 Furthermore, Emerson does not provide any sense that this perfectibility is unachievable for any specific individual, nor does he suggest that it is closed to African-Americans and other marginalized groups.

In addition, nature has often been reflected in some of humanity’s greatest intellectual discoveries, which not only further emphasizes its critical influence on the evolution of thought, but also its universality across all human experience.74

Regardless of an individual’s age, race, religion, or other distinctive characteristic, every human being exists in interdependence with nature. This interdependence is not only physical, in terms of nature’s provision of the sustenance needed to ensure life’s physical survival, but also metaphysical.

Specifically, an individual’s groundbreaking intellectual discovery often finds its already in existence within nature. For instance, “the astronomer discovers that geometry, a pure abstraction of the human mind, is the measure of planetary motion” while “the chemist finds proportions and intelligible method throughout matter” (13), illustrating that science often involves “the finding of analogy,

73 Hardack specifically refers to “the dispossessive effects of slavery,” and he points out that the perfectibility of an individual is threatened when “bodies become impersonal machines alienated from their owners’ wills” (180). 74 Emerson’s focus on nature is particularly important in the aftermath of the Industrial Revolution, which “witnessed the transformation of an agrarian society into an emergent industrial economy, and the thoughts of the literary intellectuals registered the tension between nature and civilization, solitude and society, original virtue and cultivated manners and morals” (Diggins 155). In essence, the Industrial Revolution involved a further divorce between mankind and nature, a divorce that preoccupied numerous writers, philosophers, and intellectuals. 51

identity, in the most remote parts” (13). In other words, nature provides the lens through which humanity can make sense of “a constant accumulation and classifying of facts” (13), and through this lens, “contrary and remote things cohere, and flower out from one stem” (13). Thus, those individuals possessed with an “ambitious soul” (13) are able to find coherence among the ostensible chaos in nature, which should naturally lead to the ability to bring coherence to a chaotic, divided society.

Furthermore, virtually any individual can and should take part in this self- discovery, which is clear when Emerson questions, “Is not, indeed, every man a student, and do not all things exist for the student’s behoof?” (12). The word

“every man” is significant, as it does not exclude anyone based on any particular characteristics, including race and socioeconomic status. Here, Emerson suggests that virtually any individual can and should take advantage of self- development and become a “student” of the surrounding world, particularly since

“all things exist” to benefit the student. However, slavery would prohibit African-

Americans from taking part in all the advantages of being a “student” of the surrounding world. On every level, the institution of slavery would prohibit a significant percentage of the individuals living within the United States from pursuing such self-development, as the omnipresent physical imprisonment of their bodies restricts them from achieving the complete reform proposed by

Emerson. Thus, Emerson’s discussion of nature’s influence on the development of thought is crucial, given that nature is one of the few constants of universal

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human experience.75 This discussion also provides context for Emerson’s discussion of history’s influence on the development of thought, which includes the cumulative, manmade body of knowledge acquired from universal experience with nature.

After detailing the importance of nature’s influence on the mind, Emerson segues into describing the second major influence on the evolution of thought: the influence of the past on the mind, which primarily occurs through reading books, or “the best type of the influence of the past” (14). Emerson considers the theory underlying books’ purpose to be “noble” (14), as books are a written record of the accumulation of human knowledge and progress to the present moment. Specifically, Emerson recalls “the scholar of the first age received into him the world around; brooded thereon; gave it the new arrangement of his own mind, and uttered it again. It came into him, life; it went out from him, truth” (14).

In other words, humanity’s first scholars laid the initial foundation for the perfectibility of mankind by recording the truths they discovered through nature and leaving behind a record of these truths for perusal and contemplation by subsequent generations, contributing to the “preestablished harmony” (16) that binds humanity.76 For instance, Emerson recalls how a poet who lived in a previous century was able to speak to him through the poetry he left behind:

75 For instance, J. Daryl Charles notes how ’s Nichomachean Ethics highlights the influence of nature on ethical development: “Ethics, therefore, as Aristotle makes clear, is to act in accordance with our fundamental nature. Nature, consequently, where it is illumined by right reason, guides human beings in distinguishing between virtue and vice” (79-80). 76 Kerry Larson has also discussed this attitude towards history in Emerson’s work: “On his view, historical understanding is the name we give to the act of affirming a correspondence between the inclinations and actions of agents in the past with the inclinations and actions of agents at a later time” (991). 53

“There is some awe mixed with the joy of our surprise, when this poet, who lived in some past world … says that which lies close to my own soul, that which I had wellnigh thought and said” (16).

While these initial scholars’ contributions are invaluable, Emerson also notes the necessity of uncovering new truths and knowledge in each era.77 Given nature’s, and consequently the individual’s, “boundless” (13) capacity for discovery, “each age, it is found, must write its own books; or rather, each generation for the next succeeding” (14). Thus, while erudition and scholarship from past scholars are important activities the modern scholar must undertake to develop his mind, he should be careful to avoid depending extensively on previous thinkers and ensure that he develops his own original ideas and thoughts, which are critical for meaningful reform.78 Thus, Emerson notes “the grave mischief” (14) that can arise from intellectual overdependence on books, which can come at the expense of stunting the development of critical thought necessary for the current era.79 For instance, Emerson recalls how “meek young men grow up in libraries, believing it their duty to accept the views, which , which Locke, which Bacon, have given, forgetful that Cicero, Locke, and Bacon

77 During Emerson’s time period, an example of a new truth that ideally leads to humanity’s perfectibility would be the concept of , which was very new in practice in the nineteenth century. As notes, “there were almost no democratic societies in the past and therefore self-reliance in its democratic manifestation was not a possibility” (10), which is why each era’s scholars are not only responsible for helping ameliorate the society in which they live, but also by providing guidance to future generations. In this sense, Emerson’s continued influence today is vital. 78 Cavell also notes the importance of a new way of thinking in “The American Scholar”: “Suppose we say that what motivates Emerson’s thinking, or what causes this call for the American Scholar, is Emerson’s vision of our not yet thinking” (154). 79 In other words, Emerson advocates active, rather than passive, reading, which Kerry Larson details: “In each of his essays Emerson spends a good deal of time working through insights others had expounded long before. Why should this be better for him? The answer, of course, turns on the concept of working through past opinion, as opposed to merely recording it” (1008). 54

were only young men in libraries, when they wrote those books” (15). In other words, while Cicero, Locke, Bacon and others certainly engaged in extensive scholarship, they were also certain to produce their own original thoughts and encapsulate them in written form to guide future generations; they did not simply reiterate other preceding scholars’ views without including their own.

Furthermore, this overdependence on great minds from the past also can lead more than one individual to become “the parrot of other men’s thinking” (12).

Mindlessly parroting others’ views is not only indicative of the absence of original thought, but it can also be a significant contributor to major societal ills that challenge the natural rights of its citizens. Emerson’s reference to the “parrot” may also illuminate why he was initially hesitant to align himself with directly with the any organized resistance, which may come at the expense of individual development. Therefore, from Emerson’s standpoint, “books are the best of things, well used; abused, among the worst” (15), given the following outcome:

“Hence, instead of Man Thinking, we have the bookworm” (15). While books are valuable, particularly for acquiring information about the accumulation of human progress, an individual’s personal reformation, or perfectibility, cannot start and end with simply reading, which can lead to overdependence on others’ thoughts.80 Instead, the scholar should develop his thoughts as fully as possible, utilizing the knowledge acquired through nature, books, and personal introspection, and ultimately transform these thoughts into tangible action, the

80 James Elliott Cabot also notes that Emerson urged his readership to avoid overdependence on others’ thoughts, which is why Emersonian Transcendentalism calls for us to “resist the sleep of routine, and think and act for ourselves instead of allowing circumstances to decide for us” (39). 55

second major aspect of complete reform. In other words, once the scholar has achieved complete reformation on an individual level, he is aptly positioned to guide others to do the same; through helping others recognize the universality of human experience, and their place within it, the scholar can help others appreciate the forces that bind, rather than separate, humanity.

After delineating the importance of critical thought, including the influence of nature and the past coupled with original, modern ideas, Emerson segues into the next compelling point of his argument for holistic reform: the necessity of action,81 which naturally flows from critical thought. In terms of reform, Emerson states that thought must precede action, but reform cannot begin and end with thought alone, as “thinking is a partial act” (19).82 For this reason, “action is with the scholar subordinate, but it is essential. Without it he is not yet man. Without it thought can never ripen into truth” (17). In other words, Emerson realizes that truth cannot be realized without action, and the corollary to this realization it that inaction can be likened to obscuring the truth, or the nature of reality. Thus, without action, the scholar feels stunted and “grudges every opportunity of action past by, as a loss of power” (18). These actions include enabling others to become truly attuned to their own possibilities, realizing that they can and do have more to offer than the fruits of their literal labor, as a fixation on the material often comes at the expense of intellectual and ethical. The scholar should help

81 Albrecht also has noted the importance of action in Emerson’s writings: “Emerson describes cultural change as occurring within the dynamic, antagonistic interplay of power and limitation, freedom and fate; moreover, he describes individual actions—actions that are inevitably socially indebted and implicated—as playing an essential role in facilitating such a change” (110). 82 Actively working towards the elimination of social ills also aligns with natural law, which “describes both how things are in their essence and how they ought to be. By analogy, morality can be compared to gravity to the extent that it is grounded in ‘natural-law’ thinking” (Charles 81). 56

individuals realize their total, not partial, worth, as well as recognize the worthiness in others. To do so, the scholar can guide individuals to undergo a similar path of self-discovery through becoming a student of both nature and history, and the critical thought acquired through these studies should encourage them to follow through with action.83 If the scholar achieves this goal, such a radical shift in individuals’ perspectives should naturally engender them to resist and challenge practices and institutions that undermine humanity’s unity, including slavery.

In addition, critical thought should naturally lead to effective action, as “the preamble of thought, the transition through which it passes from the unconscious to the conscious, is action” (17). To underscore the inextricability of thought and action from one another, Emerson also links thought and action directly together at other points in the essay: “The mind now thinks; now acts; and each fit reproduces the other” (19). While Emerson espouses the importance of critical thinking, he also argues that morality should also underpin action, namely when he states, “character is higher than intellect” (19). One may be highly educated, or intellectual, yet simultaneously deficient in character, and this deficiency undoubtedly contributed to the social turmoil that plagued Emerson’s era.

Character combats cruelty, which is why thought, coupled with morality and virtue, should guide the scholar’s actions. Once the scholar is confident that his

83 Anita Haya Patterson also notes the correlation between self-development and unity in “The American Scholar,” and she discusses unity specifically in terms of racial relations: “The culture of American letters is heralded in Emerson’s address as representative of possibilities for reform and more perfect community that exist for Americans as representatives of the human race. The identification of race with culture allows Emerson in the same gesture to assert the existence of an exceptional nation of Americans marked by racial unity and to transcend racial and national boundaries by means of the infinite pervasiveness of the culture he describes” (139). 57

actions will originate from critical, ethical thought, he can then work towards contributing to the collective beneficence of humanity, which should ideally lead to the holistic reform of society.

Armed with the combination of original thought and corresponding action the modern scholar is free to feel “all confidence in himself, and to defer never to the popular cry” (21), which will enable him to fulfill the chief function that

Emerson envisions for the scholar’s place within society: “to cheer, to raise, and to guide men by showing them facts amidst appearances” (20). This point is crucial in recognizing the practicality of the scholar’s vital role, especially since

“so-called ‘practical men’ sneer at speculative men, as if, because they speculate or see, they could do nothing” (17). While Emerson certainly advocated the value of solitude, he did not wish to avoid interaction with others entirely, which would render the scholar essentially divorced from society and subsequently irrelevant to any major reform efforts.84 Emerson’s scholar not only sees, but he also acts by actively transforming himself, which then enables him to encourage other individuals to embark on their own self-transformation, essentially catalyzing a natural ripple effect of reform that originated from the individual. Therefore,

Emerson welcomes the opportunity to “run eagerly into this resounding tumult”

(17) and “grasp the hands of those” (17) next to him. In addition, Emerson also declares, “I will not shut myself out of this globe of action” (18), further underscoring not only his willingness, but also his desire, to engage in the “globe

84 As Jeffrey R. Di Leo notes, “Emerson envisioned the American public intellectual as a person who would do whatever possible to communicate ideas to the world, not just to fellow intellectuals” (70). 58

of action” pervading nineteenth century America. However, it is important to note that Emerson did not refer to a particular course of action, and “globe” is an amorphous term that can carry myriad connotations.85 Thus, given the deliberately broad use of “globe,” Emerson is certainly interested in the renewal and perfectibility of mankind, though he avoids prescribing a direct course of actions.

Nevertheless, this perfectibility is accessible to all individuals, which is particularly clear in the essay’s concluding sentiments, which stress the importance of unity of every individual, regardless of any defining characteristic.

In fact, Emerson directly characterizes an absence of unity as the world’s “chief disgrace” (26): “Is it not the chief disgrace in the world, not to be a unit; —not to be reckoned with one character; —not to yield that particular fruit which each man was created to bear, but to be reckoned in the gross, in the hundred, or the thousand, of the party, the section, to which we belong; and our opinion predicted geographically, as the north, or the south?” (26). Emerson believes that division will stymie human progress, and he is clearly troubled by the increasing polarization between the northern and southern states. His resistance to a geographically predicted opinion also provides further insight into why he did not directly take part in the abolitionist movement at this point in time, as he likely

85 Additionally, the term “globe” likely prefigures other Emersonian tropes that appear in later essays, including “,” wherein Emerson reflects about the synchronism between nature and human experience: “The eye is the first circle; the horizon which it forms is the second; and throughout nature this primary figure is repeated without end. It is the highest emblem in the cipher of the world … There are no fixtures in nature. The universe is fluid and volatile. Permanence is but a word of degrees. Our globe seen by God is a transparent law, not a mass of facts” (403). Thus, Emerson’s use of the word “globe” in “The American Scholar” demonstrates its purposely ambiguous connotations, particularly when he argues the globe does not represent “a mass of facts.” 59

perceived such an action to be one that contravenes the holistic reform he argues is critical for true transformation of society.

Furthermore, Emerson also foreshadows one of the major points he will make in “Man the Reformer” in the closing lines of “The American Scholar,” namely the importance of self-reliance: “We will walk on our own feet; we will work with our own hands; we will speak our own minds” (27). These concise sentences reveal Emerson’s perception of a complete, rather than partial, man.

While society has encouraged people’s partial, incomplete nature, Emerson is urging them to resist this partiality and reach their full potential as complete, self- reliant individuals,86 who will naturally gravitate towards justice, or the protection of natural rights.87 Once this goal is achieved, “a wreath of joy around all” (27) will pervade society, and “a nation of men will for the first time exist, because each believes himself inspired by the Divine Soul which also inspires all men” (27).

The use of word “all” is critical, as it excludes no one and includes everyone, and

Emerson clearly posits this inclusion as revolutionary in human progress with the phrase “first time.” Emerson believes that self-development will naturally lead to an appreciation for all members of the human race and the subsequent elimination of any and all institutions that undermine humanity.88

86 Interestingly, Sacks has noted that Emerson’s articulation of self-reliance began with “The American Scholar,” rather than the eponymous “Self-Reliance”: “Self-reliance was to become a lifelong goal, first fully articulated in ‘The American Scholar’ … at Harvard, on fire with a vision of the intrepid scholar, he directly linked the courage to speak the truth with the self-reliance he made famous in the essay of that name written two years later” (48). 87 As notes, “when laws and policies deviate from publicly recognized standards, an appeal to the society’s sense of justice is presumably possible to some extent … this condition is presupposed in undertaking ” (310). Emerson yearns for fully reformed individuals unafraid to speak up in the face of injustice, or any violation of natural rights. 88 Cavell has also noted the significance of this closing line, and he specifically identifies this quote as one that demonstrates the correlation between individual and institutional development, 60

Therefore, while “The American Scholar” clearly heralds of the importance of action in conjunction with thought, the essay avoids recommending detailed actions in a specific social or political context to keep the focus on holistic, rather than partial, reform. In addition, aside from its fairly brief opening commentary on the relationship between the burgeoning economy and societal division, “The

American Scholar” avoids references to specific social injustices. In fact, specific wording within the essay contains clear evidence for Emerson’s relative reluctance to engage in specific social issues:

The world of any moment is the merest appearance. Some great

decorum, some fetish of a government, some ephemeral trade, or war, or

man, is cried up by half mankind and cried down by the other half, as if all

depended on this particular up and down. The odds are that the whole

question is not worth the poorest thought which the scholar has lost

listening to the controversy. (21)

Thus, at this point in time, Emerson believes that the scholar should remain distant from divisive controversies, as he does not believe that everything depends “on this particular up and down.”89 In fact, in light of the importance of both thought and action when it comes to reform, Emerson’s remark that such a controversy is likely “not worth the poorest thought” suggests that a scholar’s reform efforts could be derailed by a unilateral focus on one major social ill.90 It is

as well as their interdependence in promoting a fully unified society: “For Emerson you could say that this requires both a constitution of the public and institution of the private, a new obligation to think for ourselves, to make ourselves intelligible, in every word” (153). 89 Emerson reaffirms a similar point in “Circles,” namely when he states, “One man’s justice is another’s injustice” (410). 90 Len Gougeon also cites this concern as a reason for Emerson’s resistance to engaging directly with abolition in the 1830s: “A possible explanation for this situation is that, in the 1840s 61

this type of commentary that exasperated several of Emerson’s staunchly abolitionist friends, who believed that Emerson wasn’t wielding his influence as effectively as possible in helping address the greatest social ill that would eventually threaten to undermine the newly formed nation. This position also appears clear when Emerson argues that it is easier to examine events in hindsight, rather than in the present moment: “The actions and events of our childhood and youth are now matters of calmest observations … Not so with our recent actions, —with the business which we now have in hand” (18). In other words, given Emerson’s inherently conservative nature, he is hesitant to examine ongoing controversies with absolute conviction, particularly since he believes that

“the world of any moment is the merest appearance” (21), with the ephemerality of a given era revealing itself later on in written history.

“The American Scholar” was an immense achievement for nineteenth- century American culture, not only due to its intellectual complexity, but also its clear framework for holistic reform of a very new, fledgling nation. Emerson’s framework entails two inextricable components, thought and action, with thought preceding action. In terms of thought, Emerson advocated the importance of nature and history on the mind, with nature encompassing the totality of human experience and history demonstrating the accumulation of human knowledge. To ensure the highest evolution of thought, Emerson also argues for individual introspection, which leads to original thoughts and avoids intellectual

especially, Emerson looked upon these occasional discourses on specific social issues as largely ephemeral and therefore not indicative of the more philosophical and comprehensive treatment of the human condition that is reflected in the essays and lectures he chose to publish at the time” (Virtue’s 2). 62

overdependence on scholars from previous generations. This type of critical thinking naturally necessitates action, which also enables the scholar to serve a practical function in society. Specifically, through actions guided by critical thinking and unwavering character, the scholar can encourage other men to embark on a similar process of self-transformation through thinking and corresponding action. This process should ultimately guide individuals towards naturally reforming society as a whole, as it will enable them to recognize the shared universality of the human experience, as well as the humanity they share with every member of the human family. Once individuals recognize and acknowledge this universality and inherent equality, or the egalitarianism of all individuals, they will naturally strive to eliminate social institutions that destroy humanity and promote division, rather than unity. Thus, any social trend that promotes inequality, from promoting slavery to restricting women’s suffrage, will meet a natural death in a society comprising concerned citizens.

“Man the Reformer” (1841): A Symbiosis of Action and Thought at the

National Level—The Scholar’s Role in Social Reform

In 1841, Emerson delivered another speech, “Man the Reformer,” which further elaborates the importance of combined thought and action in reform initially detailed in “The American Scholar.” In contrast to “The American

Scholar,” however, Emerson is even more critical of American society, and his tone is generally far more negative. “Man the Reformer” is particularly interesting to examine in the context of the aforementioned “Circles” and “The Over-Soul,” which were also published in 1841, yet are significantly more optimistic than

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“Man the Reformer,” in that they embody the idealism that Emerson’s

Transcendentalism is known for. Nevertheless, Emerson’s “idealism never made him blind to the facts, nor did it make him wish to ignore them” (Cabot 33-34).

Thus, several concurrent events influenced the holistic reform that Emerson proposes in “Man the Reformer”, including the increasing emphasis on

Temperance,91 further developments in the abolitionist cause,92 and the insidious influence of the Industrial Revolution on the economy and people’s relations with one another.93 These combined forces partially explain why “Man the Reformer” does not focus extensively on one major social ill, particularly since Emerson often found himself pressured to speak publicly on varied, single-focus social issues.94

91 Per some perspectives, “heavy drinking was viewed as the dominant symptom of social disorder,” and “by the mid-1820s, religious and medical reformers had joined forces” (Dorn 49) in the Temperance Movement. This movement was further buoyed by a younger ’s own commentary on intemperance, namely when he asserts, “the demon of intemperance ever seems to have delighted in sucking the blood of genius and generosity” (qtd. in Frick 18). 92 For instance, in 1839, the anti-slavery Liberty Party was founded, which was “the first avowedly abolitionist political party” (Corps xx). However, perhaps one of the most important, and tragic, developments was the murder of abolitionist Elijah Lovejoy, who was shot and killed on November 7, 1837. (Gaustad & Noll 520). His death is widely considered one of the first martyrdoms for , and he also is acknowledged as significant martyr for the anti-slavery movement. Emerson himself also commented directly on the tragedy, paying tribute to Lovejoy by referring to him as “the brave Lovejoy [who] gave his breast to the bullets of a mob, and died when it was better not to live” (qtd. in Simon 168). 93 As historian Eric Hobsbawm notes, the effects of the Industrial Revolution were not felt in the Americas until well into the nineteenth century, as “the repercussions of this revolution did not make themselves felt in an obvious and unmistakable way—at any rate outside England—until quite late in our period; certainly not before 1830, probably not before 1840 or thereabouts” (28). 94 Despite Emerson’s general reluctance to participate openly in a specific reform movement, “he keenly felt pressure from friends and family who embraced the abolitionist cause” (Beck 29). In addition, Emerson also felt pressure to participate in the Temperance Movement, and his resentment is depicted explicitly in “Society,” a lecture delivered on January 26, 1837 at the Masonic Temple in Boston: “A society feels the evil of intemperance and heartily seeks to convince me of it and to persuade me to cooperate with them. As long as they show me the evils of intemperance so long they are working directly to their end. They are satisfying me of the fact and turning me into a Temperance Agent, a Temperance Institution. But the moment they bring in any shape what they call the Public Opinion to bear on me, to induce me to sign a pledge, or join a society, they are thwarting their own design, for they are using numbers, that is, mobs and bodies, and disusing principles” (107). 64

Furthermore, at this point in time, Emerson still believes that a complete reform of the individual must precede any major societal reform, which is why

“Man the Reformer” does not advocate partial reform. Instead, “Man the

Reformer” further refines the symbiosis of thought and action that Emerson proposes in “The American Scholar.” In terms of thought, Emerson argues about the importance of awareness and accountability, particularly in light of dramatic economic changes that have revolutionized the economy and society. However, these changes have also resulted in egregious violations of natural laws, particularly through slavery, and an absence of accountability allows these practices to flourish. When individuals become truly accountable for all their actions, whether these actions entail active participation or passive complicity in the continuation of various social ills, they are naturally spurred to individual action, which marks the second major component of Emerson’s holistic reform. In terms of action, “Man the Reformer” provides more specific recommendations than “The American Scholar,” namely by focusing specifically on manual labor, which will enable an individual to live purely in an increasingly corrupt society.

Lastly, manual labor can ultimately lead to self-sufficiency, which Emerson believes to be one of society’s most pressing needs. Self-sufficiency would require individuals to assume full responsibility for their own actions and naturally gravitate them towards peaceful coexistence in a society generally devoid of serious social issues, or a society that demonstrates characteristics of a civilized, rather than barbaric, state. Thus, relative to “The American Scholar,” “Man the

Reformer” offers even more explicit guidance for individual, holistic reform, which

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Emerson believes is vital for the ultimate transformation of society and subsequent elimination of myriad social ills, including slavery.

At the beginning of “Man the Reformer,” Emerson states that he wishes to

“offer … some thoughts on the particular and general relations of man as a reformer” (101), which reiterates the necessity of thought in a holistic reform effort. Thought is particularly important during this time period due to the immense changes in the economy and society, particularly since the “offices and functions for which we were mainly created” (101) have largely vanished, “only kept alive in old books and in dim ” (101). Given the great uncertainty surrounding society at this point in time, Emerson declares, “the doctrine of

Reform had never such scope as the present hour” (102), undoubtedly referring to the external and internal crises engulfing the United States alongside the aforementioned social, political, and economic challenges. During a time of great uncertainty, it is especially important to consider the importance of “ and hope” (102) in catalyzing true reform, particularly given the power that new ideas can hold. Specifically, Emerson mentions how new ideas are often the most frightening to people, namely due to the questions that arise from new ideas: “There is not the most bronzed and sharpened money-catcher, who does not … quail and shake the moment he hears a question prompted by the new ideas” (102). In other words, revolutionary ideas do not exist in a vacuum; they also catalyze internal inquiries that an individual must undergo to reform one’s self. One major question that Emerson spends much of his time focusing on throughout the essay is the accountability that one should have in the world’s

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new economy, as mental awareness of all its intricacies and downfalls should compel individuals to change their actions and lifestyles.

Emerson then segues into more specific criticism of economic changes95 that have adversely implicated virtually everyone’s individual accountability, including his own. One economic change in particular that Emerson focuses on is the international trade that flourished from colonial expansion. Emerson refers to this system as “a system of selfishness … a system of distrust, of concealment, of superior keenness, not of giving but of taking advantage” (103), as well as a system in which “we are all implicated” (103). This system is empowered by an absence of individual reform and self-reliance; rather than working with one’s own hands, which Emerson initially broaches in “The American Scholar,” people prefer the convenience of receiving various products procured from slavery, despite the real cost to humanity as a whole. Since this system pervades numerous professions, Emerson likens it to the movements of a serpent: “The trail of the serpent reaches into all the lucrative professions and practices of man”

(104). Given this system’s omnipresence, it subsequently renders countless individuals complicit in exploitative economics, including well-intentioned individuals. Emerson laments the fact that “virtuous young men” (103) soon discover “the way to lucrative employments blocked with abuses” (103), and

95 Scholars hold varying views regarding Emerson’s position on the Industrial Revolution. On one hand, some critics believed that Emerson’s attitude towards the new economy was largely favorable: “Although Emerson was not naïve about the potential evils of capitalism and the industrial revolution, he nonetheless praised the new developments and the people responsible for them” (Birch 385).On the other hand, Emerson also “became all too familiar with the appalling conditions of the industrial working class—the very group Marx and Engels prophesied would one day overthrow society as it had hitherto been known in a revolutionary convulsion” (Koch, “Revolution” 127). 67

these abuses are often pervasive to the degree that it is nearly impossible for any young man “to right himself in them” (103). Thus, originally well-intentioned young men often find themselves succumbing to “the harness of routine and obsequiousness” (103), which leads to their complicity in society’s ongoing corruption, rather than participants in its holistic reform, as even passive engagement with the new economic system results in all men being responsible for “the sins of our trade” (104), given that “one plucks, one distributes, one eats,” and “every body partakes” (104). However, despite seemingly every individual’s widespread engagement with the new economic system and enjoyment of its benefits, Emerson believes that no one “feels himself accountable” (104) in the resulting social ills, including the exploitation of slaves.

Emerson also cites slavery directly as one of the key abuses of the trade system and the broader economy, indicating that an individual’s consumption of various goods directly contributes to the ongoing exploitation of slaves, an egregious violation of their natural rights. Through his own mental introspection and subsequent struggle with accountability, Emerson also demonstrates a greater sensitivity towards the plight of slaves in “Man the Reformer,” relative to other earlier essays. Specifically, Emerson argues “that no article passes into our ships which has not been fraudulently cheapened” (103) citing sugar as a key example of such fraud: “In the island of Cuba, in addition to the ordinary abominations of slavery, it appears, only men are bought for the plantations, and one dies in ten every year, of these miserable bachelors, to yield us sugar” (103).

This line is significant, as it represents Emerson’s understanding of the

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correlation between the influence of the new economy and the perpetual exploitation of the slave, as well as his recognition of his own complicity within this system. Furthermore, despite Emerson’s reluctance to serve as a representative for the abolitionist movement at this point in time, he directly references the abolitionist movement in “Man the Reformer”: “The abolitionist has shown us our dreadful debt to the southern negro” (103). This line exemplifies

Emerson’s own careful introspection and thought, as he recognizes favorable aspects of the abolitionist cause, and this recognition prefigures his gradual evolution into a social reformer and foreshadows his later, far more acerbic, speeches.

Emerson also mentions slaves once again at a later point in the essay, though the second reference occurs within the context of a reformed society.

Specifically, Emerson states, “as soon as there is faith, as soon as there is society, comfits and cushions will be left to slaves” (109), implying that he can foresee a time in which present slaves have the possibility of enjoying future comforts, notably their inalienable rights: liberty and egalitarianism. In other words, Emerson seems to believe that the institution of slavery, as well as a number of other vices, will face a natural demise if society reforms itself as a whole; in short, the elimination of all vices in society is entirely contingent upon everyone within society undergoing a holistic, transformative renewal, which is based on the symbiosis of thought and action. An excellent example of this symbiosis occurs when Emerson urges his readership to follow “the irrepressible strivings of a noble aim, who by the law of their nature must act simply, find these

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ways of trade unfit for them, and they come forth from it” (104). The “noble aim” would originate in an individual’s thoughts and ultimately lead to one “to cast aside all evil customs, timidities, and limitations” (101), which will encourage holistic reform. Once an individual assumes accountability and casts aside these routines, it is then possible to undertake one of Emerson’s most important recommendations for holistic reform, the encouragement to live simply rather than richly, which will help one move towards a state of self-reliance.

After detailing the importance of awareness and accountability, Emerson then details a specific action, manual labor, that men need to take in order to live simply, yet ethically. After detailing “the twinings and tendrils of this evil” (104) that characterizes society’s barbaric state, Emerson asserts, “considerations of this kind have turned the attention of many philanthropic and intelligent persons to the claims of manual labor, as the part of education of every young man”

(104). In other words, Emerson advocates the convenient luxuries that originate from systematic abuse, deprivation, and exploitation, and he admits he sees “no instant prospect of a virtuous revolution” (105). At the same time, he believes “the inconvenience would last but a short time” and he sagely questions,

“Who could regret to see a high and purer taste exercising a sensible effect on young men in their choice of occupation, and thinning the ranks of competition in the labors of commerce, of law, and of state?” (105). In other words, while undermining the current economic system will undoubtedly result in inconvenience and relative lack of luxury, it will also be the one action that very

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well could lead to a complete spiritual renewal of society, one that would be devoid of deplorable institutions, including slavery.

Furthermore, Emerson also argues “that the manual labor of society ought to be shared among all the members” as “manual labor is the study of the external world” (105), which would renew the relationship between society and nature, thereby exerting a positive influence on each individual’s self- development.96 The phrase “all the members” is key, as it strongly suggests an egalitarian society, one in which everyone enjoys their natural, inalienable rights, rather than a society that has been grossly stratified through intense economic competition and commodification. Needless to say, if all society’s members engage in manual labor, thereby becoming self-sufficient, the institution of slavery would naturally diminish, as everyone, not just slaves, would engage in manual labor. In addition, manual labor is one way of renewing the relationship between humanity and nature; later in the essay, Emerson credits “the panacea of nature” as “the one remedy for all ills” (112), and the reference to “all ills” further underscores Emerson’s primary concern with spiritual renewal through nature, not the elimination of one particular social vice. Emerson describes in detail his own experience with this renewal:

When I go into my garden with a spade, and dig a bed, I feel such an

exhilaration and health, that I discover I have been defrauding myself all

96 Sophia Forster also has noted the connection between labor and self-development throughout Emerson’s work, which she cites as the main reason for his support of capitalism: “Rather than simply extolling capitalism’s moral lessons in self-discipline or its instrumental value in producing wealth, Emerson praises its capacity to best accommodate the experience of labor as a crucial means of self-development—of expansion of the self’s innate faculties and capacities” (37). 71

this time in letting others do for me what I should have done with my own

hands … now I feel some shame before my wood-chopper, my

ploughman, and my cook, for they have some sort of self-sufficiency, they

can contrive without my aid to bring the day and year round, but I depend

on them, and have not earned by use a right to my arms and feet. (105)

Emerson also expresses guilt over receiving “indefinite quantities of sugar, hominy, cotton, buckets, crockery ware, and latter paper, by simply signing [his] name once in three months to a cheque in favor of John Smith and Co. traders”

(105), as he perceives this action as far too easy relative to what he receives as a result of it. In other words, Emerson acknowledges that he did little himself to obtain various commodities, aside from simply signing a check; he credits the laborers as those who “intercepted the sugar of the sugar, and the cotton of the cotton” (106).

However, despite his guilt, Emerson also realizes that his honest accountability and corresponding action will enable him to be a “benefactor”

(101) to others. This contribution is particularly clear when he details the exhilaration of connecting to the earth through manual labor and the realizing his own self-sufficiency, which demonstrates how a reformer can “cut a straight road to everything excellent in the earth, and not go honorably himself, but make it easier for all who follow him, to go in honor and with benefit” (101-02).Emerson’s recommendation that all members of society engage in some form of manual labor not only originates from his desire to see a renewed connection between mankind and humanity, but also from his belief that each member of society

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should strive to be self-sufficient, as he perceives self-sufficiency to be a key component of true reform. Nevertheless, the United States’ burgeoning fixation on the accumulation of material wealth, Emerson fears that society is moving further away from becoming self-sufficient, rather than closer.

The current absence of self-sufficiency is perhaps where Emerson launches his most scathing attack in the essay, and he expresses clear criticism regarding society’s fixation on excessive indulgence and material wealth. After inquiring, “Can we not learn the lesson of self-help?” (109), Emerson rails against

“infirm people” (110) who pervade society on multiple levels, or those who

“contrive everywhere to exhaust for their single comfort the entire means and appliances of that luxury to which our invention has yet attained” (110). Emerson perceives this dependence on luxuries to be synonymous with a complete lack of self-sufficiency, and that lack of self-sufficiency also entails a complete lack of self-awareness: These individuals, “if they miss any one, they represent themselves as the most wronged and wretched persons on earth” (110). Given these individuals’ extreme sensitivity towards themselves, it is ironic that “they never bestir themselves to serve another person … nor do they once perceive the cruel joke of their lives” (110). Emerson argues that “it is more elegant to answer one’s own needs, than to be richly served” (110), a sentiment that underscores how self-sufficiency would eliminate the need for reliance on others, including slaves. Emerson also criticizes heirs, who passively, rather than actively, acquired their own wealth, as “the advantage of riches remains with him who procured them, not with the heir” (105). Emerson also questions what

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importance, if any, is associated with the pursuit of wealth, namely when he inquires, “Why needs any man be rich? Why must he have horses, fine garments, handsome apartments, access to public houses, and places of amusement?” (109). In fact, the pursuit of wealth leads directly to the diminishment of character, which is why Emerson argues that “immense wisdom and riches” (109) can be procured from following the simple dictum of not desiring copious possessions: “It is better to go without, than to have them at too great a cost” (109). In other words, from Emerson’s view, refusing to go without countless possessions comes at the greatest cost of all: the lack of self- sufficiency. Lack of self-sufficiency is directly correlated to the use of slave labor; becoming simultaneously dependent on the conveniences afforded by the modern economy and divorced from nature, and thus agricultural production, countless people have habituated themselves to the institution of slavery, whether or not they are cognizant of this. As Emerson notes above, it is often too easy to pay for various goods rather than work to acquire them for one’s self, and this resistance to self-reliance is precisely what enables slavery to flourish.

After this searing criticism, Emerson underscores the urgency of reform with the most seminal lines from the essay, beginning at the individual level:

What is man born for but to be a Reformer, a Remaker of what man has

made; a renouncer of lies; a restorer of truth and good, imitating that great

Nature which embosoms us all, and which sleeps no moment on an old

past, but every hour repairs herself, yielding us every morning a new day,

and with every pulsation a new life? (110)

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These lines allude to the perfectibility of man and reference similar ideas regarding thought and action detailed in “The American Scholar,” particularly when Emerson references the imitation of nature and the revolution of truth, which underscore the continuously evolving nature of reform. While these lines are far more powerful and incendiary than the call to action presented in “The

American Scholar,” Emerson is careful to use deliberately broad terminology, particularly when he refers to a reformer as “a restorer of truth and good.” Such a phrase is applicable to any variety of major controversies, from slavery to intemperance. Citing society’s institutions as “a house of cards” (111), Emerson argues that a “heavenly society” could never be constructed “out of foolish, sick, selfish men and women, such as we know them to be” (111).

Thus, at this point in time, Emerson believes that the elimination all of society’s ills, including slavery, rests entirely on the willingness of its members to undergo complete renewal and transformation, rather than focusing on the termination of a specific social ill. Emerson makes this point even clearer when he says, “we are to revise the whole of our social structure, the state, the school, religion, marriage, trade, science, and explore their foundations in our own nature” (110). In other words, revising the “whole of our social structure” would certainly include the elimination of slavery, given Emerson’s reference to its

“abominations” earlier. However, Emerson also asserts that he believes reform must take place on an enormously holistic scale, avoiding distraction from specific causes, such as abolition, temperance, and others. Specifically, at the end of the essay, Emerson cautions against erratic exhibits of virtue: “He who

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would help himself and others, should not be a subject of irregular and interrupted impulses of virtue, but a continent, persisting, immovable person”

(114). In other words, Emerson echoes the same advice that he gives in “The

American Scholar,” as he continues to believe that extensive focus on one social issue will come at the expense of the complete reform of society.

In the same vein as “The American Scholar,” “Man the Reformer” continues to explicate Emerson’s framework for holistic reform of the individual, which should catalyze the transformation of society. Emerson opens the essay by stressing the importance of thought, particularly an acute awareness of the new economy’s exploitative implications and one’s complicity within them. Once an individual achieves this awareness and corresponding accountability,

Emerson believes that effective action will naturally follow, notably the desire to live more simply. One of the best actions that one can take to live more simply is to provide for one’s self via manual labor, which not only promotes re- engagement with nature, but also helps lead towards self-sufficiency. From

Emerson’s perspective, the absence of self-sufficiency is one of the most adverse aspects of society, one that leads to myriad social ills and vices, which not only influence the behavior of individuals, but also of entire institutions.

The Remnants of Emerson’s Ambivalence in Abolition

While “Man the Reformer” illustrates a far more assertive approach to reform than “The American Scholar,” it still embodies Emerson’s largely cautious approach to social activism, particularly in light of the increasingly influential abolitionist movement. At the same time, this essay does illuminate Emerson’s

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progressive movement towards more direct engagement with the anti-slavery cause. Emerson’s gradual evolution as a social reformer can be appreciated even further when reading “Man the Reformer” in the context of his essay “New

England Reformers,” which echoes his concerns regarding organized reform. At the beginning of the essay, Emerson goes as far as to compare the abolitionist and Temperance movements to organized religion, noting that an individual’s

“attention must be commanded by the signs that the Church, or religious party, is falling from the church nominal, and is appearing in temperance and non- resistance societies, in movements of abolitionists and of socialists” (591).

The above quote is critical in tracing Emerson’s evolution of thought since “The

American Scholar,” including how he still avoided direct engagement with “single issues.” As mentioned previously, Emerson felt significant pressure to take an affirmative stance in a number of major public controversies, including slavery and intemperance. Given his inherently conservative nature, along with his distrust of organizations, it is not surprising that Emerson declined to align himself directly with a specific organization in the early 1840s.

Furthermore, Emerson still wrestles with the idea of merely mimicking others’ actions in “New England Reformers,” namely when he references an individual who was excommunicated from a church after “his conscience led him to take in the anti-slavery business” (592). While Emerson notes such excommunication was “excellent when it was done the first time, but, of course, loses all value when it is copied” (592). He also believes that “every project in the history of reform … is good, when it is the dictate of man’s genius and

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constitution, but very dull and suspicious when adopted from another” (592-93).

In other words, by 1844, Emerson clearly saw the need for serious societal reform, though he still feared what he perceived to be a mob mentality. It is critical to that Emerson believed one of the worst actions a man could undergo was to simply be a “parrot” of other men’s thinking, as clearly stated in

“The American Scholar,” and it is natural to assume that Emerson also disapproves of being a “parrot” of other men’s actions, which presumably result from some form of thinking. Nevertheless, his increasingly specific references to social ills, in both “Man the Reformer” and “New England Reformers,” coupled with his broad framework for complete reform, foreshadow Emerson’s eventual public stance against slavery.97

Overall, while “Man the Reformer” does explicitly address some specific social ills in greater detail than “The American Scholar,” the essay ultimately focuses more generally on the relationship between individual reform and societal transformation. While he does mention slavery, Emerson also focuses on other major issues plaguing society, including the commodification of humanity, and the main reform action he appears to advocate is engaging directly in manual labor one’s self. While he does credit the abolitionist for illuminating the depravity of slavery in the Southern states, he stops short of directly recommending abolition himself. In addition, he also infuses his commentary with the Transcendentalist tenets that propelled him to fame: the

97 In addition, Len Gougeon also notes that “Emerson’s reputation as an anstislavery advocate was growing throughout the 1840s” (“Woman” 574), which lends further credence to these essays laying the framework for Emerson’s eventual social activism. 78

renewal of humanity through the connection to nature, believing that complete self-reform would ultimately lead to holistic social reform (Gougeon, “Emerson”

191).98 Emerson’s deliberately general position at this point in time is made even clearer when read in the context of Emerson’s journals, as he demonstrates clear resentment towards the “bitter partiality” (433) of single issue reform.

In short, given the aforementioned discussion of a host of social ills plaguing society, Emerson was clearly uncomfortable with allowing his energies to be channeled into one specific social ill, particularly in the . For this reason, he promulgated the importance of the scholar, who, after undergoing individual transformation, is equipped to help others undergo a similar renewal.

At this point in time, Emerson appears to truly believe that individuals are capable of complete reform, and he also seems to assume that each person in the United States would not only be capable of, but also interested in, undergoing such a transformative renewal. This assumption is understandable at this point in

Emerson’s career, as he optimistically believes that everyone would be interested in a united, progressive society, which would not only ensure a favorable quality of life for all individuals residing within it, but also provide an excellent model for other nations to follow. Furthermore, such a complete reform would render all debates regarding various social ills and vices superfluous, as the truly reformed individual would naturally recognize and respect the inherent rights with which every person is born. This collective recognition and respect for

98 The generality of this framework is also quite applicable to numerous social ills today, which may be partially why Emerson “seems to have seized intellectual America’s attention again at the present century’s end” (567). 79

the universal human condition would reveal slavery and all other oppressive institutions as the deleterious evils they truly are, as they ultimately ensnare everyone within society. Thus, at this point in time, Emerson believes that the holistic transformation of society will automatically eliminate all its vices and violations, thereby obviating the need to engage in extended reform efforts restricted to one social ill. In short, individual reform on a broad scale will lead to organic, rather than forced or prescribed, collective action.99

Despite Emerson’s best intentions in his earlier essays, he unfortunately overestimates several people’s desire, perhaps even their ability, to undergo holistic, individual reform. Despite the popularity of both “The American Scholar” and “Man the Reformer,” Emerson does not witness the transformative renewal he envisions for the United States, both at the individual and societal level. On the contrary, rather than seeing greater internal development within individuals, he begins witnessing even more bellicose altercations between individuals, particularly as proslavery forces continued gaining political and geographical power in the 1840s. This division clearly preoccupied Emerson and undoubtedly made him rethink his initial ideas regarding reform, as well as the ideal actions he should take as an influential public intellectual. Ultimately, a confluence of factors would lead to Emerson taking a far more decisive stance on abolition in the years following his earlier addresses; ironically, Emerson’s own concentrated critical

99 Albrecht also notes the correlation between individualism and collective action: “Emerson’s stance on reform cannot be reduced merely to an individualist distrust of collective action; instead, he combines a pragmatic affirmation of the possibility and even inevitability of reform with an equally pragmatic skepticism toward reforms that are not enacted in changed behavior. Emerson’s commitment to individualism does not preclude collective action per se: he envisions the demands of individuality as existing in a productive, vitalizing tension with the demands for collective action” (110). 80

thinking led him to the conclusion that the scholar’s function, at that crucial juncture in history, was to confront, or act openly against, the vilest social ill directly: slavery.100 Thus, Emerson’s framework for holistic reform helped foreshadowed the anti-slavery speeches that Emerson would deliver in the years to come, which reflect both critical thought and explicit action. While Emerson admittedly waited longer than some of his contemporaries in the United States to take a vocal stance regarding the issue of slavery, he did not wait indefinitely, which is clear in several speeches he delivered from the 1840s onward.

100 Gougeon has also alluded to this recognition in the years following “The American Scholar”: “It was as a scholar, an American scholar, that Emerson believed his best contribution could be made in the effort to reform and redeem American society. But he also recognized that while a scholar can enlighten the minds and move the hearts of others, a more specific instrumentality would be necessary to effect specific changes—to make the law of the heart the law of the land also” (Virtue’s 338). 81

CHAPTER 2: EMERSON’S SPECIFIC FRAMEWORK FOR ABOLITION

Up until the early 1840s, Emerson had numerous reasons for avoiding taking a public, unequivocal stand against slavery, including his distrust of organizations, his focus on self-reliance, and his desire for a complete, not partial, reform of society. Thus, in early essays such as “The American Scholar” and “Man the Reformer,” Emerson calls for the holistic reform of the individual, which is key to the spiritual renewal of society and the subsequent elimination of social ills, including slavery. However, despite Emerson’s best intentions as a public intellectual, the United States was heading in the opposite direction.

Unsurprisingly, Emerson continued to face mounting pressure from developments within both the private and public sphere to take a firm, public stance against slavery. In the private sphere, Emerson’s family101 and friends102

101 Emerson’s family had long been concerned with “the plight of blacks” (Gougeon, “Abolition” 345), and this concern manifested itself in their actions. For instance, from 1798 to his death in 1811, William, Emerson’s father, played a key role in maintaining the Smith School in Boston, “which provided free education ‘for colored children of both sexes’” (Gougeon, “Abolition” 345) despite his limited financial means. In addition, Emerson’s beloved wife, Lidian, was “a fervent champion of and of the underprivileged, especially blacks and women” (Mott 74). In September 1937, Lidian had tea with Sarah and Angelina Grimke, the authors of various antislavery manifestos, including Appeal to the Christian Women of the South and Epistle to the Clergy of the Southern States. After this meeting, Lidia “dedicated herself to antislavery” (Beck 32), and this dedication likely influenced Emerson: “As the Grimke sisters got to Lidian, so she undoubtedly got to her husband” (Richardson 270). 102 Perhaps one of the most powerful influences was , a famed Unitarian minister and Harvard instructor who “objected to the apparent myopia of abolitionists who concentrated on the ‘single idea’ of slavery and consequently failed to see the need for a general reformation of individuals” (Gougeon, Virtue’s 47). However, in 1835, Channing published Slavery, which explicitly portrays slavery as an affront to natural law: “In the first place, the great principle, that man cannot rightfully be held as property, should be admitted by the slave-holder. As to any public forms of setting forth this principle, they are of little or no moment, provided it be received into the mind and heart. The slave should be acknowledged as a partaker of common nature, as having the essential rights of humanity” (131). 82

became more staunchly abolitionist and urged Emerson to take an explicitly unequivocal stand against slavery. This pressure was exacerbated by broader political developments in the public sphere, particularly given the United States’ continuous physical expansion, which arguably made Emerson reconsider the viability of holistic renewal during increasingly polarized times. Such a complete spiritual renewal would be difficult enough to achieve during more stagnant times, in which status quo typically predominates. However, this complete reform would be even more difficult when the young nation continues to swallow up large swathes of new land, which in turn further empower the slaveholders’ dominion over national politics.

Thus, several events unfolded throughout the 1830s and 1840s that pointed towards slavery’s continued expansion, rather than its gradual demise, highlighting the ineffectuality of Emerson’s well-intentioned, albeit overly general, guidelines for societal reform. One of the most significant events included the ongoing realization of Manifest Destiny, 103 which “launched slavery to the forefront of American politics” (Mountjoy 8), as these newly acquired territories would ultimately become “a battleground between Northern and Southern ideologies” (Carlisle & Golson 139). Manifest Destiny relates to the 1820 Missouri

103 The phrase “Manifest Destiny” originated from John O’Sullivan’s 1845 essay, “Annexation,” which detailed “the fulfillment of our manifest destiny to overspread the continent allotted by Providence for the free development of our yearly multiplying millions.” Nevertheless, this concept was put into practice long before 1845. In 1803, “the most significant event of the expansion period” occurred, namely when the United States purchased an enormous western territory, named Louisiana, from France, which ultimately “doubled the size of the United States and provided a powerful impetus to westward expansion” (Klar 8). 83

Compromise,104 which is “a key to understanding the meaning of slavery in

America” (Forbes 2), given the fragile balance between slaveholding and non- slaveholding states. If slaveholding states were to gain a majority, then “unlimited expansion of slavery would be virtually guaranteed” (Gougeon, “Historical” xxvi).

For this reason, the annexation of Texas105 to the Union became bitterly contested.

The inevitable admission of Texas to the Union as a slaveholding state arguably catalyzed Emerson’s direct, public engagement with abolition, demarcating his shift from critical thought to decisive action. Up until this point in time, Emerson’s public speeches continued to avoid “single issue” reform, and any involvement with the abolitionist cause remained quietly limited to collaborations with far more vocal peers, namely by signing petitions106 or

104 Under this compromise, Missouri received admission to the Union as a slaveholding state while Maine received admission as a free state, “while in the future slavery was prohibited in the Louisiana Purchase above the 36°30′ line of latitude” (Ashworth 69). 105 Texas, originally part of the Spanish Empire, became a tenuous part of Mexico after the nation gained liberty from Spain in 1821. However, Mexico’s independence was also marked by severe “infighting among its elite,” which left the nation, in particular its northern frontier, “vulnerable to foreign invasion” (Carlisle and Golson 103). Mexico had invited Americans to begin residing in Texas in the early 1820s, which resulted in the introduction of slavery from the United States into Texas. Per historian Lester G. Bugbee, slavery in Texas began in 1821, “when Moses Austin received permission to plant an Anglo-American colony on the banks of the Colorado and Brazos,” and while this particular settlement was only of interest “to a few thousand farmers” at the time, it would soon “engage the attention and determine the policy of the great neighboring nation” (21). By the 1830s, due to both Americans’ lack of assimilation in Mexican society and a desire to minimize the spread of slavery, Mexico “began attempting to limit the entrance of these immigrants into Texas” (Carlisle and Golson 104). However, Texans revolted in 1835, ultimately achieving status as an independent republic in 1836 and pursuing annexation to the United States shortly after acquiring independence. 106 For instance, on October 8, 1838, Emerson, , and other Concord citizens signed a petition addressed to Congress regarding the impending annexation of Texas. This petition did not call for Congress to abolish slavery entirely, but it did urge against the further increase of slaveholding states in the Union: “While we do not claim for Congress the power to abolish slavery in the several states, we are opposed to its further extension by that body, hence, are decidedly hostile to the annexation of Texas to the Union, with a Constitution which expressly sanctions slavery, and encourages the slave trade between that country and the United States” (qtd in Gougeon, “Historical” xxvii).

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speaking at town hall meetings. However, Emerson’s position changed completely after the Spring of 1844, in which President Tyler began urging

Congress to approve the annexation of Texas. As Gougeon notes, “it must have seemed to Emerson at this critical time that the emphasis on universal reform and individual action … had so far failed not only to diminish slavery but even to contain it” (“Historical” xxvii). Furthermore, this annexation illustrated one of the most dire outcomes of Manifest Destiny, as it highlighted the United States’ hypocrisy: “The nation that was founded on the principles of freedom and self- determination found itself waging a war to protect the borders of a slave state”

(Mountjoy 60). In other words, the United States’ continued practice of slavery undermined the one of the most important principles, or natural laws, upon which the nation was purportedly founded: liberty. Given his joint concern with natural law and societal reform, Emerson likely realized that he could no longer waffle about slavery in his public speeches. Furthermore, Emerson also increasingly recognized that his advocacy for holistic renewal was impractical given the current political climate; consequently, his role as an effective public scholar necessitated his explicit engagement with specific social reform. Thus, by the mid-1840s, Emerson began writing several powerful antislavery speeches, radically departing from his initial resistance to public engagement with abolition.

Emerson’s most powerful addresses include: “An Address … on .. the

Emancipation of the Negroes in the British West Indies” (1844); “‘Address to the

Citizens of Concord’ on the Fugitive Slave Law” (1851); “Lecture on Slavery”

(1855); and “Fortune of the Republic” (1863). On the surface, these speeches

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are distinct from “The American Scholar” and “Man the Reformer” in several ways. First, they engage directly with “single issue” reform, which Emerson had fastidiously avoided in his public speeches, though he eventually realized that his framework for holistic reform simply was not practical during such turbulent times. Second, these speeches demonstrate clear alignment with the abolitionists, an association that Emerson previously avoided. Third, these antislavery addresses reference numerous laws, individuals, historical events, and other specific details, grounding the material more firmly in a nineteenth- century American context. Fourth, given their specific historical context, these speeches initially appear largely relevant to a specific time period and audience, though not necessarily other readers.

Despite these distinctions, all four speeches share a significant commonality with “The American Scholar” and “Man the Reformer”: the continuous focus on critical thought and decisive action, which must underpin any meaningful reform effort that leads to the protection of all citizens’ natural rights. In his 1844 and 1851 addresses, Emerson focuses on “single issue” reform from an individual level, namely by detailing the favorable and unfavorable social changes that can originate from a public intellectual, respectively, as well as how these changes can be representative of society as a whole. While he is angrier in his 1851 address relative to his 1844 speech, he still retains a fairly high degree of hope in both discourses. By the time of his 1855 address,

Emerson has become markedly more pessimistic, underscoring how the extent to which all institutions, ranging from political to educational, have become

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poisoned, largely as a result of individuals who collectively comprise them, prefiguring the seeming imminence of brutal warfare, which appeared increasingly necessary for complete elimination of slavery. In 1863, war has broken out, yet Emerson is arguably more jubilant in this address than any other address preceding it. While his optimism and hopefulness may at first appear odd, such ebullience is logical considering that Emerson did not view the war as an end of the nation; rather, he viewed it as the potential rebirth of a nation, one that would not only eliminate slavery and naturally gravitate towards the elimination of other ills, but also serve as a guiding light for other nations that continue to struggle with egregious social ills.107

Emerson’s evolution as a social reformer ironically mirrors the framework he himself sets up, as his own independent thinking, particularly against the backdrop of general mindlessness, leads him to focus on “single issue” reform.

Despite the myriad issues plaguing society, Emerson realizes that the ongoing practice of slavery represents the most egregious of natural law. Thus, rather than focus exclusively on holistic reformation, which should lead to the natural elimination of slavery, Emerson stresses abolition, which may well ultimately lead to the complete spiritual renewal of society that he has sought since his career’s inception. To achieve this goal, he incorporates a wide variety of strategies to make his speeches as effective as possible, demonstrating a strong understanding of a diverse audience’s varied needs. Thus, Emerson’s antislavery

107 This perspective brings to mind recent commentary by : “[America] is a world completely rotten with wealth, power, senility, indifference, puritanism, and mental hygiene, power and waste, technological futility and aimless violence, and yet I cannot help but feel it has about it something of the dawning of the universe” (qtd. in Mestrovic 100). 87

speeches not only address the brutally honest facts regarding the realities of slavery and the legislation that protects its ongoing practice and human rights abuses,108 but also the desire for a more favorable, perfectible future, a future in which every individual’s inalienable right to liberty should not be naturally guaranteed, regardless of race, religion, gender, or other socially constructed characteristic. In essence, Emerson envisioned a future for humanity that would later be delineated in the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights.

An Address … on ... the Emancipation of the Negroes in the British West

Indies (1844): The Scholar-Reformer in Action

On August 1, 1844, Emerson delivered an address to an abolitionist audience in Concord, , which is widely regarded as his “first major antislavery address” (Lee 169).109 This speech is remarkable in that it illuminates how Emerson’s framework for holistic reform, as detailed in “The American

Scholar” and “Man the Reformer,” is transferable and applicable to “single issue” reform. Having realized that several individuals were unable or unwilling to embark on complete self-reformation, Emerson largely eliminates the broader abstractions and general recommendations that dominate his early essays in favor of promoting explicit guidelines for reform. At the same time, he continues to focus on the symbiotic elements that comprise his framework for individual and societal renewal: critical, independent thought and courageous, unwavering

108 also notes the discordance that can often arise between manmade law and natural law in The Theory of Moral Sentiment: “Systems of positive law, therefore, though they deserve the greatest authority, as the records of the sentiments of mankind in different ages and nations, yet can never be recorded as accurate systems of the rules of natural justice” (403). 109 The year 1844 marked seven years since Emerson’s first public address regarding slavery, though his 1837 address was far less acerbic, veering more towards the “abstracted tendencies” (Lee 169) that characterized essays such as “The American Scholar” and “Man the Reformer.” 88

action. Emerson also underscores the preeminence of natural law and new ideas, remaining philosophically consistent with the transcendentalist tenets that unify his works. Despite some darker moments in the speech regarding past history, Emerson maintains a generally positive tone, underscoring his hope regarding the possibility of positive social reform and mankind’s perfectibility.

Specifically, Emerson provides immense insight into the British abolitionist movement, and he cites specific scholars, notably Granville Sharp, who played an indisputable role in the nation’s eventual abolition. Through detailing the original thoughts and tireless actions of these individuals, Emerson provides a concrete example of the “scholar” posited in “The American Scholar,” or a blueprint for other likeminded intellectuals in the United States who continue to fight valiantly for the abolitionist cause. In other words, Sharp is the embodiment of reform at an individual level, an ideal example of the fruition of a scholar’s thoughts and actions. Furthermore, this speech marks a pivotal moment in which

Emerson begins transforming from a philosopher writing about a the functions of an American Scholar to executing these functions himself, which is clear in his demands for specific reform. Emerson’s transformation does not occur in a vacuum, as a public intellectual’s words and actions will undoubtedly influence others, particularly those already sensitive to the controversy at hand. Relative to later addresses, the 1844 speech is largely celebratory, as Emerson, at least at this point in time, sees few reasons as to why individuals within the United States could not also effect the same reform that individuals achieved in Britain. Thus,

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Emerson still retains hope that the slavery crisis might be resolved peacefully, without threat of the dissolution of the Union.

Emerson begins his speech on a deceptively uplifting note, namely when he references “an event singular in the history of civilization,” one that represents

“a day of reason” and “the clear light” (7). Later on in the speech, Emerson also references this event as “a moral revolution” that “was achieved by plain means of plain men, working not under a leader, but under a sentiment” (26), recalling the largely optimistic tone regarding humanity’s new direction in “The American

Scholar.” Emerson’s ebullience can be attributed to the recent success of the abolitionist movement in Britain, and he heralds the nation as one who has made humanity “better than a flock of birds and beasts” (7). Furthermore, this ethical evolution resulted in part from the conscientious thoughts and corresponding efforts of civic-minded scholars in action, particularly Granville Sharp,110 who ultimately “filled the ear of the judges with the sound principles, that had from time to time been affirmed by legal authorities” (27).

Just before introducing Granville Sharp, Emerson recalls how an event in

London sparked the first major uprising against slavery, much in the same way

110 Granville Sharp “was the first English person to devote his life to the fight against slavery and the slave trade … he lived to see the abolition of the slave trade in 1807, but not of the abolition of slavery itself throughout the British Empire in 1834” (Lyall 1). Sharp has also attracted the interest of twenty-first century scholars. Specifically, in 2017, Andrew Lyall published Granville Sharp’s Cases on Slavery, the purpose of which “is two-fold: first, to publish previously unpublished legal materials principally in three important cases in the 18th century on the issue of slavery in England, and specifically the status of black people who were slaves in the American colonies or the West Indies and who were taken to England by their masters … The second purpose, outlined in the Introduction, is to give a social and legal background to the cases and an analysis of the position in England of black servants/slaves brought to England and the legal effects of the cases, taking into account the new information provided by the transcripts” (i). In short, Lyall’s publication of Sharp’s antislavery manuscripts is reminiscent of Gougeon’s publication of Emerson’s antislavery speeches. 90

future events in Boston would further galvanize Emerson’s abolitionist position in the 1850s. A West Indian planter had beaten a slave so badly that he became

“useless to his master” after “his whole body became diseased” (10), and the slave was subsequently abandoned. The slave then sought the services of Mr.

William Sharp, “a charitable surgeon, who attended the diseases of the poor”

(10). The surgeon’s brother, Granville Sharp, became familiar with the slave’s plight and became especially incensed when the West Indian planter successfully regained possession of his slave after the slave had healed enough to work effectively. Granville Sharp could not believe that the West Indian planter had successfully retrieved a slave he had beaten so severely; to him, “no prescription on earth could ever render such iniquities legal” (10-11). This injustice inspired Sharp to study English law intensely, as well as critically reflect upon its implications for slavery. Through these studies, Sharp “proved that the opinions relied on of Talbot and Yorke, were incompatible with the former English decisions, and with the whole spirit of English law” (11). He published his findings in 1769, perfectly exemplifying one of the tenets in “The American Scholar”:

“Each age, it is found, must write its own books” (14).

However, Sharp did not stop at writing and publishing; he remained deeply committed to the abolitionist cause until slavery was eliminated entirely from all

British soil, including its territories. After he “filled the heads and hearts of his advocates … he brought the case of George Somerset, another slave, before

Lord Mansfield” (11). Despite repeated delays and adjournments, Lord Mansfield, the presiding judge, ultimately agreed with Sharp. On June 22, 1772, Lord

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Mansfield delivered a decision that justified abolition based on natural law:

“Tracing the subject to natural principles, the claim of slavery can never be supported” (qtd. in Emerson, “An Address” 11).111 While his judgment only addressed slavery in Britain and did not address “the wrongs in the islands” (11), it nevertheless drew substantial public attention in Britain from 1772 all the way until the 1843 Emancipation of the British West Indies. After the 1772 judgment, public debates regarding slavery began increasing, and Emerson notes that

“these debates are instructive, as they show on what grounds the trade was assailed and defended” (12). These debates arguably influenced Emerson’s own antislavery speeches, as he could study which rhetorical strategies made the most persuasive cases against slavery. One of the most effective strategies is the revelation of the sordid reality surrounding slavery and the slave trade, which include not only the horrific abuses that slaves routinely endured at the hands of their slave masters, but also the dangers associated with the deadly

Transatlantic Slave Trade.

After the elimination of slavery on British soil, Sharp and other like-minded reformers refocused their efforts on the abolition of the slave trade, as well as the abolition of slavery in British territories. One of these like-minded reformers was

Thomas Clarkson, who wrote an essay in response to “Is it right to make slaves of others against their will?” (12), which was the subject for a Latin prize dissertation. Clarkson won, “but he wrote too well for his own peace; he began to

111 Various scholars have noted that major change is often catalyzed after a “tipping point,” namely when an “agreement becomes widespread in many empirical cases” (Finnemore & Sikkink 892-93), and Lord Mansfield’s judgment, catalyzed by Sharp’s activism, represented a major tipping point for British abolitionists. 92

ask himself, if these things could be true; and if there were, he could no longer rest” (12). Thus, he, along with others, became active participants in the abolitionist cause. In the decades immediately after 1772, public debates mainly centered on the ongoing slave trade, and numerous details regarding the horrors of this practice emerged. In one particular instance, “in attempting to make its escape from the pursuit of a man-o-war, one ship flung five hundred slaves alive into the sea” (13). The revelation of these horrifying facts recalls the scholar’s chief duties referenced in “The American Scholar,” which is to show men “facts amidst appearances” (20). These debates helped turn public opinion increasingly towards the side of the abolitionists, particularly when 300,000 Britons “pledged themselves to abstain from all articles of island produce” after “every horrid fact became known” (13). For instance, Emerson laments that “nobody tasted blood”

(20) in the sugar they had been enjoying freely, bringing to mind Emerson’s guilt over the convenience of merely paying for, rather than producing, his sugar and tobacco, as described in “Man the Reformer.” Ultimately, once the horrors of the slave trade were broadly revealed, intense public opposition led to its elimination.

While the elimination of the slave trade was a good beginning, it was only the start of abolition for Sharp and other like-minded individuals, as destroying the slave trade did not automatically ensure the natural rights and respect of African-

Americans; nothing short of complete abolition and resulting legal protections would provide such assurance. As a potential corollary to the United States, the absence of slavery in the Northern states did not mean that the presence of slavery in the Southern states should remain acceptable; slavery, at its core, is

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not an issue that should be subject to political compromise, as such a violation of natural rights should never be part of civilization in the first place.

By 1807, it seemed that the British abolitionists had achieved their primary objective, the abolition of slave-trade, though the staunchest abolitionists remained dissatisfied and continued to push for even greater reforms. Thus, while the British abolitionists initially “agreed to limit their political action on this subject to the abolition of the trade,” Sharp could not stomach the idea of slavery continuing in any British territory, “declaring that slavery was as much a crime against the Divine law, as the slave-trade” (13). This declaration is particularly critical, as it aligns with the natural, or divine, law that Emerson stresses in his earlier essays, namely how natural laws stand in complete opposition to the enslavement of individuals naturally endowed with liberty. This focus on natural law is also a major point that Emerson returns to repeatedly in his later speeches. Sharp’s efforts were not in vain, as the slavery system was supplanted with an apprenticeship system on August 1, 1834, wherein “all persons now slaves should be entitled to be registered as apprenticed laborers, and to acquire thereby all the rights and privileges of free men” (14). Unfortunately, “the habit of oppression was not destroyed by a law and a day of jubilee” (17), and several plantation owners attempted to skirt the requirements of the new apprentice system. In light of the plantation owners’ deliberate failure to fulfill their part of the contract, British legislators “demanded that the emancipation should be hastened” (18), which eventually led towards a movement abolishing slavery entirely in the British West Indies. Thus, Emerson uses Sharp’s unequivocal

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resistance to slavery in all its forms as crucial to genuine reform; Sharp realizes that the abolition of the slave trade is the beginning, but it by no means represents the end of slaves’ plight.112 Quickly recognizing the abuse of the apprenticeship system, namely due to the unwillingness of former slaveholders to accept African-Americans as anything more than slaves, Sharp realized that slavery had to be abolished in its entirety to assure liberty and justice for all. In a sense, Sharp’s journey mirrors Emerson’s and others, as individuals truly opposed to slavery in all its forms have recognized that no compromise, particularly a politically charged or biased compromise, can or should be possible in irredeemably egregious violations of any individual’s most basic natural rights.

After detailing the “stately spectacle” of observing “the cause of human rights argued with so much patience and generosity” (22) from afar, Emerson essentially embodies the chief functions of the scholar. Similar to Sharp and other public intellectuals in Britain, Emerson staunchly advocates significant legislative changes at home. Thus, after providing relevant background on the recent British abolitionist movement, Emerson shifts his focus to the revolution that must occur on American soil, which is particularly apparent when he states,

“Fellow citizens, this crime will not be hushed up any longer” (24), which marks a clear departure from his earlier public stances. Perhaps somewhat ironically,

Emerson also later states, “it is so easy to omit to speak, or even be absent when

112 Indeed, Sharp himself was resistant to associate with an abolitionist society since he did not view this society’s views on abolition as comprehensive enough: “Sharp’s activism led to the formation of the Society for the Abolition of the Slave Trade in 1797. He initially resisted being associated with the Society on the ground that it should have been devoted to the abolition of slavery itself” (Lyall 1). 95

delicate things are to be handled” (25), as this criticism could easily be launched against Emerson himself in the 1830s. These statements also illuminate a marked distinction from one of his stances in “The American Scholar,” namely when Emerson argues that the scholar should remain largely apart from specific social controversies, which can distract from the holistic reform of society. Seven years later, however, especially in light of his study of events transpiring in

Britain, Emerson took a markedly different, and far riskier, stance than he did previously.

This riskier position not only included direct commentary on slavery, but also a suggestion regarding a diabolical motivation underlying the ongoing practice of slavery. Emerson explicitly states his negative views on slavery by illuminating slavery to be the antithesis of what he advocated in “The American

Scholar”:

Slavery is no scholar, no improver; it does not love the whistle of the

railroad; it does not love the newspaper, the mailbag, a college, a book, or

a preacher who has the absurd whim of saying what he thinks; it does not

increase the white population; it does not improve the soil; everything

goes to decay. (21)

In other words, as long as slavery persisted in the United States, it would lead the nation ultimately nowhere but a state of great decay. Furthermore, Emerson also dabbles with the idea of people exercising evil for evil’s sake, another original, albeit dark, thought, which is perhaps one of his more prescient observations, given the calamities that would unfold in the United States in the

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decades following his 1844 address. Emerson realizes that some slaveholders may never be convinced on the basis of economic arguments alone, given their predilection towards holding other human beings against their will. Specifically,

Emerson details that slavery is not only due to “the avarice of the planter,” but also “a bitterer element, the love of power, the voluptuousness of holding a human being in his absolute control” (17). Thus, slavery persists not only due to its purportedly cheaper production of goods, but also due to the evil that pervades certain individuals’ behaviors regardless. This observation is critical, as it illustrates that purely economic or philosophical arguments may never persuade a certain segment of the population, in particular a segment that thrives off the bondage of others. For this reason, some slaveholders could never be appeased, regardless of the thoughtfulness of arguments used against slavery, and this unyielding position led to the unfortunate necessity of the Civil War.

Likely anticipating objections from some, Emerson acknowledges that his knowledge of the law may be admittedly limited, particularly when he states, “I am no lawyer” (24), and this statement suggests one reason why Emerson may have chosen to focus on specific laws in his later addresses in the 1850s, namely the Fugitive Slave Law. Thus, instead of focusing on a specific American law in his 1844 address, Emerson devotes substantial time to criticizing the United

States’ politicians, noting “the deleterious effect of political association” (28), which foreshadows Emerson’s strong criticism of in his 1851 address, as Webster’s failure to stand firmly against the Fugitive Slave Law, as well as to stand more firmly with abolitionists in general as his career advanced,

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represented a tremendous disappointment for Emerson. In his 1844 address,

Emerson foreshadows his dismay regarding “the tameness and silence of the two senators and the ten representatives of the State of Washington” (25), and he questions “what purpose” these politicians serve in general “if they are to sit dumb at their desks” (25). Needless to say, those sitting “dumb at their desks” are not embodying the type of scholarly inquiry Emerson urges as requisite to true reform and transformative renewal. Furthermore, these questions are particularly intriguing to keep in mind when examining Emerson’s increasing focus on institutional, and ultimately national, reform; while he is sharply critical of

Webster in his 1851 address, he broadens his criticism to political institutions as a whole in his 1855 speech.

In another prescient observation, Emerson also notes that the Union is likely already on its way to dissolution: “As for dangers to the Union, from such demands! —the Union is already at an end, when the first citizen of

Massachusetts is thus outraged” (25). Declaring that the United States, which is not even yet a century old at this point in time, “is already at an end” is a fairly bold proclamation. This affective statement is certainly intended to illuminate the impossibility of unity when entire segments of the population are classified as inferior, with this inferiority reinforced in every manner possible, from legal to social. Unity will only be possible once no one is excluded or demonized due to racial, religious, and other differences, resulting in the enforcement of the natural rights of all individuals, rather than the rights of a select, artificially ordained few.

However, despite this rousing declaration, Emerson does not actively advocate

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dissolution of the Union; in 1844, he appears to remain hopeful that individuals might still undergo the type of awakening experienced by Sharp, which ultimately contributed to the peaceful abolition of slavery in the United Kingdom. While he clearly sees that such a dissolution is not an impossibility, he chooses to focus on a more optimistic outcome, though this outcome likely seemed overly idealistic to staunch abolitionists and others who saw no resolution to the social ill of slavery, or at least no solution short of outright warfare.113 Nevertheless, even though Emerson had begun publicly aligning himself with abolitionists, he did not agree with some of their most ardent beliefs, at least initially, particularly disunion.114

Ultimately, in spite of his understanding that the United States may wind up in war eventually, Emerson still maintains a generally positive tone throughout this address relative to his later abolitionist speeches, likely recalling his assertion regarding the public intellectual’s responsibility “to cheer” (20) men, as detailed in “The American Scholar.” This optimism is especially apparent when he posits the revolutionary idea of the abolition of slavery and the inclusion of all races as equal components of the human race. Emerson truly wants his audience to realize that the abolition of slavery is not an impossible ; in

113 Indeed, a favorable resolution without some form of war seemed increasingly impossible as the United States continued to expand westward. For instance, conflict in Kansas is widely credited as being one of the several precursors to the Civil War. Specifically, “the Kansas wars blew apart the theory of American holding that white liberty was based on black slavery. In March 1855, despite the state’s free state majority, thousands of Missouri border ruffians invaded the territory and stole the elections … A proslavery territorial legislature passed a law that made it criminal to speak or write against slavery, prescribed ten years’ hard labor or death for assisting fugitive slaves, and the death penalty for instigating a slave ” (Sinha 545). 114 As Johnson notes, “In Emerson’s view, the proponents of disunion naively believed that by cutting itself off from the South, the North might escape the source of evil” (Johnson 40-41). 99

fact, it can be realized efficiently and nonviolently: “And as an omen and assurance of success, I point you to the bright example which England set you, on this day, ten years ago” (26). Emerson argues that the Emancipation of the

British West Indies “marks the entrance of a new element into modern politics, namely, the civilization of the negro” (29), representing another addition to the human family. Emerson also clearly argues that he sees little distinction between individuals on the basis of skin color, arguing, “the might and the right are here: here is the anti-slave: here is man: and if you have man, black or white is an insignificance” (31). For Emerson, the “man” is pre-eminent over any other characteristic. Since “man” is the equivalent to “the anti-slave,” his racial or ethnic identification is ultimately immaterial, given the natural rights that all individuals should enjoy equally, particularly liberty and civilization. Emerson even imagines the contributions to collective civilization that can be realized through abolition, referencing public intellectuals in the Caribbean:

But if the black man carries in his bosom an indispensable element of a

new and coming civilization, for the sake of that element, no wrong, nor

strength, nor circumstance, can hurt him: he will survive and play his part.

So now, the arrival in the world of such men as Touissaint, and the

Haytian heroes, or of the leaders of their race in Barbadoes and Jamaica,

outweighs in good omen all the English and American humanity. The anti-

slavery of the whole world, is dust in the balance before this. (31)115

115 These lines clearly underscore another connection to Emersonian Transcendentalism: the Over-Soul, which binds all humanity, regardless of external characteristics. As detailed in “The Over-Soul,” Emerson notes that all men originate from “a stream whose source is hidden” (385), which would verify that all men, including men unjustly enslaved, carry “an indispensable element 100

Thus, rather than skin color, Emerson focuses on the “miraculous” nature of the human intellect, insisting that “ideas only save races” (31), and one of the most critical ideas is the continuous perfectibility of mankind.

In this sense, Emerson does touch on major Transcendentalist themes present in earlier essays, as “The American Scholar” focused strongly on the emergence of truth and light, which is ground in the intellect, not race.

Specifically, Emerson recognizes the innate capacity of every individual to feel, learn, think, and analyze; these skills are impervious to one’s socially or nationally constructed identity, and in many ways, these skills are representative of natural laws, which are correlated to the natural rights of man.116 The role of the public intellectual should not be defined by one’s externally defining characteristics, but rather the truth and heart embedded within his discourse.117

This focus is crucial to keep in mind when evaluating Emerson’s later essays, as he continuously stresses the importance of truth, particularly during times when laws contrary to nature, such as the Fugitive Slave Law, are passed and reinforced. Emerson also connects historical context to the present day, underscoring the need to keep focusing on the perfectibility of mankind. While

of a new and coming civilization” within themselves that cannot be destroyed by any artificial, manmade law. 116 Rene Descartes would likely concur with this belief, as he dedicated enormous effort towards understanding the mind and its relation to the body in his famous Discourse on the Method: “For in truth, when I consider the mind, that is, when I consider myself in so far only as I am a thinking thing, I can distinguish in myself no parts, but I very clearly discern that I am somewhat absolutely one and entire” (120). 117 Interestingly, some scholarship argues for greater emphasis on the role that African-American slaves themselves have played in the abolitionist movement, arguing that abolitionists are often falsely “caricatured as unthinking-single-minded fanatics,” which results in ignorance towards “the movement’s rich, diverse, and contentious history”; furthermore, per this particular vein of scholarship, “slave resistance, not bourgeois , lay at the heart of the abolition movement” (Sinha 1). 101

slavery may have been widely accepted since times of antiquity, its abject violation of natural laws necessitates its elimination, which would subsequently lead to continued human progress. Emerson describes this progress glowingly:

I esteem the occasion of this jubilee to be the proud discovery, that the

black race can contend with the white; that, in the great anthem which we

call history, a piece of many parts and vast compass, after playing a long

time a very low and subdued accompaniment, they perceive the time

arrived when the can strike in with effect, and take a master’s part in the

music. The civility of the world has reached that pitch, that their more

moral genius is becoming indispensable, and the quality of this race is to

be honored for itself. (31)

Emerson further underscores the importance of this equal participation as a prerequisite to perfectibility when he remarks, “the civility of no race can be perfect whilst another race is degraded” (32). This civility is critical, as barbarism would ensue in its absence, which is why Emerson realizes, “there have been moments in this, as well as in every piece of moral history, … when it seemed doubtful, whether brute force would not triumph in the eternal struggle” (32).

However, Emerson’s optimism ultimately pervades, notably when he concludes by acknowledging “progress in human society” and remembering the “blessed necessity by which the interest of men is always driving them to the right; and again, making all crime mean and ugly” (33). In other words, Emerson consistently returns to the notion of humanity’s inherent pursuit, or “blessed

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necessity” of truth and light, or that which would be embodied by “the right” in this quote’s context.

Emerson’s 1844 address regarding the Emancipation of the British West

Indies marks his first public, unequivocal stance on abolition, and he continued to deliver speeches regarding this historic event in subsequent years. For instance,

Emerson accepted the invitation “in August 1845 to celebrate once again the anniversary of West Indian emancipation with a public address” (Gougeon,

“Historical” xxxii). This celebration, which attracted enormous crowds from

Boston, Concord, and other areas, featured several key speakers118 in addition to

Emerson.119 Relative to Emerson’s early essays, this address contains substantive historical context largely derived from abolitionist developments in

Britain, including specific dates, individuals, and legislation, as well as references to abolitionist movements in the Caribbean. Thus, Emerson’s 1844 address embodied significantly less abstraction due to Emerson’s immense

118 For instance, Jonathan Walker, a sea captain, occupied the speaker’s platform, and he “had been branded and jailed for a year in the South for the crime of transporting escaped slaves to the Bahamas” (Gougeon, “Historical” xxxii). Emerson also spoke alongside several prominent abolitionist figures, including William I. Bowditch, as well as Henry Wilson, a member of the Massachusetts legislature. 119 Channing’s speech had the strongest influence on Emerson, given Channing’s preference for a separation of the Northern and Southern states. His speech inspired Emerson to write the poem “Ode Inscribed to W. H. Channing,” which was “a vigorous critique of the abolitionists, whose disunion policy had been fervently embraced by Channing” (Johnson 40). This ode might also be characterized as “a map of Emerson’s soul in this period of ordeal” (Gonnaud 358), as Emerson was clearly opposed to slavery yet “did not feel that separating the North from the South would improve the moral tone of either side” (Gougeon, “Historical” xxxiv). Instead, Emerson continued believing in “the ultimate triumph of the ‘law for man’—of love, truth and harmony” (Johnson 41). This hope is quite evident in several sections of Emerson’s 1844 address, and in 1846, “perhaps to affirm his own positive activism” (Gougeon, “Historical” xxxv), Emerson delivered a third address celebrating the Emancipation of the British West Indies and further cementing his stance against slavery. 103

preparation,120 resulting in more explicit recommendations for reform. As a result of Emerson’s extensive research and careful planning, he ultimately delivered

“what would be one of his most comprehensive, intellectual, and emotional statements on slavery and reform” (Gougeon, “Historical” xxix).121 It is Emerson’s incorporation of specific historical details, combined with broader statements regarding slavery, that resulted in a speech that not only pays strong homage to the Emancipation of the British West Indies, but also provides a blueprint going forward for the United States and foreshadows his future speeches. This blueprint is particularly intriguing to keep in mind when reading Emerson’s speeches regarding the Fugitive Slave Law, as Emerson noted that several leading abolitionists in Britain relied heavily on the concept of natural law, or immemorial laws, which Emerson focuses on extensively in his 1851 and 1854 addresses.

Unfortunately, in spite of Emerson’s encouragement of “a positive and hopeful response to the ills of the day” (Gougeon, “Historical” xxxiv), several events122 continued unfolding that not only challenged his optimism, but also led

120 This preparation included the acquisition of “firsthand accounts of the actual horrors of slavery” and a greater understanding of the “legal arguments and principles that had historically been brought against the institution of slavery” (Gougeon, “Historical” xxvii-xxix). 121 To make his speech as persuasive and compelling as possible, Emerson fluidly incorporated material that he acquired from several sources, illuminating the impact that firsthand accounts from slaves had on him: “Language must be raked … to tell what negro-slavery has been … I am heart-sick when I read how they came there, and how they are kept there” (9). Similar to Sharp’s observations, Emerson also sees clear parallels between history and present day, such as when he states, “forgive me, fellow citizens, if I own to you, that in the last few days that my attention has been occupied with this history, I have not been able to read a page of it without the most painful comparisons” (23). 122 These events included the return of a runaway slave, who had managed to escape to Boston, to his slave master in Louisiana, subsequently prompting “outrage from Boston abolitionists” and Emerson’s letter to the “Kidnapping Committee” (Gougeon, “Historical” xxxv). In addition, war with Mexico commenced shortly after Texas’s annexation to the Union as a slaveholding state on 104

him into a state of prolonged melancholy. To combat his resulting depression,

Emerson embarked on his first foreign lecture tour, setting sail for England on

October 5, 1847 and not returning until July 1848. Throughout his tour, Emerson was impressed by post-abolition social reform efforts in England, which likely reinvigorated Emerson’s hopefulness about a favorable resolution in the United

States, provided enough individuals stand firmly in favor of the rights of all individuals. Increasing numbers of scholars have concluded that this experience abroad undoubtedly influenced Emerson’s increasingly vocal stance against slavery upon his return to the United States.123 Specifically, “his period abroad was pivotal in the making of a thinker who would bring his talent powerfully to bear on the moral crisis of his nation and century” (Koch 10).124

Furthermore, Emerson also began to diversify his antislavery addresses in several key ways. One of the most significant changes in Emerson’s philosophy is the evolution in his own attitude towards racial differences, which is important to acknowledge since some scholars have identified incongruities between

Emerson’s writings produced shortly after his return from Europe and his antislavery speeches in the 1850s and 1860s. In 1848, Emerson wrote about the superiority of the Anglo-Saxon race; even in his aforementioned 1845 address

December 29, 1845, and “the national developments associated with the Mexican War depressed Emerson and diminished for a time his habitual optimism” (Gougeon, “Historical” xxxv). 123 Scholars did not always acknowledge the influence of Emerson’s trip to Britain on his abolitionist views, as Koch notes: “His experience in Great Britain and to the revolutions of 1848 reveal aspects of his biography and of the development of his thought, which, until the present, have gone unnoticed” (10). 124 For instance, Emerson delivered another speech celebrating the 15-year anniversary of the Emancipation of the British West Indies in 1849, where he “portrays the slave-owning planters as primitive creatures, still afflicted with a wholly nature,” though he believes them “bound despite themselves to a nobler destiny” (Gonnaud 380), underscoring his ongoing belief in the perfectibility of mankind. 105

celebrating the Emancipation of the British West Indies, Emerson alludes to his ambivalence regarding racial inferiority, stating he “shall not touch” the arguments against “an inferiority of race” (“Anniversary” 36). However, “after

1850, Emerson increasingly focused on a vision125 of epic struggle between those who would stand for the rights of man and those who would place material satiety above humane considerations” (Koch 8). Thus, Emerson’s experience in

Europe ultimately augmented his abolitionist stance, which was particularly evident in his 1851 address in Concord regarding the Fugitive Slave Law.

‘Address to the Citizens of Concord’ on the Fugitive Slave Law (1851): An

Individual Microcosm of a Collective Failure

By the late 1840s, “the nation was rushing into an abyss of disaster”

(Gonnaud 393) due to several concurrent developments. First, Treaty of

Guadalupe Hidalgo126 was signed on February 2, 1848, ending the United States’ war with Mexico yet doing “nothing to settle the question of slavery in the new territory” (Murrin et al. 346). This irresolution underscored the urgency of the

1848 election,127 which would determine the future influence of slavery in the

125 This vision undoubtedly influenced English Traits, published in 1856, wherein Emerson “challenged and overturned” his previous belief in the superiority of the Anglo-Saxon race and delineated his belief in the European Revolutions of 1848 “as struggles for freedom and human rights,” akin “to the intensifying conflict between supporters of abolition and of slavery in his own country” (Koch 8). 126 This treaty “sheared off half of Mexico and increased the size of the United States by one- fourth,” through the addition of California, New Mexico, and parts of Texas (Murrin et al. 346). 127 This election featured three strong contenders: Zachary Taylor of the Whig Party; Lewis Cass of the Democratic Party; and Martin Van Buren of the Free Soil Party. Though Taylor, a Southern slaveholder, had never served in public office, he was “the ideal candidate for the Whigs,” and was kept “above public controversy” (Mieczkowski 45). In addition, Van Buren’s presence “helped split the Democratic vote” and enabled Taylor to win “states he would not have won otherwise,” namely seven northern states and eight southern states (McNeese 17). Thus, the 1848 election “had left a bitter aftertaste in all men’s mouths, Emerson’s included,” and when California, which declared itself a free state, requested admission to the Union, “it seemed that the crisis had come” (Gonnaud 393). Despite Taylor’s unexpected death in July 1850, the issue of California 106

newly acquired territories. In addition, the deeply troubling passage of the 1850

Fugitive Slave Law128 further magnified the power of Southern states. As a result of these developments, Emerson became “a full-fledged reformer” on the national scene by 1850, recognizing that “America faced a dire moral threat”

(Gougeon, “Pragmatic” 167). This activism is especially apparent in Emerson’s first public address regarding the Fugitive Slave Law, which is “easily the most acerbic of his career” (Gougeon, “Historical” xxxix). Its acerbic nature is evident from the opening lines, when Emerson refers to “the great question of these days,” namely slavery, which has “forced” virtually all concerned citizens into political activism, making “it a paramount duty to seek what is often a duty to shun” (53).

Unlike the setting for his 1844 address, wherein the mood was largely celebratory, the crowd gathered on May 3, 1851 was furious, and this fury is reflected from the onset of Emerson’s speech, when he notes that he “never had an experience of personal inconvenience from the laws, until now” (“Address”

53). Here, Emerson alludes directly to the blatant capture of the runaway

Thomas Sims in Massachusetts, which was enforced under the Fugitive Slave

had still not been settled. The , passed in September, allowed California’s admission to the Union as a free state, but “the remainder of the Mexican Cession lands were to remain open to the possibility of slavery,” which seemed “to postpone the inevitable” (McNeese 18) development of the Civil War. 128 This law “was made possible by the South’s preponderant power in the Congress” (Gougeon, “Pragmatic” 168). This power originated with the Compromise of 1787, which included the Three- Fifths Compromise, a policy that “permitted states to count three-fifths of their slaves for purposes of representation” (Murrin et al. 184). Therefore, the Three-Fifths Compromise “allowed the South to predominate in Congress, promoting policies and laws that were actually dictated by relatively few men” (Gougeon, “Pragmatic” 168). This law “allowed the federal authorities to hunt escaped slaves throughout the union without recourse to individual state jurisdictions,” and Emerson, among many others, considered this legislation to be “an intolerable insult” (Gonnaud 388). 107

Law.129 Furthermore, in his 1844 address, while Emerson illuminates the favorable progress that results from the conscientious actions of public intellectuals, notably Granville Sharp. In contrast, Emerson’s 1851 address illustrates the deleterious effects of a scholar gone awry, namely Daniel Webster.

Emerson explicitly details the disastrous aftermath that ensues once a public scholar turns his back on his former principles. Given Webster’s prominent political position, his moral failure subsequently affected the behavior of entire states and their own legal, political, and educational systems, recalling the tenuous balance between civilization and barbarism that Emerson references in his 1844 address, as well as his criticism of societal institutions in “Man the

Reformer.”

However, while Emerson is decidedly more negative in this speech, he does not eliminate his optimism entirely. Instead, veering back towards his blueprint for reform, or the symbiotic framework of critical thought and purposeful action, Emerson suggests that individual states could serve a public scholar for the entire nation, ultimately steering it towards progress and away from barbarism. While he is deeply disappointed with Massachusetts’s recent with the Fugitive Slave Law, Emerson also believes that

Massachusetts could potentially serve as a beacon of hope and progress for other states to follow. If Massachusetts focuses on incorporating natural, divine

129 Thomas Sims was captured as a result of federal and state efforts: “Federal agents and their Boston cohorts, after deploying a formidable force, successfully returned their hapless victim to the bondage from which he had escaped” (Gougeon, “Historical” xxxix). In other words, the anti- abolitionists’ power trumped the abolitionists’, including the complicity of Boston authorities, an “act of officially sanctioned cruelty” (Gougeon, “Historical” xxxix) that stunned New England. 108

laws into its existing legislation, other states would ideally follow suit, which would ultimately eliminate slavery and emphasize . Thus, just as the public intellectual in “The American Scholar” can “cheer,” “raise,” and

“guide” (20) other individual men, Massachusetts could influence other individual states’ laws and institutions favorably. This cascading reform effect would ultimately bring the United States closer towards light, rather than darkness.

Thus, while Emerson’s 1851 address is considerably more abrasive than his

1844 address, he does not abandon his hope for reform entirely; instead, he approaches it more realistically, particularly with more specific recommendations, which begin at the individual level, continue at a singular city level, and ultimately catapult to the national level, thereby evincing truly transformative reform.

Thus, a cursory overview of this speech would suggest that it is primarily a prolonged attack on Webster, who symbolizes moral disillusionment, though a closer analysis reveals Webster to be a microcosm of Boston as a whole.

Webster represents an interesting corollary to Emerson; Webster began his career as a staunch abolitionist and ended it on a more ambiguous stance, whereas Emerson took the opposite approach. Webster’s devolution from an avowed antislavery activist into a more passive political figure is significant, as

Emerson’s early journals130 reveal great admiration for Webster due to his impressive oratorical skills. For instance, in an 1820 speech delivered in

130 For instance, in a journal entry dated February 7, 1820, Emerson recall how Mr. K, a Bostonian lawyer, characterized Webster as a man who “knows his strength, has a perfect confidence in his own powers, and is distinguished by a spirit of fixed determination” (Heart 3). Perhaps somewhat tellingly, if not forebodingly, in the same entry, Emerson also recalls how Mr. K remarked, “[Webster’s] genius is such that, if he descends to be pathetic, he becomes ridiculous” (Heart 3). 109

Plymouth, Webster declared that slavery was an “odious and abominable trade" and urged his listeners to take an unequivocal stance against slavery. “If there be, within the extent of our knowledge or influence, any participation in this traffic, let us pledge ourselves here, upon the rock of Plymouth, to extirpate and destroy it” (45).131 However, over the following decades, Webster became less firm in his antislavery position due to his political ambitions.132 Webster’s ambivalence towards, and ultimate withdrawal from, the abolitionist cause is extraordinarily disappointing. However, Emerson also recognizes that Webster likely is not unique in his diminished fervor for abolition; Webster is merely the most visible, recognizable example of the influence that perverse political institutions can ultimately have upon formerly inspired, and inspirational, activists. Webster’s failure to fight abolition does not just represent an individual failure; in a sense, he represents the collective failure of Boston as a whole. Emerson includes harsh criticism for the entire city of Boston, though he also exhibits a degree of hopefulness when he contemplates the possibility embedded within individual

Bostonians. Specifically, while Boston’s legal and political institutions may have sided against the abolitionists through their acquiescence to the legal immorality of the Fugitive Slave Law, Emerson does believe that enough citizens in Boston

131 These early speeches provide context for the few favorable comments Emerson has regarding Webster in his 1851 address, namely when he recalls how he and others “delighted in his form and face, in his voice, in his eloquence, in his power of labor, in his concentration, in his large understanding, in his daylight statement, simple force” (66). This admiration made Webster the “pride in the woods and mountains of New England” (65), though perception of Webster began changing when he failed to speak or act during the most critical moments of his political career. 132 By 1843, Emerson began recognizing the toll that political ambition had taken on Webster’s moral compass. In an entry dated April 10, Emerson declares that “Webster is a great man with a small ambition,” and this small ambition is the wish “to be an officer,” as well as the desire “to add a title to his name, and be a President,” which ultimately “ruined him” (Heart 197). 110

could still effect lasting reform, perhaps beginning at a city level, followed by state level, and ultimately concluding at a national level. Thus, while Emerson begins by largely focusing on the failures of Webster and Boston as a whole, he provides a glimmer of optimism when he envisions the thoughts and actions of

Bostonians comprising a blueprint for the remainder of the nation.

While Webster had become increasingly disengaged from the abolitionist movement over the course of his career, his largest failure pertained to the

Fugitive Slave Act and catalyzed the initial, though not total, inspiration for

Emerson’s address. In 1850, when in “the twilight of his career” (Gonnaud 393),

Webster shocked most Massachusetts citizens when he supported the passage of the Compromise of 1850, which subsequently enforced the Fugitive Slave

Law. This support was arguably the most visible sign of Webster’s regression from a public intellectual who took an unequivocal stance against slavery into a public politician who arguably lost sight of the message underlying his fiery speech three decades earlier. Consequently, Emerson reserves severe criticism for Webster. He argues that Webster is “a man of the past, not a man of faith or of hope” (66), which means that Webster fell victim to the “grave mischief” (14) of historical overdependence that Emerson warns against in “The American

Scholar.” Webster ultimately fails to perform one of the scholar’s chief functions: to not only know history, but to also apply history progressively to the present globe of human affairs. As a result, Webster “has no faith in the power of self- government” (67), given its absence in human history. Emerson is remarkably explicit in his criticism when he comments, “the scraps of morality to be gleaned

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from his speeches are reflections of the minds of others” (67). Webster’s moral failure is especially clear when he “became less sensitive to these evils” (66) regarding slavery. Thus, Webster represents the antithesis of the “new thought and hope” (102) needed by society, which Emerson emphasizes in “Man the

Reformer.” Even more troublingly, Webster’s regressive reform likely is not unique. Abolition was garnering more supporters, as evidenced by Emerson’s public, extended foray into the feud, but the movement itself was becoming increasingly dangerous, given the expansion of slavery and the increasing likelihood of war. It is not unreasonable to believe that some initially ardent individuals may have been unwilling to continue openly supporting abolition if such support would ultimately contribute to the Civil War, which in turn could result in the Union’s dissolution. Indeed, a softer analysis of Webster might suggest that his intentions may have been decent though his ultimate actions were grossly insufficient; after all, one could certainly argue that political compromise, distasteful as it may appear and ineffective as it may ultimately prove, could be necessary to avoid greater losses in the future, including multiple deaths in a war that might never reach a favorable resolution. However, regardless of whether one’s intentions are selfish or selfless, actions, or the lack thereof, become only more critical during the most pivotal moments. In other words, one cannot afford to remain passive and uninvolved when human rights are at stake, particularly since a violation of the rights of one group of individuals could certainly prefigure further violations of further rights of other groups, and perhaps ultimately the rights of virtually everyone else, aside from artificially

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selected royalty at the top of a nation’s social hierarchy, or the exact type of nation the United States originally sought to avoid becoming.

For this reason, Emerson also expresses clear distress towards the

“painful topic” (65) of Webster’s transition from “the one eminent American of our time” (66), who “was once dear and honored” (65), into someone predominantly concerned with his own political gain. This part of the speech is also strongly reminiscent of another aspect of “Man the Reformer,” specifically when Emerson refers to “the way to lucrative employments blocked with abuses,” which ultimately lead young men to give in to “the harness of routine and obsequiousness” (103). Webster exemplifies this compromise, and despite his early, unequivocal stance against slavery, once he acquired more political power, he failed to follow through on his promise to the people of New England:

He indulged occasionally in excellent expression of the known feeling of

the New England people: but, when expected and when pledged, he

omitted to speak, and he omitted to throw himself into the movement in

those critical moments when his leadership would have turned the scale.

At last, at a fatal hour, this sluggishness accumulated to downright

counteraction, and, very unexpectedly to the whole Union, on the 7th

March, 1850, in opposition to his education, association, and to all his own

most explicit language for thirty years, he crossed the line, and became

the head of the slavery party in this country. (Emerson, “Address” 66)

The reference to Webster as “the head of the slavery party in this country” is likely one of the speech’s most controversial characterizations, and it

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underscores the degree to which Emerson is deeply troubled by the devolution of a public scholar. Furthermore, as detailed in “Man the Reformer,” these lines underscore the “house of cards” that define society’s institutions, which largely consist of “selfish men and women” (111). Webster’s failure to speak or act during critical political moments illustrates his underlying selfishness, or concern for his political career. He undoubtedly serves as a microcosm for others who pursue political office, especially when recalling Emerson’s depiction of politicians sitting “dumb at their desks” (25) in his 1844 address, implying an absence of critical thought and a presence of mindless sycophants.

Furthermore, Emerson is also deeply disturbed by “Mr. Webster’s treachery” (53) due to its dark influence on politics as a whole, namely how it

“has dislocated the foundations” (64) of other states’ laws and institutions.

Emerson provides concrete examples of this influence to support his claim:

The humiliating scandal of great men warping right into wrong was

followed up very fast by the cities. New York advertised in southern

markets, that it would go for slavery, and posted the names of merchants

who would not. Boston, alarmed, entered into the same design.

Philadelphia, more fortunate, had no conscience at all, and, in this auction

of the rights of mankind, rescinded all its legislation against slavery. And

the “Boston Advertiser” and the “Courier” in these weeks, urge the same

course on the people of Massachusetts. Nothing remains in this race to

out-bid us all by adopting slavery into its constitution. (62-63)

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In short, Webster’s devolution did not occur in a vacuum; instead, the moral failure of a public scholar is also directly correlated to the subsequent ethical collapse in states’ laws. This consequence is reminiscent of “The American

Scholar,” namely when Emerson argues “character is higher than intellect” (19), as character is a vital component of ethical reform. In addition, character must be genuine and unwavering, as “a man of greedy and unscrupulous selfishness may maintain morals when they are in fashion: but he will not stick” (55). Furthermore, this ethical collapse in the legal system also naturally leads to questioning the necessity of laws, courts, and even the Constitution, should they prove detrimental to human rights: “What is the use of constitutions, if all the guaranties provided by the jealousy of ages for the protection of liberty are made of no effect, when a bad act of Congress finds a willing commissioner?” (56).

These lines also underscore why Emerson primarily focused on holistic reform in his early essays, as he views all aspects of moral reform and human progress as interconnected. Unsurprisingly, given these cities and states’ corrupt legislation, other institutions outside of the legal field have also begun to suffer:

“The college, the churches, the schools, the very shops and factories are discredited; real estate, every kind of wealth, every branch of industry, every avenue to power, suffers injury” (55), bringing to mind “the trail of the serpent”

(104) detailed in “Man the Reformer.” Even the humanities and sciences in higher education suffer, as “every liberal study is discredited,” and “Literature, and science appear effeminate and the hiding of the head” (55). Thus, Emerson reveals how “great is the mischief of a legal crime,” as “every person who

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touches this business is contaminated” (63). Furthermore, it also alludes to the nefarious entanglement of legal immorality detailed in “Man the Reformer,” particularly when Emerson says, “we are all implicated … every body partakes, every body confesses … yet none feels himself accountable” (103-04).

While Emerson is critical of several states’ current path into a moral abyss, he is especially harsh with Massachusetts and the city of Boston in particular, which can be attributed not only to Emerson’s personal history with this New

England area, but also due to Massachusetts citizens’ presumed outrage over slavery and general characterization as “humane people” (56). For instance,

Emerson notes that Bostonians declared “no fugitive slave could can be arrested,” only to weaken their stance to “no fugitive slave can be arrested here”

(54). Even worse, the second assertion was proven untrue, as Boston’s authorities helped enforce the Fugitive Slave Law, notably during the plight of

Sims, who managed to make it all the way to Boston, where he thought he would be completely safe, only for “all this force employed to catch him” (56). This force not only comprises legal authorities, but also “the learning of the Universities, the culture of elegant society, … the eloquence of the Christian pulpit, the stoutness of Democracy, [and] the respectability of the Whig party” (56). Emerson notes the state is presently deviating from progress, particularly since “the behavior of

Boston was the reverse of what it should have been” (71) in the enforcement of the Fugitive Slave Law. As a result, the “royal position of Massachusetts was foully lost” (71). This realization underlies one of the most polemical statements

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of Emerson’s speech, namely that “the famous town of Boston is his master’s hound” (56).

For this reason, Emerson remarks that he cannot open a newspaper

“without being disgusted by new records of shame,” as he perceives column titles such as “Education in Massachusetts,” “Board of Trade,” “Art Union,” and

“Revival of Religion” to be “bitter mockeries” (54). Just as Emerson decries the dangerous influence of institutions in “Man the Reformer,” he asserts that generally ethical people in Massachusetts, who “should have been defenders of the poor man,” instead “are found his embittered enemies … merely from party ties” (56). In other words, in the absence of strong personal beliefs and conviction, corrupt institutions, including political parties, adversely impact individuals, ultimately leading to the decay and ultimate destruction of society. In contrast to his earlier strong opposition to severing the Union, Emerson begins recognizing the reality of the ongoing slavery crisis, as he acknowledges, “under the Union I suppose the fact to be that there are really two nations, the North and the South” (67). Given its deleterious effects on societal institutions, the Fugitive

Slave Law arguably prefigures the potential destruction of the United States, which is particularly clear when Emerson comments, “as soon as the constitution ordains an immoral law, it ordains disunion” (67) and reinforces this sentiment by declaring, “the Union is at an end as soon as an immoral law is enacted” (68).

The enactment of immoral laws further underscores the urgency of a return to natural law, as “in every nation all the immorality that exists breeds plagues” (57).

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While Emerson has become much more realistic about societal reform, relative to his more utopian visions and idealistic guidelines in his early speeches, he does not lose his optimism entirely. Instead, he simply refines his framework for reform, highlighting the favorable possibilities that could result if an individual state serves as a public scholar for the nation. Emerson recognizes that slavery “is very industrious, gives herself no holidays,” which is how “she got

Texas, and now will have Cuba, and means to keep her majority” (69). However, while “the experience of the past gives us no encouragement to lie by” (69),

Emerson reaffirms the importance of progress he initially posits in “The American

Scholar,” arguing that Massachusetts can and should distinguish itself from the rest of the Union: “What must we do? One thing is plain, we cannot answer for the Union, but we must keep Massachusetts true” (70). Thus, Emerson remains consistent with a core transcendentalist tenet: the unwavering focus on the truth, only discoverable and applicable through natural, divine laws, as presented in

“The American Scholar: “the first in importance of the influences on the mind is nature” (13).

In fact, Emerson ironically remarks that Fugitive Slave Law does have one educational benefit, and that is the possible rediscovery of natural laws: “The crisis had the illuminating power of a sheet of lightning at midnight” (55), and it subsequently “has turned every dinner-table into a debating club, and made every citizen a student of natural law” (64). Specifically, “when a right is invaded” under manmade laws, “the discussion draws on deeper sources; general principles are laid bare, which cast light on the whole frame of society” (64). One

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of the most fundamental human rights is liberty, which is clear when Emerson asserts that “a man’s right to liberty is as inalienable as his right to life” (57), thereby defining “life” as synonymous with “liberty.” These lines are particularly interesting, as Emerson illustrates how focusing on one severe violation of human rights, namely slavery, can ultimately illuminate the entire unsavory state of affairs within society. Thus, Emerson calls attention back to the most important natural rights, which provide the initial steps for those to rectify previous moral failures and move forward as reformers who have not only transformed their lives at an individual level, but also contributed to favorable social reform at a collective level. Specifically, once individuals realize that slavery represents one of the most grotesque abominations of liberty, they will work tirelessly towards its abolition, regardless of the social, legal, or professional costs they may incur.

Such tireless efforts will also open their eyes towards other social ills, with which they may focus their efforts upon until those issues are also resolved. Therefore,

Emerson still clearly seeks the holistic reform of society, yet at this juncture in his career, he likely realizes that this transformation is more practical if it begins with the elimination of the worst social ill plaguing society. This refined approach is even more crucial given his criticism of the “impracticality” (57) of the Fugitive

Slave Law, which would compel Emerson to make practical recommendations to counteract the arguments set forth by anti-abolitionists. For this reason, Emerson concentrates specifically on how a strong antislavery revolution within

Massachusetts could favorably influence the future of the United States.

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Emerson believes that Massachusetts could serve as a transformative light for the rest of the nation, analogizing the state’s potential influence on the future United States to Europe’s historical influence on the entire world: “Europe, the least of the continents, has almost monopolized for twenty centuries the genius and power of them all” (70). Furthermore, Emerson attributes Europe’s progress in the humanities to Greece, “the least part of Europe,” particularly

Attica, which is “one tenth the size of Massachusetts” (70). Nevertheless, the humanistic revolution that originated in Attica “still rules the intellect of men” (70).

In a similar vein, Massachusetts can become “the brain which turns about the behemoth” (70), effecting lasting in the United States. To accomplish this difficult feat, Massachusetts “must follow no vicious examples,” remain “true to itself,” and “play her honest part” (70).

Emerson also provides a specific recommendation for actionable honesty, namely when he calls for direct disobedience of the Fugitive Slave Law: “It must be abrogated and wiped out of the statute-book; but whilst it stands there, it must be disobeyed” (71). Furthermore, all Massachusetts citizens must support this objective: “We must make a small state great, by making every man in it true”

(71). Emerson recognizes that several Massachusetts citizens are guilty of the same passivity in the slavery controversy that previously tarnished his own effectuality as a public scholar. However, he believes that the majority of its citizens share “the well-known sentiment” against slavery that “was not expressed” in light of the enforcement of the Fugitive Slave Law, which is why

Emerson urges, “let us correct this error” (71). In contrast to the myopic

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politicians, Emerson calls for citizens to “let truth be spoken and right done” (71).

As detailed in “Man the Reformer,” Emerson provides a practical application for how Massachusetts could become “a renouncer of lies” and “a restorer of truth and good” (110). This accomplishment would yield unparalleled progress for the state’s strength and leadership:

Let the attitude of the states be firm. Let us respect he Union to all honest

ends. But also respect an older and wider union, the law of nature and

rectitude. Massachusetts is as strong as the Universe, when it does that

… Let us not lie, not steal, nor help to steal, and let us not call stealing by

any fine name, such as ‘Union’ or ‘.’ (71-72)

Should Massachusetts achieve these objectives, the benefits for the United

States’ future, as well as for humanity’s progress and civilization, would be immeasurable. This thought is precisely what motivates Emerson to continue his social activism, which arguably roused others still waffling on the social ill of slavery. Furthermore, he further demonstrates his understanding of a public scholar’s key functions: “I strongly share the hope of mankind in the power, and therefore, in the duties of the Union” (68).

Emerson’s inherent optimism is the most apparent when he envisions an ethically evolved nation whose legislation is based upon natural laws, which is why he asserts, “no engagement (to a sovereign) can oblige or even authorize a man to violate the laws of Nature” (60). In other words, if individuals can lead to the spiritual renewal of a city, then that city may in turn catalyze the holistic transformation of an entire nation. Despite the United States’ intense social

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turmoil and fragile , Emerson believes, “the destiny of this country is great and liberal, and is to be greatly administered ... according to what is, and is to be, and not according to what is dead and gone” (67). In contrast to the corrupt institutions of the past, which divided people on the basis of wealth, lineage, religion, and other aspects, Emerson calls for “an alliance of men of one stock, one language, one religion, one system of manners and ideas” (67), underscoring the preeminence of liberty and equality in each individual’s life.

Regardless of external, ephemeral political association, “every nation and every man bows, in spite of himself, to a higher mental and moral existence” (71), underscoring the futility of using artificial, manmade laws to contravene divine, natural laws.

Despite his ongoing evolution as a practical reformer, Emerson still has difficulty believing that people would remain in favor of slavery after revealing the full extent of its horrors. In other words, should states such as Massachusetts implacably demonstrate the inherent immorality and artificiality of slavery,

Emerson appears to believe that other states may naturally gravitate towards abolition, much in the same way that complete renewal of each individual on a broad scale would ultimately transform society. For this reason, he is a bit less direct in his prescription for abolishing slavery entirely from the nation, relative to his explicit call for disobedience of the Fugitive Slave Law. He clearly contemplates the various ways in which this abolition could be achieved: “First, abrogate the law; then proceed to confine slavery to slave states, and help them effectually to make an end of it” (69). However, at this point in time, Emerson has

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far more questions than answers. For instance, he is unsure whether it is best to wait, which appears to be the socially acceptable response: “Or shall we, as we are advised on all hands, lie by, and wait the progress of the census?” (69). At the same time, he also wonders if a more decisive action is needed: “Shall we call a new convention, or will any expert statesman furnish us a plan for the summary or gradual winding up of slavery, so far as the Republic is its patron?”

(69). The repeated references to “we” also represent one of the most important distinctions in Emerson’s 1851 address relative to his early speeches, as these references underscore the importance of individual thought and conviction manifested in collective action. Emerson realizes that one man cannot singlehandedly overturn slavery, but one scholar’s unwavering conviction can certainly inspire others to join him in this objective.

Unfortunately, despite Emerson’s rousing speech on the Fugitive Slave

Law in 1851, which “won immediate approval from abolitionist supporters and others” (Gougeon, “Historical” xl), slaveholders’ dominant influence over the

Union continued to increase throughout the early 1850s.133 In light of this looming catastrophe, and perhaps realizing that the potential dissolution of the Union was imminent, Emerson prepared a second address on the Fugitive Slave Law, which he delivered on May 7, 1854. This speech was less incendiary than his 1851

133 For instance, on May 30, 1854, an ongoing debate regarding the Kansas-Nebraska Bill resulted in the essential nullification of the 1820 Missouri Compromise; this outcome made “vast new areas available for the creation of additional slave states” (Gougeon, “Historical” xli). In fact, “its repeal, in 1854, triggered the final stage of the sectional crisis,” which ultimately “prompted the establishment of the Republican Party, and impelled the return to politics of Abraham Lincoln” (Forbes 3). In short, this repeal represented one of the biggest tipping points that would ultimately bring the Union to war with itself seven years later.

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address, particularly regarding his commentary on Webster. Nevertheless,

Emerson’s 1854 address is similar to his earlier address through its consistent focus on reform, particularly legislative reform: “What is the use of admirable law forms and political forms of a hurricane of party feeling and a combination of monied interests can beat them to the ground?” (82). This question is significant, as it continues to illuminate the clear disparity between the Union’s current laws, namely those motivated by politics and money, and nature’s laws, which underpin all existence and remain impervious to the given norms and moralities that underpin a given age in a specific location. Emerson’s focus on the importance of natural law is also a critical component of his pivotal address in

1855, which not only revisited the travesty of the Fugitive Slave Law, which continued to urge listeners to turn to nature, rather than politicians, for truth and guidance.

Lecture on Slavery (1855): Diseased Institutions & the Urgency of Abolition

In addition to deeply troubling changes on the national front, federal troops and local authorities continued to enforce the legislation in Massachusetts, in spite of Emerson’s pleas for civil disobedience. In May 1854, another escaped slave, Anthony Burns, was captured in Boston, which inspired Emerson to deliver another speech on January 25, 1855, now referred to as “Lecture on Slavery.”134

Some observers believed that this address largely eliminated all transcendentalist tenets; for instance, Gougeon cites an unnamed critic who

134 Similar to his 1851 address, Emerson delivered this speech several times: “Not since his Fugitive Slave Law address of 1851 had Emerson given an antislavery lecture so many times” (Gougeon, “Historical” xliii). 124

believes that “never was such a change, apparently, as from the Emerson of ’45 to the Emerson of ’55” (“Historical” xliv). However, a careful analysis of this address, particularly in the context of the framework for reform delineated in “The

American Scholar” and “Man the Reformer,” reveals that Emerson does not abandon his focus on natural rights and their founding principles; instead, similar to his 1851 address, he incorporates these beliefs into a practical context to reach his audience successfully.135 In contrast to his previous addresses,

Emerson’s tone is significantly more gloomy, perhaps due to a subconscious recognition that a major catastrophe, notably the Civil War, is imminent.

However, he still promotes the power of critical thought and courageous action, which is more important than ever at this particular juncture in the United States’ history. The biggest distinction between his 1855 address and his 1844 and 1851 addresses is that Emerson has now shifted his focus from the individual to the institutional level. In his 1844 and 1851 addresses, Emerson successfully depicts the influence of individuals on institutional change, including favorable and unfavorable impacts, providing a blueprint for individuals to follow so that they may effect social changes favorable for all of humanity. By 1855, Emerson turns his attention increasingly towards a blueprint for institutional reform, which is ultimately underpinned by the collective amalgamation of individual thought and action. Emerson’s 1855 address is arguably one of his most pessimistic

135 Thus, while the commentator referenced by Gougeon “is right to note that Emerson’s addresses have undergone a change related to a greater attention to particularity that began with his 1844 address … Emerson never really leaves the ‘upper sphere’ entirely”; instead, Emerson struggles “to renegotiate how he thinks about, sees, and contemplates particularity” (Mariotti 326). 125

speeches, as he does not appear to view any institution in the United States favorably at this particular juncture in time.

Emerson’s 1855 address underscores the degree to which all institutions have been poisoned, including legal, political, and educational institutions, echoing similar criticism from “Man the Reformer,” as well as his 1851 address.

Emerson’s 1855 address emphasizes the dangers that ensue in the absence of public intellectuals who promulgate natural rights by focusing explicitly on the dangerous, herd-like thinking that dominates the political climate, which has subsequently resulted in an amoral, darkened society that personifies barbarism, rather than civilization. Given that a mindless, moblike mentality is the antithesis of the critical thinking requisite for reform, Emerson illuminates the urgent need for independent, critical thinking, including innovative, creative contemplations, which is strongly reminiscent of “The American Scholar.” The favorable evolution of individual thought should naturally manifest itself into positive collective action, which echoes similar sentiments to his 1851 address, namely when Emerson calls for collective disobedience of the Fugitive Slave Law. However, in his 1855 address, Emerson demonstrates an even greater evolution as an antislavery activist, as he realizes “one must write with a red hot iron to make any impression,” particularly when “the subject seems exhausted” (91). Thus, in contrast with his 1851 address, Emerson explicitly advocates imminent abolition, directly equating this specific social reform with the implementation of natural laws, notably liberty. Ultimately, Emerson’s 1855 address arguably symbolizes the fruition of the germinating framework for reform initially posited in “The

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American Scholar” and “Man the Reformer,” and he believes that the institutional abolition of slavery is requisite to any sort of lasting, meaningful reform.

Emerson’s opening remarks illuminate the dark tone of his address: “I approach the grave and bitter subject of American slavery with diffidence and pain” (91), given its pervasive violation of liberty and poisoning of societal institutions. Emerson asserts that “a high state of general health cannot coexist with a mortal disease in any part” (92), and he explicitly defines slavery as such a mortal disease: “Slavery is an evil, as cholera or typhus is, that will be purged out by the health of the system” (93). Furthermore, Emerson realizes that public sentiment among ordinary citizens may be shifting towards abolition, but political institutions and their corresponding legislation remain deliberately opposed to natural law: “However strongly the tides of public sentiment have set or are setting towards freedom, the code of slavery in this country is at this hour more malignant than ever before” (92). The use of the word “malignant” is notable, given its applicability to terminal illness, and just as untreated physical illness eventually results in the death of an individual, the legally sanctioned sickness of slavery will ultimately destroy a nation ostensibly founded upon the principles of liberty. Unfortunately, the nefarious tentacles of slavery not only have continued to dominate the Confederacy, but also have also begun pervading New England, which makes “it impossible” for concerned citizens “to avoid complicity” (92).

Emerson still has difficulty believing that this evil has continued affecting his home, and he notes the clear hypocrisy between the emphasis on liberty and the

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reinforcement of the Fugitive Slave Law when detailing “the recent action of

Congress” (92):

The crying facts are these, that, in a Republic professing to base its laws

on liberty, and on the doctrines of , slavery is suffered to

subsist: and, when the poor people who are the victims of this crime,

disliking the stripping and peeling process, run away into states where this

practice is not permitted,—a law has been passed requiring us who sit

here to seize these poor people, tell them they have not been plundered

enough, and must go back to be stripped and peeled again, as long as

they live. (92)

These lines illustrate a clear connection between the capture of the runaway

Burns and the resulting uproar in Boston, as well as Emerson’s extreme sympathy towards the plight of slaves. In sharp contrast to his more general references to “slavery” in early essays, such as “Man the Reformer,” Emerson provides a brutally honest viewpoint into what slavery really entails: the constant stripping, peeling, and plundering of an individual. With such a viewpoint in mind, particularly when considering the practice of slavery in the purported land of the free, it is clear that slavery is the most virulent ill that keeps the United States, along with all its institutions, in perpetual darkness.

Emerson longs for the first politicians in the United States, particularly when he details how “Washington, Adams, Jefferson, really embodied the ideas of Americans” (103). These men demonstrated the original, innovating thinking that Emerson calls for in “The American Scholar,” and they contrast sharply with

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the sheep-like politicians that occupy space, rather than effect change, in the nation’s capital and other governmental buildings. As a result of this moblike mentality, political institutions have unsurprisingly become completely corrupt,

“without character or representative force of any kind” (103). For this reason,

“men of character will not willingly touch them,” particularly given “how far our politics had departed from the path of simple right” (96), further underscoring the necessary preeminence of character over intellect. Current political institutions’ extreme deviation from natural law is especially apparent when Emerson asks a series of pointed questions that determine whether or not the American political system promotes progress and civilization, or if the system supports, rather than detracts, from the perfectibility of mankind:

Look at our politics. The great parties coeval with the origin of the

government,—do they inspire us with any exalted hope? Does the

Democracy stand really for the good of many? of the poor? for the

elevation of entire humanity? Have they ever addressed themselves to the

enterprize or relieving this country of the pest of slavery? (95)

The assumed answer to all of the above questions is “no,” clearly implying that the present state of the United States’ political affairs has set the nation on course for a direct path to barbarism, rather than civilization. Even more disturbingly, Emerson recalls how “we found well-born, well-bred, well-grown men among ourselves, not foreigners, not beggars, not convicts, but baptized, vaccinated, schooled, high-placed, official men, who abetted this law” (93). In other words, barbaric laws are ironically enforced by a significant percentage of

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the educated elite, or those who theoretically should be guiding a nation towards progress, rather than destruction. However, formal education does not automatically guarantee critical thinking, not to mention the development of courage, conviction, and character. Ultimately, all the United States’ institutions, not just the political system, have been tainted by the absence of independent thought and the subsequent presence of widespread immorality: “The ebb of thought drains the law, the religion, the education of the land” (95).

Thus, given the widespread absence of revolutionary thinking, Emerson has clearly lost faith not only in political institutions and the “evil government”

(102), but also in the legal and educational systems. Since laws permitting slavery in the United States clearly violate “a transcript of natural right” (100),

Emerson bleakly notes, “in America, justice was poisoned at its fountain”

(101).136 He realizes that judges are primarily concerned with the constitutionality, rather than the inherent justice, of a law, which means that “no judge appeared of sufficient character and intellect to ask not whether it was constitutional, but whether it was right” (101). As a result, the United States has entered “an era when governors do not govern, when judges do not judge, when

Presidents do not preside, and when representatives do not represent” (101).

Furthermore, Emerson also details the corruption within the educational system, namely when he challenges value of universities. He questions whether or not

136 This quote also recalls Smith’s Theory of Moral Sentiment: “In all well-governed states too, not only judges are appointed for determining the controversies of individuals, but rules are prescribed for regulating the decisions of those judges; and these rules are, in general, intended to coincide with those of natural justice. It does not, indeed, always happen that they do so in every instance. Sometimes what is called the constitution of the state, that is, the interest of government; sometimes the interest of particular orders of men who tyrannize the government, warp the positive laws of the country from what natural justice would prescribe” (403). 130

“these institutions inspire the hope and gratitude” necessary for individuals to become “eager to impart the light which has kindled them, and to set the whole land on flame” (95). At this point in time, Emerson does not feel high hopes regarding American youth, which is particularly evident when he wonders whether it is possible to “find genius and courage” amongst them, or if their

“beauty” merely serves as “a mask for an aged cunning” (94). This poisonous climate undoubtedly reinforces the mindless futility and materialism of American society as a whole, which Emerson characterizes as “dreary superficiality, ignorance and disbelief in principles, a civilization magnifying trifles” (97).

Addressing American society as a whole also reinforces Emerson’s shift in focus, making this speech distinct from his 1851 address, which focuses extensively on

Webster. While Emerson certainly references the individual throughout this speech, his largest criticisms pertain to all of society’s institutions as a whole, and by default, the United States itself.

Emerson goes as far as to draw a parallel between the ancient Dark Ages’ amorality and the United States’ current state, arguing that people have become so thoughtless, and subsequently blinded, that they do not even recognize the omnipresence of moral bankruptcy in their fledgling nation: “The Dark Ages did not know that they were dark; and what if it should turn out, that our material civilization has no sun, but only ghastly gas-lights?” (93).137 He further reinforces the current omnipresence of darkness when he describes “periods of occulation

137 The reference to “ghastly gas-lights” represents clear criticism of how mindless materialism blinds people to the truth, illustrating how “Emerson castigates American citizens for being too focused on their immediate and material self-interests” (Mariotti 327). 131

when the light of mind seems to be partially withdrawn from nations as well as from individuals,” with the United States reaching “its crisis in the acquiescence in slavery” (98). He continues similar criticism of the nation’s amorality and materialism when he notices another disturbing historical pattern repeating itself within the United States: “What happens after periods of extraordinary prosperity, happened now. They could not see beyond their eye-lids, they dwell in the senses” (97). Rather than contemplating the past and imagining the future,

American citizens content themselves with the myopic acquisition of “meat and wine, steam and machinery, and the career of wealth,” further embodying “the same ebb of thought” (97) that afflicts the nation’s institutions and continues its violations of natural laws.

From Emerson’s perspective, the “ebb” of critical thinking is a recurring issue that remains embedded in the United States’ societal fabric, which

“staggers our faith in progress” (93) by stalling any further cultural development and undermining ethical growth. Emerson identifies the preference for industrial progress above intellectual revolution as symptomatic of this issue, which is clear when he states, “in America, a great imaginative soul, a broad cosmopolitan mind, has not accompanied the immense industrial energy” (94). This preference, coupled with a general absence of independent thought, undoubtedly contributes to slavery’s pervasiveness, which seemingly produces goods for consumption at an inexpensive cost. However, as the legendary economist

Adam Smith sagely notes in his seminal work, Wealth of Nations, “the experience of all ages and nations, I believe, demonstrates that the work done by slaves,

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though it appears to cost only their maintenance, is in the end the dearest of any”

(81). In the case of the United States, the ongoing controversy surrounding slavery would ultimately lead to the Civil War, underscoring the truly brutal costs of deliberately violating natural law and highlighting how “secret retributions are always restoring the level, when disturbed, of Divine justice” (99).

Throughout his address, Emerson provides several warnings regarding the United States’ deliberate violation of natural law, underscoring the need to return to nature for guidance. While natural law ordains liberty, legislation enforcing slavery does not, which is why “most unhappily, this universally accepted duty and feeling has been antagonized by the calamity of southern slavery” (104). Nevertheless, “nature is not so helpless but it can rid itself at last of every crime” (99), underscoring the role nature will always play in eventually mediating and equalizing human relationships. Considering slavery one of the most grotesque violations of natural law, Emerson believes the practice of enslaving another individual in the civilized world should eventually end, just as

“cannibalism, tattooing, inquisitions, dueling, burking” (93) also ended with the course of human progress. After all, “geometry survives, though we have forgotten it” (97), and this natural logic is reminiscent of humanity’s common origins: “everything rests on foundations, alike the globe of the world” (97). One of the most important foundations is universal truth, which will ultimately reveal itself, whether or not men believe in it: “Truth exists, though all men should deny it. There is a sound healthy universe whatever fires or plagues or desolation transpire in diseased corners” (102). Therefore, universal laws ground in nature

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will ultimately transcend immoral laws, notably: “As thou doest, shall it be done to thee. As thou sowest, thou shall reap … If you love and serve men, you cannot by any dodge or stratagem escape the remuneration” (99). Furthermore, recognizing that these dictums are generally associated with Western religion and development, Emerson also cites “an Eastern poet,” who stated “that God had made justice so dead to the heart of Nature, that, if any injustice lurked anywhere under the sky, the blue vault would shrivel to a snake-skin and cast it out by spasms” (99). In other words, from Western religion to Eastern philosophy, natural, divine law predominates over the artificial, manmade legislation that violates it.

In spite of the omnipresent gloom that characterizes much of this address,

Emerson still believes in the ameliorative power of nature upon individuals’ critical thinking, which is ultimately manifested in thoughtful, revolutionary action:

“It is not to societies that the secrets of nature are revealed, but to private persons, to each man in his organization, in his thoughts” (102). In fact, he advocates original, innovative thought as more necessary than ever, as only the active implementation of new ideas can combat the growing malignancy of slavery and its deleterious effects. This necessity is particularly urgent when immorality is legally sanctioned; thus, “when the public fails in its duty, private men take its place” (102). Specifically, instead of hearing natural law verbally enforced by politicians, “men hear reason and truth from private men who have brave hearts and great minds” (102). These “brave and faithful” private men are unafraid of taking a courageous stand for natural law, and they “made their

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protest for themselves and their countrymen by word and deed” (102). They correctly recall that “the theory of our government is Liberty,” as well as the fact that “all the mind in America was possessed by that idea” (104). Thus, they recognize that “the sky has not lost its azure” because “eyes are inflamed” (102), or blinded by the present state of moral decay and spiritual bankruptcy.

Emerson’s discussion of the power of these private individuals’ independent, critical thought and subsequent influence on others provides strong context for one of his boldest proclamations regarding social reform, or private thoughts that ultimately manifest themselves in public action. In contrast to his previous position regarding organized activism, he focuses clearly on the necessary interdependence of, rather than the presumably inevitable conflict between, the individual and organized reform efforts: “But whilst I insist on the doctrine of the independence and inspiration of the individual, I do not cripple but exalt the social action” (103). He further reinforces this position when he asserts,

“a wise man delights in the powers of many people” (103). Through his intriguing citation of a quantitative thesis devised by a utopian socialist, ,138

Emerson shows how society can once again become united, rather than divided, alluding to both “The American Scholar” and “The Over-Soul”: “Charles Fourier noting that each man had a different talent, computed that you must collect 1800

138 Emerson’s reference to Charles Fourier is intriguing, given that Fourier also recognized the inherent immorality in certain commercial systems: Fourier “was the son of a successful cloth merchant, but strangely enough at a very earlier age he seems to have developed a positive dislike of commerce. Apparently on one occasion—when he was just seven years old—his parents punished him for telling customers that they were not being given a fair deal by his father; and this prompted a conviction in his mind that business must be based on falsehood and injustice. This view was reinforced as he grew up and got to know more about the workings of the commercial system, and it eventually emerged as one of the central themes of his mature social theory” (Taylor 100). 135

or 2000 souls to make one complete man. We shall need to call them all out”

(103). Thus, people can still inspire one another, particularly when taking into account the universal Muses: “Hope is a muse, Love is, Despair is not, and selfishness drives away the angels” (105). In short, men should aspire to love one another, not divide one another, and individuals’ brave stance against slavery in the face of institutional opposition exemplifies the purity of this love.

Emerson recognizes that the enduring, scalable power of love, truth, justice, and sacrifice should ultimately lead to a brighter future for the United States, one in which all men are equally free: “Liberty; to each man the largest liberty compatible with the liberty of every other man” (104).

Above all, Emerson yearns for slavery to be abolished and personal liberty to be legally protected; for as long as the practice of slavery persists, “we are swindled out of the liberty” (104). Thus, Emerson hopes that “we shall one day bring the states shoulder to shoulder, and the citizens man to man, to exterminate slavery” (106). Emerson also correctly foresees that countless

Americans will participate to help eradicate this evil, which forms the compelling final line of his speech: “Every many in the land would give a week’s work to dig away this accursed mountain of sorrow once and forever out of the world” (106).

The consistent focus on liberty is particularly critical, given the role liberty will play in one of Emerson’s final significant antislavery speeches, “Fortune of the

Republic.” Recalling Emerson’s blueprint for abolition, this address, which takes place during the Civil War, also provides a general blueprint for the nation going

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forward, post-abolition, utilizing elements of and the

Enlightenment to support this vision.139

Fortune of the Republic (1863): From National Rebirth to Global Renewal

In spite of the increasing public sentiment against slavery, along with the abolitionists’ best efforts to illuminate the evils of slavery to the anti-abolitionists, slaveholders continued doubling down on their position, foreshadowing imminent inception of the Civil War. The divide between the abolitionists and anti- abolitionists became particularly polarized after the election of Abraham Lincoln, who won “without a single Southern electoral vote” (Gougeon, “Historical” xlvii).

This election catalyzed the burgeoning secession of the Southern states, starting with South Carolina on December 20, 1860. Increasing tension ultimately resulted in the first Confederate shot firing in Fort Sumter on April 12, 1861, which began “the bloodiest war in U.S. history” (Gougeon, “Historical” l).140

Astonishingly, the Confederacy had support outside of the Union from a certain segment of the British population, namely the segment that benefitted economically from the continued practice of slavery in the United States.141 This

139 Perhaps prefiguring this allusion subconsciously, Emerson also cites a famed French philosopher, , in his 1855 address: “Montesquieu said, ‘Countries are not cultivated in proportion to their population, but in proportion to their freedom’” (104). This concise, yet powerful, summation of one of the most important natural laws not only underpins Emerson’s early transcendental essays and later antislavery speeches, but also his final addresses, which remain consistent to his core philosophical beliefs. 140 Emerson and his peers were fairly astonished by the this attack; while they expected secession, they did not expect the for the Confederacy to “be brazen enough to assail the North” (Gougeon, “Historical” l). 141 Specifically, “the interdiction of cotton shipments by the Northern blockade of Southern ports” caused harm to the British textile industry. Thus, it was ultimately unsurprising “the British ruling class was generally critical of the Northern position during the war, and tensions between the two countries were at an all-time high in 1863” (Gougeon, “Historical” lii). This tension is all the more incredible given that Emerson spoke favorably about the British in his 1844 address regarding the Emancipation of the British West Indies, yet at least part of the British population represented a major threat to the future of the Union during the height of the Civil War. 137

unexpected support connotes the uncomfortable realization that even though slavery is abolished entirely in one nation’s territories, it does not mean that the same nation does not continue profiting off of slavery practiced in other areas. In other words, while slavery was entirely abolished in all territories governed by

Britain, its textile industry continued to thrive as a result of the cotton produced in the Southern states. In response to these events, Emerson delivered a powerful speech on December 1, 1863, now known as “Fortune of the Republic,”142 one of

Emerson’s last major antislavery addresses.

Ironically, though this address was delivered in the midst of the Civil War, it is remarkably optimistic relative to Emerson’s antislavery speeches presented prior to the war’s commencement, particularly his 1855 address. This optimism could be partially attributed to the fact that Emerson and others subconsciously realized that war, or a comparable event, was inevitable during times characterized by extreme polarization and nonexistent compromise; thus, once the war began, the anxious anticipation ended. However, perhaps the most compelling rationale for this speech’s optimism is Emerson’s realization that the

United States is on the brink of starting a new chapter in its post-abolition future, which carried with it the genuine possibility of holistic social reform that Emerson had been seeking since his career’s inception. Specifically, Emerson realizes that the Civil War, as devastating as its execution may be, could ultimately lead to the complete, unequivocal abolition of slavery. From Emerson’s viewpoint, if abolition does occur, the elimination of the United States’ most virulent social ill could

142 Similar to his 1851 and 1855 addresses, Emerson’s 1863 address was “repeated … in several places between December 1863 and February 1864” (Gougeon, “Historical” lii). 138

serve as a veritable springboard for other desperately needed social reforms, as a nation finally free of slavery is one that is brimming with possibilities for humanity’s future. Furthermore, this type of holistic reform would truly distinguish the United States’ society and culture from Britain’s, a concern that Emerson clearly broached in “The American Scholar” nearly three decades earlier. Just as

Emerson portrays Boston as a city that could steer the United States on a favorable trajectory in his 1851 address, Emerson’s 1863 address implies that the United States may position itself to serve as a guiding light for other nations that still struggle with egregious human rights violations.143

Ultimately, Emerson correctly foresees the imminent abolition of slavery, the primary focus of the blueprint he initially posits in his 1844 address, and he consequently sets forth a new blueprint for the United States’ future, essentially a rebirth from the violent chaos that plagued over half the nineteenth century and a transformation into a formidable force for human rights that other nations worldwide may seek to emulate.144 After all, despite Britain’s admirable advances in abolition and its resulting social reforms, which had left a deep impression on

Emerson in the late 1840s, the nation still struggled with a host of well-known social ills, including omnipresent classism and its consequential economic

143 As Rhodes notes, “The Declaration of Independence was, and is, a call for freedom throughout the world; it was not just about Americans, but about human beings, about mankind. Based on the ‘laws of nature and Nature’s God,’ it was a clear assertion of a common human nature and of the universality of human rights. It expressed a way of thinking about human beings as such, not as members of any subdivision of humanity. It presented a challenge to the aristocracies, to any ‘unnatural’ rule over others, to any form of discrimination in political systems” (164). 144 The United States would be distinct from the United Kingdom in this regard, as “the American origins of liberty are understood to derive from reason and nature; the British see these origins as coming from what Burke famously called ‘prescription’” (Disalvo and Ceaser 25). 139

inequality, not to mention the upper class’s vested interest in the ongoing practice of slavery within the United States. The concept of royalty and its resulting nepotism was still widespread, and it arguably remains ingrained in

British society, at least to a degree, well into the twenty-first century.145 Emerson repeatedly mentions the possibilities that the United States may hold for the world as a whole, as the United States’ origins are truly unique in political history.146 In essence, this speech represents the fullest realization yet of

Emerson’s embodiment as an American scholar, or an independent thinker capable of successfully fusing transcendentalist tenets with practical reform.

A significant percentage of this speech focuses on Britain’s moral decline, a consequence of its preoccupation with material wealth, colonial expansion, and fatalist tendencies. Thus, in contrast to his 1844 address, when Emerson heralded Britain’s successful abolitionist movement as a favorable omen or

“bright example” (26) for the development of humanity and the subsequent perfectibility of man, his views regarding Britain take a distinctly negative shift in

145 As Mark McNaught has noted, “for traditional UK conservatives, there is a conservation of the ‘prescribed’ social order, including the royalty, the social hierarchy, the Church of England, and tradition. Rights thereby become entwined with preserving the enduring status quo, thereby resisting changes to the rights of people within the social hierarchy” (165). 146 For instance, one of the United States’ most unique aspects is the written constitution guaranteeing certain rights, which the United Kingdom does not have: “In a system based on a written constitution, the people hand over power to the government throughout something like a trust or legal agreement. A written constitution has the advantage that it can be read by all and deliberated upon such that consent is rendered more explicitly. Therefore, when American conservatives defended tradition that usually meant defending the Constitution and the philosophy of natural rights that underpinned it. This was distinct from the British government, where no single written constitution holds sway. Rather, the ‘constitution’ in English political discourse refers to the accumulated laws and practices of British government” (Disalvo and Ceaser 27). Thus, “the British notion of parliamentary sovereignty has held that rights and powers can be granted and revoked through Parliament, whereas in the United States, negative rights find their source in the Constitution of its amendments, thereby conferring to them a transcendent rather than statutory legitimacy” (McNaught 165). 140

his 1863 address. Emerson’s analysis of Britain provides a springboard for the broader discussion regarding the importance of intellectual revolutions, which are often prerequisite to human progress, even if warfare is involved. In this regard,

Emerson offers praise to France, which he perceives as more advanced than

Britain in terms of progress and civilization. However, Emerson believes that the

United States holds even greater potential than any nation in Europe, given its truly original founding. Emerson recognizes that the United States has already undergone an intellectual revolution through the efforts of its founding fathers, though the nation has drifted significantly from its most important founding principle: liberty. However, the Civil War has provided the opportunity for a second intellectual revolution, one that will define the course of the United States’ moral trajectory in the decades to follow the war’s end. Emerson notes some of the benefits that have already emerged in the midst of the war, including the unanticipated increase of healthy patriotism and favorable political movements designed to limit corruption. Ultimately, Emerson argues that the United States’ new intellectual revolution should result in its transformation into an entirely new entity, one whose existence depends on ethical and intellectual, rather than material, wealth. In essence, the United States could become the American scholar by truthfully guiding other nations towards life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

A major component of this address is Emerson’s sustained criticism of

Britain, primarily focusing on its focus on material wealth at the expense of moral growth. Given this shortsighted focus, Emerson remarks “English nationality is

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babyish,” which results in a nation whose citizens who “have a certain childishness” and are “insular and narrow” (140). These citizens may be

“excellent sailors, farmers, ironsmiths, weavers, potters … but their morals do not reach beyond their frontier” (140-41). In other words, these individuals are primarily concerned with monetary gain and convenient comforts, but they are not particularly inclined towards higher intellectual elevation. Indeed, when Britain is presented with the opportunity to acquire additional material wealth, any devotion towards ethics and duty evaporates: “Never a lofty sentiment, never a duty to civilization, never a generosity, a moral self-restraint is suffered to stand in the way of a commercial advantage. In sight of a commodity, her religion, her morals, are forgotten” (141). Emerson undoubtedly alludes to cotton as one of these commodities, which explains Britain’s immorally invested position in the

American Civil War, particularly when he observes, “the interest nations took in our war was exasperated by the importance of the cotton-trade” (138).

Furthermore, Britain’s pursuit of commodities is not limited to the Americas; its aggressive colonial expansion throughout Africa and Asia underscores its long- term “passion for plunder” (141). Since Britain meticulously “watches like her old war-wolf for plunder” (141), the nation unsurprisingly “has long been the cashier of the world” (151). If it becomes threatened by the economic might of another nation, it will have no choice “but to cross to if she keeps it” (151) and take other actions designed to preserve its material wealth. In short, Britain’s focus would be on maintaining past wealth by any means necessary, rather than developing a new future wherein all men equally participate.

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Emerson believes that Britain ultimately suffers not only from a lack of ethics, but also an absence of vision. This absence can be attributed to Britain’s pervasive fatalism, as the British “have no higher worship than Fate” (140). A fatalistic outlook suggests that all future developments are out of humanity’s general control, which would render independent thought and courageous action futile in the face of predetermined destiny.147 Even more troublingly, the lack of vision not only afflicts the general populace, but also Britain’s intellectuals: “Even her ablest living writer, a man who has earned his position by the sharpest insights, is politically a fatalist” (141). In other words, one of the individuals nearest to genius, or closest to serving as an effective public intellectual, is now merely a component of the unchanging “English system, a Venetian aristocracy, with only a private stipulation in favor of men of genius” (141). Britain lacks its own equivalent to the American scholar, and the nation is slowly decaying as a result. This decay is especially apparent in Emerson’s sage question: “But if the leaders of thought take this false direction, what can you expect from those who do not think, but are absorbed in maintaining their class privileges, their luxury, or their trade?” (141). In other words, British citizens cannot see beyond their own material comforts, which, in a best case scenario, would stunt their ethical

147 For this reason, Emerson generally opposes a fatalistic outlook, and he “did not helplessly bow down to a disposing fate, nor was he fatalistic about man’s submission to immovable forces of nature” (Hurth 198). Furthermore, Emerson perceives fatalistic attitudes as British justification for the colonization of the Orient: “The construction of the Orient as incapable of action and the assigning of will and agency to the Occident were means by which the nineteenth-century discourse of satisfied itself. Oriental passivity and fatalism invited New World will and action. Thus, it is not surprising that the more Emerson read Oriental philosophy and literature and himself wrote poems inspired by the Orient, the more he wished to keep the Orient and the Occident distinct” (Schueller 166). 143

growth. Even the writers, who are responsible for innovative thinking, indulge genius only in private, while maintaining the thoughtless status quo in public.

The absence of critical thought in Britain, coupled with its insatiable materialism and rigid social hierarchy, unsurprisingly led to its epic failure “in one of the great hours that put nations to the test” (145), or its response to the

American Civil War. Directly addressing Britain, Emerson bitterly comments that

“when the occasion of magnanimity arrived, you had none”; instead “you rubbed your hands with indecent joy, and saw only in our extreme danger the chance of humbling a rival and getting away with his commerce” (145). Recognizing the time has come for Britain to “hear the truth” (144), Emerson launches into his most scathing attack on the nation:

Justice is above your aim. Stand aside. We have seen through you. We

shall not again give you any advantage of honor. We shall be compelled to

look at the stern facts. And we cannot count you great. Your inches are

conspicuous, and we cannot count your inches against our miles and

leagues and parallels of latitude. We are forced to analyse your greatness.

We who saw you in a halo of honor which our affection made, now we

must measure your means; your true dimensions; your population; we

must compare the future of this country with that, in a time when every

prosperity of ours knocks away the stones from your foundation. (145)

Britain, which Emerson esteems highly in his 1844 address, has proven itself ultimately beholden to material interests, to a degree that its intellectual development continues to suffer. Furthermore, Emerson’s criticism is even more

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potent, considering that he physically travelled to Britain and observed social reform firsthand in the late 1840s, considering this development one that the

United States should emulate. Nevertheless, Emerson’s dramatically different view of Britain during the Civil War reveals the precarious nature of civilization’s dominance over barbarism in a given nation, illustrating that dynamic, original thought should never be taken for granted. Indeed, Emerson notes, “it is an old oracle, that nations die by suicide, and the sign of it is the decay of thought”

(139). In his view, Britain certainly suffers from “the decay of thought,” which is why the United States can no longer give Britain “the advantage of honor,” particularly as it moves forward after the Civil War. Britain’s absence of honor is even more tragic given the valiant efforts of public scholars such as Granville

Sharp and several others; these individuals dedicated their entire lives to helping ensure the liberty of the less fortunate, yet such dedication proved to be meaningless to the vested, powerful interests amongst the British upper class, which had no interest in abolition abroad when it would purportedly result in personal monetary losses. In this sense, one could certainly see parallels between Boston’s failure in Emerson’s 1851 address and Britain’s failure in his

1863 address, as both entities appeared to demonstrate staunch support in favor of abolition, yet neither was willing, at those particular points in time, to completely dissociated from all the tendrils of slavery, tendrils that are indisputably present to the consistent critical thinker.

The constant threat of critical thinking’s decline, and eventual absence, exemplifies why intellectual revolutions are often critical to the advancement of

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humanity, and Emerson cites France as an excellent recent example of such a revolution. These types of revolutions lead people towards civilization, rather than barbarism: “There have been revolutions which were not in the interest of feudalism and barbarism, but in that of society,” revolutions in which “men die for what they live for” (142). This type of revolution can be catalyzed by ideas formed to better society, not only for the elite, but also for all its inhabitants. Thus, “when the cannon is aimed by ideas, then gods join in the combat, then poets are born”

(142). The participation of the “gods” in combat implies that such a revolution is one that adheres to natural laws, the laws that will always prevail over myopic, manmade legislation. Emerson cites France, rather than Britain, as an excellent recent example of such a revolution: “As compared with France, in the distinction given to intellect in the state, and in society, England is Chinese in her servility to wealth, and to old wealth” (141). Furthermore, Britain has continued to actively promote socioeconomic division within society, which is why its liberty is “quite too much drenched in respect for privileges, cast-iron aristocracy, and church hierarchy” (141). In contrast, “the idea of human freedom was present in Paris,” which, in Emerson’s view, makes Paris “the capital of Europe … not London”

(141). Thus, French thought is “aiming to lift the condition of mankind; to be a new experiment for higher civilization” (142), which differs significantly from

Britain’s desire to preserve existing social norms and societal institutions, however corrupt they may be. Nevertheless, Emerson expresses admiration for

France’s progressive movements, he believes that the United States has the potential to surpass Europe in terms of culture and human progress.

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In a sense, the United States was founded through intellectual revolution, as Emerson refers to “the planting of America” as “the culmination of these triumphs of humanity” (143) demonstrated noble conflict. Unlike nations in

Europe, whose history is ground in “feudal” (144) divisive politics, the United

States “was opened after the feudal mischief was spent,” resulting in “a good start” (143) for the nation. Since its inception, the United States embodied the liberties increasingly demanded across Europe, and it could boast of having “no inquisition … no kings, no nobles, no dominant church” (143). Instead, the founding fathers of the United States demonstrated modesty through working with the soil themselves: “Our forefathers scraped the rough surface of the earth for clams and acorns, or venison brought down with a flint arrowhead, and a little corn ground between two stones” (146). In short, the United States’ history is completely unique in the world, particularly given the absence of royalty and state-sanctioned religion. Unlike Europe, “in America, the government is acquainted with the opinions of all classes, knows the leading men in the middle class, knows the leader of the humblest class” (144). The absence of rigid social hierarchy permits an entirely new form of government in the young nation, certainly distinguishing it from European governments that would not deign to even think of the lower classes, much less seek their opinions.

However, Emerson also realizes that the United States has sharply deviated from its original path in recent decades, largely as a result of the ongoing slavery crisis, coupled with sudden economic wealth and consequential materialism. Hence, he justly remarks that Europe’s “dreary” history may be

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laden with “war and oppression,” but that the United States cannot “pretend” that its “own record is quite clean” (143), particularly given its treatment of African slaves and Native Americans. Since independence, much of the United States’ history rarely “rises above commonplace,” which is why scholars “are forced to go back to the Revolution in 1775, to find any ground of praise” (143). After the success of the first intellectual revolution, the United States became primarily fixated on industrial progress, namely developing “modern wealth” through “a few staples” (138), staples that were unfortunately contingent upon slave labor. Due to the wealth accrued through cotton, along with the United States’ general industrial success, Emerson comments “never country had such a fortune, —as men call fortune, —as this, —in its geography, its history, in the present attitude of its affairs, and in its majestic possibility” (139).

The reference here to “fortune” is crucial, as many associate “fortune” with material wealth, certainly acquired through the favorable agricultural conditions in the United States’ geography. However, Emerson associates “fortune” far more with the living, breathing power, or “majestic possibility” of the intellect, the same objective that he repeatedly stresses in “The American Scholar.” Thus, the

“fortune” that truly nurtures a nation is ultimately intellectual, rather than material, in nature. Emerson’s addresses throughout the 1830s, 1840s, and 1850s indicate that the United States desperately needs another intellectual revolution, lest the nation become completely beholden to material concerns. Thus, he views the Civil War as an ironic fortune for the nation, particularly when he concisely comments, “the times are dark, but heroic” (152). Despite living in the

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midst of the bloodiest event to take place on American soil, Emerson has the vision to look beyond the violent present into an unimaginably brighter future, provided the war truly resolves the issue of slavery and steers the nation on a new path, founded on the principles of intellectual development and unprecedented freedom. For this reason, Emerson is strongly opposed to a

“short and hasty peace, on any terms” (140), as these terms might involve concessions to slaveholders.

Perhaps, similar to , Emerson views the war as “a purifying fire” (Reynolds 419), or “a necessary cleansing agent” (Reynolds 416). Through the Civil War, the United States could not only resolve slavery, but also spearhead a second intellectual revolution, thereby further refining its national identity, which arguably began germinating in 1775. Indeed, Emerson asserts that there will be “no less benefit accrued from the present calamities,” even compared to the “immense benefit accrued … from the of

1775” (147). Emerson provides favorable commentary regarding how “crisis and war is often useful” (150), noting, “crises and war help us … War always ennobles an age. What munificence has it not disclosed!” (147). One example of such munificence is the revelation of hidden patriotism; Emerson remarks that he had never seen such a level of patriotism until the Civil War broke out; instead of a “feeble pulse” (147) of patriotism, the Civil War resulted in far more passion for the Union: “Every house hung out the flag. Every street was full of patriotic songs. Almost every able bodied man put on uniform” (148). However, the most important instance of munificence would be the possibility for genius to surface,

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which is clear when Emerson states, I wish that war, as peace, should bring out the heart and genius of men” (145). The presence of genius helps ensure that

“the cannon articulates its explosions with the voice of a man” (142), ascribing greater significance to otherwise mindless violence. Furthermore, this “heart and genius,” or ethical and intellectual development, is what should ultimately define an original, admirable American identity, which Emerson perceives as imminent:

“We are coming, —thanks to the war, —to a nationality” (144). For Emerson, this new nationality should not only entail the complete abolition of slavery, but also the reformation of the United States’ institutions, particularly its political and legal institutions.

Emerson provides a clear blueprint for future politicians, which unsurprisingly includes a consistent focus on natural laws and intellectual development. He argues that a successful individual, or someone capable of influencing others, must ensure that he always retains a spirit of idealism, manifested through new thoughts and ideas. While an individual may not be able to afford being a “pure idealist,” it is certainly possible, as well as imperative, for an individual to still have original ideas; otherwise, “he might as well be the horse he rides on” (140). Such an individual will have “sagacity” and recognize that

“real power” is acquired through “his resistance” (138) to partisan politics.

Furthermore, Emerson cites an example of such prudence, illustrating his ongoing commitment to transcendentalist practicality: “Therefore I read with great pleasure that Mr. Jenckes of Rhode Island has submitted to Congress a bill prescribing an examination for every officer who may be appointed to a civil

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office under Government, and for every promotion, with certain exceptions”

(145). This bill exemplifies the type of innovative thinking that leads to effective social reform, as Mr. Jenckes’s proposition essentially entails a litmus test for politicians.148 As a result of such a proposition, the United States “shall not send ignorant drunkards, who happen to be political favorites, to represent the

Republic in foreign nations, whose languages they do not know, and will not learn, and so become ridiculous there” (146).

Aside from the nation’s political system, Emerson underscores the urgency of legally protected liberty, which would place the United States firmly on a path towards civilization, rather than barbarism. the focus on liberty provided all the more reason to hasten the abolition of slavery, and Emerson expresses hope that slavery will be “irretrievably” (153) broken after the Civil War:

We will not again disparage America, now that we have seen what men it

will bear. The slavery is broken, and, if we use our advantage,

irretrievably. For such a gain, —to end once for all that pest of all free

institutions, —one generation might be well sacrificed, —perhaps it will be,

—that this continent be purged, and a new era of equal rights dawn on the

universe. Who would not, if it could be made certain, that the new morning

of universal liberty should rise on our race, by the perishing of one

generation, —who would not consent to die? (153)

148 More specifically, “the bill which Mr. Jenckes has introduced in Congress to regulate and improve the civil service of government is a good one, though we doubt if it can become law or be made operative. He proposes to have all candidates for office pass a thorough examination by a board appointed for that purpose, the same as military and navel cadets are examined, and their qualifications tested and approved before they enter upon duty. This undoubtedly would give efficiency to every branch of the civil service” (Jenckes 123). 151

The passage above embodies the essence of an intellectual revolution, wherein men would “consent to die” for “a new era of equal rights” to “dawn on the universe.” Furthermore, the aftermath of this revolution must be ground in natural law to fully realize the true fortune of the American Republic: “Nature says to the

American, … ‘I give you the land and sea, the forest and the mine, the elemental forces, nervous energy. When I add difficulty, I add brain. See to it that you hold and administer the continent for mankind” (146). In other words, the United

States has been blessed with immeasurable natural wealth, and the nation is now tasked to serve as a guiding light for the rest of the world, which places

“mankind” above all other considerations. Therefore, liberty perhaps symbolizes the ultimate natural law, a point that Emerson stresses repeatedly across multiple addresses and time periods, and his 1863 address is no exception:

And we say, that revolutions beat all the insurgents, be they never so

determined and politic; that the great interests of mankind, being at every

moment, through ages, in favor of justice, and the largest liberty, —will

always, from time to time, gain on the adversary, and, at last, win the day.

(147)

Ultimately, the consistent focus on natural law, namely liberty, is what will truly distinguish Americans from and render the following phrase practical: “let the passion for America cast out the passion for Europe” (150).

Several European philosophers, particularly the French, focused on the idea liberty, but the United States was the first nation to be founded upon this principle. Neither France nor Britain can claim to be founded on similar principles;

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thus, Emerson believes that the United States enjoys “greater freedom of circumstance” since “English and Europeans are gift with an iron belt of condition” (144). In contrast to Europe’s restrictions, the United States is free to bring about “the Second Declaration of Independence, the proclaiming of liberty, land, justice, and a career for all men; and honest dealings with other nations”

(140). Most importantly, the United States should not be unique in this pursuit; instead, it should serve as a positive influence on other nations’ intellectual evolutions: “Nations were made to help each other as much as families were; and all advancement is by ideas, and not by brute force, or mechanic force”

(140). If such a remarkable ripple effect does occur, the world as a whole will gravitate towards a civilization that encompasses all its members, ultimately

“passing out of the old remainders of barbarism into pure Christianity and humanity,—into freedom of thought, of religion, of speech, of the press, or trade, of suffrage, or political right” (146). In other words, Emerson returns to the concept of mankind’s perfectibility, a development that seems possible again only once abolition is achieved and other reforms are subsequently commenced, reforms that guarantee the diversity of that should be embedded in every individual’s experience. Interestingly, his reference to myriad freedoms also prefigures the major tenets set forth in the aforementioned 1948 Universal

Declaration of Human Rights, illuminating the ongoing practical applications underlying Emerson’s theoretical transcendentalism.

Post-Civil War & the Reconstruction Era

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Fortunately, the Civil War ended approximately seventeen months after

Emerson’s first delivery of “Fortune of the Republic.” With Robert E. Lee’s surrender, the Civil War ultimately ended on April 9, 1865, approximately four years after it began. The duration of the Civil War itself seems quite short relative to the decades’ worth of events that ultimately led to the outbreak of war, and these events served as the primary inspiration for Emerson’s most notable political activism. Lincoln’s 1864 re-election was crucial to the war’s end, and tragically, Lincoln was assassinated just six days after the war ended. This assassination “substantially diminished the euphoria that Emerson and others felt” (Gougeon, “Historical” lii), and Emerson recognized that “the death of Lincoln was but one more sacrifice demanded in the struggle against evil” (Gougeon,

“Historical” liii). While Emerson delivered a speech celebrating the Northern states’ moral triumph over the Confederacy a few months later, he largely retreated from more public political activism regarding issues that emerged during the Reconstruction period. Instead, “that war was fought by another generation of reforming idealists, many of whom remembered Emerson’s unflagging commitment to social justice” (Gougeon, “Historical” liii). In addition,

Emerson was not absent from the public forum entirely, and he “occasionally took the platform to do battle for civil rights and social equality” (Gougeon,

“Historical” liii). However, his greatest antislavery efforts were expended during the 1840s and 1850s, which coincided with a time period in which the United

States needed his voice, and vision, the most.

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Furthermore, it should be noted that some of Emerson’s later speeches, which occurred long after the Civil War ended, have revisited “Fortune the

Republic,” including one of his last public speeches. In fact, “Emerson’s attitude on race is probably best summed up in his 1878 address re-visiting ‘The Fortune of the Republic’” (Gougeon, “Pragmatic” 213). Within this speech, Emerson

“summarized his vision of the new America that he hoped would arise from the ashes of the Civil War” (Gougeon, “Pragmatic” 213), one grounded firmly in equality among all individuals. This vision also arguably presages the ideals set forth in the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights, particularly when

Emerson asserts:

The genius of the country has marked out our true policy, —opportunity.

Opportunity of civil rights, of education, of personal power, and not less of

wealth; doors wide open. If I could have it, — with all the world

without toll of custom-houses, invitation as we now make to every nation,

to every race and skin, white men, red men, yellow men, black men;

hospitality of fair field and equal laws to all. Let them compete, and

success to the strongest, the wisest, and the best. The land is wide

enough, the soil has bread for all. (“Lecture Delivered” 41)

This passage, in combination with the trove of writings that take a strong stance against slavery and argue for equality, exemplify Emerson as a harbinger of human rights.

Crossing Hemispheres from the Nineteenth to Twentieth Century

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The extent of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s influence upon others can never be fully quantified, or even fully appreciated. He is indisputably one of the most seminal founders of American culture and letters, as well as one of the most foremost Transcendentalists. For these reasons alone, he inspires continuous scholarship. However, Emerson’s ultimate impact also includes the influence of his work upon countless other writers, demonstrating its true universality and applicability across virtually any spatial or temporal boundaries. Emerson’s writings alone could provoke several lifetimes’ worth of discussions, as his contributions to American, as well as world, culture and letters as a whole further underscore the inexplicably extraordinary contributions of a largely introverted, sensitive, and deeply thoughtful individual. Furthermore, Emerson’s character and corresponding actions also reveal a highly inquisitive individual who eagerly embraces, rather than shuns, the intellectual unknown. Unsurprisingly, such an inquisitive nature coupled with a treasure trove of writings would inspire another scholar decades later, a scholar who differed from Emerson in many respects, particularly on the surface, yet one who ultimately demonstrates a far greater affinity with Emerson’s work than scholarship has previously elucidated.

In the twentieth century, Jorge Luis Borges also wielded an enormous influence on the development of Argentina’s culture, which, like the United

States, struggled intensely with conflicting tensions, including tension over the appropriate degree of Europe’s influence. Similar to how Emerson popularized

Transcendentalism, which in turn influenced other American writers, Borges is often credited with the advent of lo fantástico, which in turn influenced other Latin

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American writers. However, also like Emerson, Borges had deep concerns regarding social and political ills, though these concerns have been largely underdeveloped in scholarship at this particular juncture in time. Part of this lack of development can be attributed to the fact that not all of Borges’s works have been translated from their original Spanish, which renders them inaccessible to a significant percentage of the readership community. However, as worldwide attention on Borges has increased in general, so have translations of other previously untranslated works, including social and political commentaries from the 1930s through the 1950s, several of which preceded his famous ficciones.

These commentaries have provided fascinating insight into the extent of Borges’s social and political beliefs and involvement, as well as how these thoughts and actions have influenced the development of his enigmatic ficciones. Examining

Borges’s famous works within the context of the social and political concerns presented in his lesser-studied commentaries reveals that Borges also serves as a harbinger of human rights, given his fastidious resistance to the one of the most virulent social ills that marked not only Argentina, but also the majority of the world in the twentieth century: fascism.

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CHAPTER 3: BORGES’S INCISIVE COMMENTARIES ON NAZISM AND

PERONISM

Jorge Luis Borges’s early education in Europe, extensive exposure to

Jewish culture, and strong antipathy towards fascism undoubtedly influenced the development of his innovative short stories. Since Borges’s first trip to Europe coincided with the outbreak of , he spent much of his time in ,

Switzerland, which proved invaluable for his development: “These four war years trapped in neutral Switzerland were crucial to Borges’s intellectual independence” (Wilson 36).149 Switzerland left such a favorable impression on

Borges that he ultimately “chose to die and be buried in Geneva, a city he identified with culture and civilization” (Goldman 218). In addition, his Swiss experience provided him with a unique vantage point: He was physically present on the European continent, yet largely removed from the conflict that plagued it, given Switzerland’s peaceful stance during wartime.150 While the majority of the

European continent was engulfed in the world’s first major world war, Borges had the privilege of attending the College of Geneva and receiving a superior education.151 In addition to his formal studies, Borges also read extensively and

149 Similarly, Efraín Kristal notes Borges’s time in Geneva marked “a period of considerable personal and intellectual growth” (“Jorge” 354). 150 This dichotomy left a lasting impression on Borges, as he would contrast Switzerland with Argentina decades later in an interview: “How odd, isn’t it! In Argentina the complete opposite happens; there are more generals than tanks or more admirals than ships. And they spend their lives giving themselves raises” (Suárez et al. 501). 151 As Andrew Wilson notes, “It was there that he read Schopenhauer and Velraine’s ‘magical music’ in the original, for he picked up French, German, and Latin, reading at ease in five 158

acquired broad exposure to a diverse range of literature and philosophy. For instance, he discovered the poetry of Walt Whitman, including Leaves of

Grass,152 and “became a Whitmaniac” (Wilson 37). Overall, Borges’s educational experience in Switzerland was not only invaluable for his introduction to a wide array of knowledge, but also to a diverse compilation of individuals.

While Borges developed his intellect extensively through his education and independent studies, he further honed his mental and interpersonal development through his close relationships with Jewish friends and subsequent appreciation for Jewish culture. At the College of Geneva, Borges became close friends with Simon Jichlinski and Maurice Abramowicz, who were both Polish

Jews and shared Borges’s interests: “Borges could share a drink and engage in long talks about literature” (McNeese, Jorge 29). In addition, Borges “gained his first formative insights into Jewish literature and culture” (Myers 335) in part due to his new companions. Borges ultimately “forged lifelong friendships” with both

Jichlinski and Abramowicz, and “through them maintained his ties to Geneva”

(Goldman 218). After leaving Europe, Borges continued to maintain a strong interest in Judaism, and he developed “an engagement with Jewish history and thought that was neither superficial nor fleeting” and “a deep interest in the

Jewish mystical tradition of the Kabbalah” (Myers 336-37). Borges was also

languages (he already had Spanish and English). He had become a polyglot” (36). In addition, Tim McNeese indicates, “while literature and philosophy were important studies for him, the curriculum at Calvin included science and mathematics courses, including algebra, chemistry, physics, mineralogy, botany, and zoology. His mind was being stimulated at every turn” (Jorge 29). 152 Several poems in “were protests against the senseless destruction of war” (Kristal, “Jorge” 354). In that same vein, Borges’s earlier essays could be perceived as protests against irrational fascism and antisemitism, which are often symptomatic of warfare and violence. 159

influenced by other famed Jewish writers, including Alberto Gerchunoff, who was known as the “grandfather of Jewish letters in Latin America” (Stavans, Scroll

142). Later in his life, Borges also visited Jerusalem in 1969 and 1971, journeys that “were the outcome of his life-long interest in the Jewish people and Jewish texts” (Goldman 209). Given Borges’s long-term passion for Jewish culture, as well as his open, public support of the Jewish people in spite of strong opposition,153 “Borges must be considered not only a great author but perhaps the most Jewish of non-Jewish writers of the twentieth century” (Myers 338).

Given Borges’s extensive, multifaceted interest in Jewish culture and history, it is unsurprising to find this interest includes “a preoccupation with the

Wandering Jew and the Jewish diasporic condition, with matters of Jewish identity, particularly in an Argentine context, and with questions of anti-Semitism”

(Fishburn 57). In terms of “an Argentina context,” Borges’s concern with the

Jewish diasporic condition could parallel the general dilemma of Argentina, a nation where exile is considered the natural condition of many Argentinians. This mentality is clear in Tomás Eloy Martínez’s work, La novela de Perón, which states that Argentinians really have no other home aside from exile: “En la

Argentina no hay más hogar que el exilio” (13). Aside from physical exile,

Argentina has also long struggled with its national identity since receiving political independence in 1823, namely the degree to which its culture should be defined

153 As Stavans recalls, Borges’s loyalty to the Jews was tested throughout his career, particularly during World War II: “His love for Jews and Jewishness only increased as his career developed. It was constantly being put to test by daily events … more than anything, it was tested during World War II, from the time he wrote “I, a Jew,” to the moment the Allies liberated the camps” (“Comment” 2). 160

by past tradition, influenced by the rural , or the intellectual future, influenced by ’s urbanization. By the twentieth century, the concept of national identity was further compounded by a massive influx of immigrants from Europe, beginning with the Italians154 near the end of the nineteenth century, the Jews during World War II, and, tragically, the Nazis as World War II ended.

Borges’s appreciation for Jews certainly contributed to the strong antipathy he developed towards all forms of fascism. While Borges had returned to Argentina years before Hitler’s political ascension, he remained deeply influenced by the German philosophy and literature he discovered as a teenager in Switzerland. Thus, he was horrified by the Nazis’ deliberate destruction of

German culture and unilateral determination to exterminate the Jewish race; for

Borges, the cultural developments of nineteenth-century Germany made the ideological hatred that dominated twentieth-century Germany appear complete unreal. The extreme dichotomy between the two different versions of Germany, as Borges viewed them, is precisely what motivated his impassioned political commentaries during Hitler’s regime. Furthermore, Borges was also deeply disturbed by the fact that the racism and hatred extended well beyond Germany’s borders, and he was disgusted by the Argentinian germanophiles’ adulation of

Hitler and the Nazi Party. Even more troublingly, although World War II ended with Germany’s loss, the deliberately ignorant mentality that characterized the

154 As Blair Turner notes, “roughly half of all Argentines and Uruguayans, for example, are of Italian lineage, descendants of migrant farm workers who came to harvest grapes because of the reversed seasons and decided to stay. Germans, British, and other Europeans also flocked to Argentina, , and Chile, as did European Jews seeking to escape from persecution” (11). 161

germanophiles did not vanish from Buenos Aires. Instead, fascism continued to influence Argentina, notably during the later years of the first Peronist regime and the entirety of the second.

Juan Perón inexplicably found himself quite popular with a number of

Argentinians, and he was democratically elected in 1946. A staunch nationalist,

Perón became extremely popular amongst the Argentinian working class, and he actively encouraged his supporters focus on physical work, rather than intellectual development. Perón further reinforced his popularity through his wife,

Eva, or “Evita,” who was largely beloved by the Argentinian masses. Eva played a key role in helping control Argentinians and ensure their complacency with

Perón’s dictums, although this complacency became more difficult after her death.155 Despite this popularity, “Peronism has never enjoyed a particularly strong association with elite culture” (Hess 342), and it is unsurprising that

Perón’s most vocal opponents, including Borges, were highly active in Buenos

Aires’s intellectual community.156 In addition, Perón’s support of Franco’s fascist regime in Spain likely encouraged early associations with fascism.157

Furthermore, a party slogan for Perón, “¡Alpargatas158 sí, libros no!” was “itself a

155 An early biographer of Eva Perón, Julie Taylor, notes that after Eva’s premature death from illness, “Perón proceeded to manipulate her image solely for his own self-aggrandisement,” and “in collusion with the labour syndicates, the widower began to plot the future of Eva’s body, which he had preserved for purposes of ” (84-85). 156 As Hess notes, “the history of Peronism and intellectuals bears out this antagonism” (342) between barbarism and civilization, which has plagued Argentinian culture since the nation’s formal inception. 157 As Stanley G. Payne notes, “The new Argentine government of Juan Perón provided the Spanish regime with crucial backing during the decisive years 1946-1948. Leader of a new Argentine ‘social nationalism’ that sought independence from the existing international framework, Perón regarded the Spanish system as a kind of distant brother … He soon defied the ban and named a new ambassador to Madrid, demonstrating that at least one prosperous exporting country was willing to come to Spain’s assistance” (361). 158 “Alpargatas, or espadrilles, are the footwear of the lower classes” (Hess 342) 162

response to early anti-Peronist demonstrations by students” (Hess 342). Perón’s open opposition to books is certainly reminiscent of the Nazis’ censorship of countless texts, as books provide people with the means of developing critical thinking and alternative perspectives. Perón was uninterested in a diversity of perspectives, which is precisely why shoes associated with labor were strongly encouraged over books associated with the intellect.159

Given Perón’s strong opposition to intellectual development and independent thought,160 Borges’s antifascist evolution was further catalyzed by

Perón’s political ascension, and Borges rapidly became one of the regime’s most vocal opponents. As disturbed as Borges was by the Nazis, he did not experience Hitler’s regime firsthand; however, he did experience Perón’s regime firsthand, including the infinite repeatability of its fascist characteristics, which were particularly evident in some immigration policies.161 Indeed, Borges saw the troubling connection between Hitler and Perón, and Stavans notes that “Hitler’s demise, for instance, coincided, on the national front, with the ascent to power of

Juan Domingo Perón, another brutal dictator, one with deceitful socialist ambitions” (Borges 42). Thus, Borges was vehemently opposed to Perón for a number of reasons, including his racist immigration policies and the limitations he

161 Perón was well-known for prejudiced practices, and he “maintained an active racist immigration policy that discriminated against Jewish immigrants and encouraged white, Catholic immigration from Italy and Spain”; furthermore, “in political and ideological terms, the coup of 1943 announced the power of the military, which was inspired by an ideology that was nationalistic, neutral (that is, pro-Nazi and pro-German in an anti-Nazi hemispheric context), authoritarian, anti-imperialist, and cleric-fascist” (Finchelstein, Fascism 112). 163

placed on free speech.162 As his political commentaries reveal, Borges found himself increasingly disturbed by the seemingly global spread of fascism, which

“forced him to speak against the domestic and foreign policies implemented since the early 1930s in his country and intensified during General Perón’s administration” (Salinas, “Political” 311). Borges became “an implacable opponent of the Peronist regime” in 1946, and he “was elected president of

SADE, the Society of Argentine Writers, a focus of opposition to Perón” in 1950

(Williamson, “Chronology” xiv). Borges’s vocal opposition is notable, particularly given the consequences he faced. Not only was he demoted from his position at the library, but his mother and sister were also arrested.163 As the years progressed, Perón’s rule became increasingly authoritarian, and Edwin

Williamson, a renowned Borges scholar and author of Borges: A Life, provides excellent insight into Perón’s dictatorial evolution.164

Unsurprisingly, given Perón’s treatment of Borges and his family, not to mention the damage he did to Argentinian culture, Borges remained opposed to

162 James Cane recalls the breakdown of journalistic freedom during Perón’s regime: “Within five years of Perón’s 1946 electoral victory, the array of politically distinct newspapers that had first appeared in the suddenly revitalized Argentine public sphere would become closely tied not just to Perón’s allies, but to Perón himself” (180). 163 As Steven Boldy notes, “In September 1948, Borges’s mother and his sister were demonstrating against the legalization of the re-election of Perón when there were arrested and taken to the police station. His Mother was put under house arrest because of her age, but Norah spent a month in prison. Borges himself was shadowed by a policeman, and non-uniformed officers would attend his lectures, yawning and trying to take notes on his obscure philosophical and literary discourses” (37). 164 For instance, Williamson notes the increasing anxiety Borges felt in the early 1950s as a result of several developments in Argentina: “In September 1952 the Peronist government forced the SADE to close down; the Colegio Libre de Estudios Superiores, one of the few academic establishments that had not been purged, and where Borges also lectured, was also forced to close. On April 15, 1953, bombs were exploded in a political rally in an attempt to assassinate Perón, and several people were killed or injured … It was against this backdrop that Borges would make a desperate attempt to influence the course of events through his writing” (“Borges” 286). 164

Perón for the remainder of his life. In fact, when Perón assumed power again in

1973, Borges “could not accept the return of the old president he had despised for decades,” and “in protest, he quit his position at the National Library and began to speak out against Perón” (McNeese, Jorge 97). He also became “one of the country’s best known anti-Peronists” (O’Ryan 164), opposing Perón not only during his first presidential term, but also when Perón returned to power two decades later. This strong reaction is undoubtedly linked to Borges’s sensitivity towards the Jews’ long-term plight and Argentina’s, as well as the world’s future, particularly since he perceived clear connections between Jewish and Argentine identity: “As in the Jewish tradition, Borges argued, the Argentines simultaneously participated in and were external to the cultures they appropriated,” which should enable them to evade the type of “cultural authority”

(Nouzeilles and Montaldo 10) promulgated by Perón. Thus, experiences from

Europe to Argentina led Borges to develop a strong rancor towards fascism that would not only last for the remainder of his life, but also pervade the fictional, fantastic worlds of his short stories.

Given Borges’s joint experience in Europe and Argentina, coupled with his strong appreciation for Jewish culture and hatred of fascism, it becomes clear that Borges’s writings have greater political significance than initial appearances would suggest,165 particularly when examining them in the context of natural law and the dichotomy of civilization versus barbarism. Indeed, many scholars

165 Derek Jones notes that more casual readers of Borges are even less likely to grasp the stories’ political significance: “Very few people understand the political meaning of these fantastic tales. For most literal-minded readers, the nonrealistic plots and sometimes exotic settings did not seem to be addressing any social issues or promoting any type of political action” (267). 165

continue to underappreciate their political significance in favor of examining

Borges’s innovative structure and fantastic elements. However, while Borges is renowned for his aesthetic innovation, he “was also a deeply committed citizen of his country and the world, whose fiction engaged with major political and ethical concerns of the day” (Myers 335). In addition, Borges began writing these stories in earnest in 1939, or roughly during the same time period that he was writing his brief political commentaries: “Borges’s increasing concern with the domestic and

European political events of the 1930s and 1940s invested his creative activity with a dramatic colouring” (Núñez-Faraco 104). While Borges wrote the majority of his anti-Nazi texts between 1937 and 1944, anti-fascist themes also continued to appear throughout his short stories well after the end of World War II, notably during Perón’s reign, illustrating his ongoing concern with fascism, as well as his evolution as an antifascist.166 Borges also recognized that the tragedy that befell the Jews could be repeated virtually anywhere in the world, as ideological fascism and its dire consequences have no limits.167 While Borges addresses antisemitism in some of his earliest writings, he also broadens his focus to include Peronism and its fascist tendencies, as both Nazi Germany and Peronist

Argentina were bound by similar ideological beliefs in spite of the physical distance between them. Borges is troubled by violations of natural rights in any

166 As noted by José Eduardo González, Borges himself considered “his writings against the Perón regime as part of his antifascist literature,” which reveals “that this antifascist period lasted for over a decade … and that it roughly coincided with the same period during which he wrote his main fantastic tales” (171). 167 Federico Finchelstein also points out Borges’s recognition of the “universal” nature of fascism: “Antisemitism was a practical symptom of a universal ideology. Without engaging in nationalism, Borges sought to emphasize national cultural distinctions as distinctive elements of modern secular , and how these distinctions were rooted in a shared notion of modernity that actually contradicted the absolute transnational character of fascism” (“Argentine” 168). 166

circumstance, particularly those that challenge the liberty and egalitarianism of humanity. In short, antifascism could be considered one of the principal driving forces behind the frenetic development of Borges’s literature, notably his ficciones.168

Furthermore, these early essays also illuminate Borges’s marked concern with major social ills, notably anti-Semitism and fascism, and this concern is clearly embodied in several of his short stories. He was deeply troubled by the sadistic actions of the Nazi party, along with “the manipulation of reality by the

Nationalist Socialist propaganda machine, and the seeming unreality of Hitler’s plans to overrun and rule the entire globe,” and these concerns “were constant themes in his notes, articles, and reviews, many published in Sur” (Aizenberg, “I”

343). In addition, throughout the 1930s and 1940s, “Borges raised his voice repeatedly against what he called the ‘obscenity’ of anti-Semitism” (Aizenberg, “I”

342), underscoring the clearly unequivocal stance Borges took regarding anti-

Semitism early in his career. This position was especially dangerous in

Argentina, whose history of anti-Semitism dated back to the second half of the nineteenth century, “which marked the arrival of poor, Yiddish-speaking immigrants from Eastern Europe, whose landing was sometimes greeted with animosity” (Stavans, Borges 5). Therefore, given Argentina’s history of prejudice, the Nazi party and Hitler’s regime were unsurprisingly popular, and Borges was

168 Edna Aizenberg is even more “provocative” with her claim regarding the influence of anti- fascism in his writings, namely by asserting Borges “would not have become ‘Borges,’ the maker of the ficciones that earned him international fame,” had it not been for “the confluence of Hitler, the collapse of the Western order as he knew it, the national-fascist revolution in his own Argentina, and the torture, sodomy, rape, and mass executions” (“I” 339). 167

often the target of criticism for his support of the Jews and his resistance to authoritarian regimes. Thus, discussions regarding the correlation between

Borges’s earlier non-fiction works and later short stories, at least in terms of politics and social justice, are arguably embryonic, at least relative to the enormous array of global scholarship regarding Borges’s other works.

This chapter will focus on some of Borges’s brief notes regarding politics and culture, specifically those related to violations of natural law, including fascism, jingoism, and anti-Semitism, thereby contributing to the burgeoning discussion regarding Borges’s social activism. Additionally, this chapter will closely examine how Borges’s earlier essays presage the major themes that would characterize his later short stories, ultimately demonstrating that Borges’s short stories have more social and political significance than initially assumed.

First, Borges’s stories are well-known for featuring numerous Jewish characters and allusions, and an examination of Borges’s earlier non-fiction works underscores his early affinity to the Jewish culture. In addition, aside from the numerous references to Judaism, Borges’s stories also reference other concerns that would be applicable to a variety of fascist regimes, including the censorship and authoritarianism that underpinned the Peronist regime. Furthermore, many of

Borges’s most famous motifs, including , relativity, and infinity, embody additional social significance when examined in the context of his non-fiction political commentaries. In other words, what may appear to be a beautifully strange, yet ultimately fantastic world in a Borgesian may very well prove to be a sketch of Borges’s ideal, egalitarian world: one devoid of

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boundaries and barriers, which would in turn be a world bereft of hatred and prejudice.

“I, a Jew” (“Yo, Judío”) (1934): The Early Affinity for Judaic Culture

By 1933, Borges had become “a leading opponent of right-wing Argentine nationalism and repeatedly [denounced] fascism and Nazism in Europe”

(Williamson, “Chronology” xiii). Appearing in the April 1934 issue of Megáfono, a

Buenos Aires magazine, “I, a Jew” marks one of Borges’s earliest written defenses of Jews and illustrates the unequivocal stance he took early in his writing career against fascism. In Buenos Aires, Borges had become a public target due to his outspokenness against fascism, and he was subsequently ostracized, as his “enthusiasm for Jewish themes” resulted in “condemnation in some Argentine literary circles, not surprisingly among anti-Semites sympathetic to the rise of Nazism in Germany” (Kristal, “Jorge” 355). However, he was revered by others, as evidenced by a 1933 issue of Megáfono, which “had devoted a full issue to Borges” (Stavans, Borges 4). In response, Crisol, a nationalist, right-wing magazine, “attacked Borges for hiding his ‘Israelite’ origins,” and Borges’s “I, a Jew” is “his brave and unapologetic response to

Crisol” (Stavans, Borges 4). Despite the accusations of Crisol, Borges did not have any known trace of Judaism in his family’s lineage. However, while “his genealogical tree doesn’t show any Semitic lineage,” Borges still “longed for one”

(Stavans, Borges 3). To make this desire explicitly clear, “I, a Jew” illustrates how

Borges “laments that he does not have the Jewish ancestors the journal Crisol

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has accused him of hiding” (Kristal, “Jorge” 355), illuminating his clear recognition of Jews as egalitarian.

Borges makes this position clear shortly after the essay’s opening: “Who has not, at one time or another, played with thoughts of his ancestors, with the prehistory of his flesh and blood? I have done so many times, and many times it has not displeased me to think of myself as Jewish” (110). Borges’s question is significant, as it underscores the twentieth-century concern with genetics, a major development that shaped individuals’ relations with one another. The term

“eugenics” was coined by Francis Galton in his 1883 work, Inquiries into Human

Faculty and its Development, and this concept was particularly popular in

America, which was “still preoccupied with proving the inferiority of its former slaves” (Hilliard xix). Unsurprisingly, the Nazi party in Germany also tragically co- opted eugenics for its own agenda, using this concept to justify the purported inferiority of the Jewish race. Fortunately, the ending of World War II led to the demise of this pseudo-scientific movement, and “the significance of eugenics as both a broad social movement and scientific concept in Germany and the occupied territories was effectively reversed” (Tanner 458). However, given eugenics’ prominence prior to and during World War II, Borges’s statement appears even more incendiary, since he openly welcomes the idea of having a trace of Jewish lineage, which was then perceived as grossly inferior.

Borges then details the effort he undertakes to find this elusory lineage, noting that Crisol, “speaks of my ‘Jewish ancestry, maliciously hidden’ (the participle and the adverb amaze and delight me)” (110). Borges does locate the

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origins of the name “Acevedo,” which provides “the only supporting evidence” for his “Jewish pretensions,” though “a detailed investigation” undertaken by Captain

Honorio Acevedo “notes that the first Acevedo to disembark on this land was the

Catalan Don Pedro de Azevedo in 1728” (110). Don Pedro de Azevedo is identified as a “landholder, settler of ‘Pago de Los Arroyos,’ father and grandfather of cattle ranches in that province … an ancestor, in short, irreparably

Spanish” (110). Borges then clearly laments the fact that he still “can’t find the

Israelite” and his “ancestor still eludes” him two hundred years later (110).

Borges then states that he is “grateful for the stimulus provided by Crisol,” yet he finds that “hope is dimming” that he will ever discover his genealogical “link to the

Table of Breads and the Sea of Bronze; to Heine, Gleizer, and the ten Sefiroth; to

Ecclesiastes and Chaplin” (110-11). In short, while Borges does not have any

Jewish ancestry “maliciously hidden” (110) from Argentine society, he certainly would feel no shame whatsoever in having Jewish roots, which is likely why he has earned the aforementioned title of an honorary Jew.

Borges concludes this essay by highlighting the persecution Jews have faced over the past several centuries, noting that “inquisitors” focus on Jews specifically as targets for their hatred: “Our inquisitors seek out Hebrews, but never Phoenicians, Garamantes, Scythians, Babylonians, Persians, Egyptians,

Huns, Vandals, Ostrogoths, Ethiopians, Illyrians, Paphlagonians, Samaratins,

Medes, Ottomans, Berbers, Britons, Libyans, Cyclopses, or Lapiths” (111).

In short, “I, a Jew” provides an early glimpse into Borges’s fascination with

Judaism, and it also reveals the extent to which he is already familiar with Jewish

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culture, customs, and history. This fascination also provides an excellent foundation for his future short stories: “Ultimately, Jews and all things Jewish are but a point of departure to convey motifs that transcend a single allegiance”

(Fishburn 56). While Borges himself is not Jewish, that does not stop him from speaking out openly against anti-Semitism and incorporating myriad Judaic themes in his short stories. “I, a Jew” also represents Borges’s boldness early in his career, and he refused to let public pressure dissuade him from his beliefs.

Given Borges’s immense success from the 1940s onward, his opponents at

Crisol clearly did not succeed in undermining him in the public sphere, though one of their main objectives was “to discredit Borges in public opinion” (Stavans,

Borges 4). Unfortunately, several more years of horror would unfold in Germany as Hitler continued to consolidate his power and empower the Nazi Party, and these years provide the context for Borges’s increasingly polemical political commentary.

“A Pedagogy of Hatred” (“Una pedagogía del odio”) (1937): The Deleterious

Effects of Literary Censorship Coupled with Permissible Literary Hatred

Borges’s previous experience in Europe, in particular his engagement with nineteenth-century Germany philosophy and culture, undoubtedly influenced his political commentary regarding the horrific rise of the Third Reich. He first traveled to Europe with his family in 1914, and he did not return to Buenos Aires until 1921. Borges spent much of his time in Switzerland, living in Geneva until

World War I ended, where he attended secondary school and learned French and Latin (Williamson, “Chronology” xii). In addition, Borges also taught himself

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German during this time, stating later in an interview, “I owe my love for German culture to Carlyle, but I decided to teach myself German to read Schopenhauer’s

The World as Will and Idea in the original, and also Heine and Goethe” (Suárez-

Aráuz et al. 502). Borges’s fluency in German proved to be crucial, as it not only enabled him to familiarize himself deeply with nineteenth-century Germany, but also to understand, and subsequently speak out against, twentieth-century Nazi propaganda.169 This fluency also enabled Borges to clearly understand the anti-

Semitic overtones in German publications and literature, including children’s books, which inspired “A Pedagogy of Hatred” in 1937.

In “A Pedagogy of Hatred,” which is widely considered a precursor to

“Deutsches Requiem,” Borges engages with anti-Semitism even more bluntly than he does in “I, a Jew.” This essay “vehemently condemned the demonization of Jews in the Third Reich as manifested in the virulently anti-Semitic literature to which schoolchildren were being exposed in German” (Sitman 148), and Borges launches his condemnation within the essay’s opening lines. He begins with a bold declaration that instantly sets its dark tone: “Displays of hatred are even more obscene and denigrating than exhibitionism” (197), underscoring the fact that hatred is even more degenerative for the human race than perversion.

Borges then challenges “pornographers” to produce an image “more vile than any of the twenty-two illustrations that comprise the children’s book Trau keinem

Fuchs auf grüner Heid und keinem Jud bei seinem Eid [Trust no Fox on his

169 As Daniel Balderston notes, “in several notes during the period just prior to the outbreak of war and just after, [Borges] declares his admiration for German culture, an appreciation that leads him to lament the triumph of Nazi savagery over an intellectual civilization” (63). 173

Green Heath and no Jew on his Oath]” (197). He notes the deliberately unattractive portrayals of a Jew as “a dark Turk, obese and middle-aged,” whereas “the German is a Scandinavian, eighteen-year-old athlete” (199).

Ironically, Borges notes that “it is well known that German Jews are … copper- haired Slavs,” but “they are presented as dark half-breeds so that they’ll appear to be the exact opposite of the blond beasts” (199). Thus, anti-Semitic literature established a visual binary designed to predispose children towards prejudice against the Jews and great admiration for the Germans; in short, this binary serves as an effective tool for teaching hatred.

In other brief political notes published shortly after “A Pedagogy of

Hatred,” Borges also draws attention to another serious concern regarding literature in the Nazi regime: censorship, another violation of natural rights. After all, an authoritarian regime not only will produce and promote literature that furthers its sadistic objectives, but it will also ensure that any other written materials that suggest a different perspective are abolished. For instance, in the opening lines of “A Disturbing Exposition,” Borges finds it deeply troubling that

“Doctor Johannes Rohr (of Berlin) has revised, rewritten, and Germanized the very Germanic Geschichte der deutschen National-Literatur [History of German

Literature] by A. F. C. Vilmar” (200). This revision includes the elimination of several authors, and “most of those eliminated are Jewish, none is a National

Socialist” (201). The deliberate removal of Jewish contributors foreshadowed the cataclysmic violations of human rights to follow, as “this attempt to remove

Jewish influence from German intellectual life was just the beginning of far worse

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measures against the Jews of Europe that culminated in the Holocaust” (Lewy

15). Borges also notes that “Goethe, Lessing, and Nietzsche have been distorted and mutilated,” and “there is not even a mention of Schopenhauer” (201). In another essay, “Two Books,” Borges contrasts the strict censorship in Germany with the literary freedom in England, commenting on H. G. Wells’s work specifically: “They are literarily memorable; some strike me as unjust, but they demonstrate the impartiality of his hatred or his indignation. They also demonstrate the freedom enjoyed by writers in England” (207). The reference to

Wells is particularly poignant given Well’s outspokenness against Nazi book burnings; he “proclaimed that book burnings had never yet destroyed a book,” and, as part of a collaborative effort with other authors, Wells created “the Library of Burned Books,” which “housed copies of all books burned or banned by Nazis”

(Lewy 14-15). This essay also foreshadows the censorship that will appear in his fictional short stories, notably with the “Purifiers” in “,” as well as the scholarly revisionism that occurs in “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius.”

Thus, “A Pedagogy of Hatred” clearly exemplifies the racial binary established by the Nazi regime, namely by positing Jews as the “Other” and dehumanizing them in the eyes of children. Furthermore, Borges’s other political notes regarding censorship provide a corollary to “A Pedagogy of Hatred” by engaging directly with the tension between diverse literature and authoritarian aims, establishing a clear binary between knowledge and censorship. The Nazi regime knew very well that exposure to specific literature may result in the initiation of new thoughts and ideas, which is precisely why it ensured that it

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limited people’s access to “unsuitable” literature. Borges finds this regime particularly tragic in Germany, which had served as a bastion of culture for

Western civilization; in short, Borges perceives a binary between nineteenth- century Germany, which represents one of the impressive pinnacles of human intellectual development, and twentieth-century Germany, which represents one of the abysmal degradations of human relations. For this reason, he concludes

“A Pedagogy of Hatred” on an ambivalent note: “I don’t know if the world can do without German civilization, but I do know that its corruption by the teachings of hatred is a crime” (200). This tension between previous German culture and current German hatred is one that Borges returns to often over the course of his political notes, and it forms the foundation of the protagonist’s chilling psyche in

“Deutsches Requiem.”

“Definition of a ” (“Definición del germanófilo”) (1940): The

Tragic Contrast Between Nineteenth and Twentieth Century German

Culture

After the publication of “A Pedagogy of Hatred,” Borges became increasingly involved with the antifascist movement in the public sphere. In 1939, he publically condemned Nazis and those who sympathized with them and supported the Allies, and he also joined the Unión Democrática, which was “a coalition of Radicals, socialists, and communists opposing the pro-Axis nationalists” (Williamson, “Chronology” xiii). At this point in time, Hitler had become so analogous with Germany that people opposed to the Nazi regime hate Germany purely because of Hitler, which Borges notes in his 1939 “An

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Essay on Neutrality”: “Those who hate Hitler usually hate Germany. I have always admired Germany” (202). Borges also openly voices his hatred of Hitler in the same essay, identifying him as the “atrocious offspring of Versailles” (203), and he blames him for leading Germany in the descent to barbarism, rather than civilization: “I detest Hitler precisely because he does not share my faith in the

German people; he has decided that to undo 1918, the only possible lesson is barbarism; the best incentive, concentration camps” (203). Unfortunately, many

Argentinians did not share the same attitude as Borges, and in 1939, “the crew of a German ship cornered by British forces found refuge in Argentina, confirming the country’s endorsement of Nazism” (Kremer 173). Given this overt support of

Nazis, Borges wrote “Definition of a Germanophile” in 1940, which “is probably the most important one—surely the most discussed—by Borges” (Kremer 173) regarding Argentina’s growing Nazi sympathizers.

“Definition of a Germanophile” establishes an explicit binary between nineteenth-century century German philosophy, defined by scholarship and the freedom of thought, and twentieth-century German fascism, characterized by genocide and the elimination of freedom of thought. In short, nineteenth-century

Germany symbolizes civilization, whereas the twentieth century represents barbarism. Borges characterizes germanophiles as those who have “total ignorance of things Germanic,” or little to no familiarity with some of the most seminal figures of nineteenth-century German culture, including no knowledge of

“Hölderlin, Luther, Schopenhauer, and Leibniz” (204). Therefore, during Borges’s time, twentieth-century German authoritarianism appeared to have far more

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support than nineteenth-century German culture, given the widespread presence of germanophiles, or “monstrous people whose knowledge of German civilization is sketchy at best” (Kremer 173). Aside from ignorance of nineteenth-century

Germany, the typical germanophile “is also anti-Semitic, and wishes to expel from our country a Slavo-Germanic community … which speaks a German dialect: Yiddish” (204). In other words, germanophiles share a number of frightening similarities with Nazis. First, they do not engage meaningfully with nineteenth-century German philosophy; whereas the Nazis have destroyed much of nineteenth-century , the germanophiles are largely ignorant of it. Second, both germanophiles and Nazis are also deeply anti-Semitic, a position that promulgates hatred and allows travesties, such as the Holocaust, to occur.

In short, the “germanófilos” lamented by Borges, or those who adore

German fascism and know little to nothing about German scholarship, reflect the devastating outcomes that occur in the absence of morality and critical thought in a barbaric state; near the end of the essay, Borges alludes explicitly to germanophiles’ “poverty of imagination” (205). Thus, Borges “presents those who favor fascism as largely uneducated people (they do not know any of the German literature that he values so highly), irrational (there is no logic in their arguments), and extremely nationalistic” (J. González 178). Borges provides further insight into the germanophiles’ dearth of logic in “A Comment on August 23, 1944,” where he provides a list of conflicting beliefs held by these individuals: “They adore the German race, but they abhor ‘Saxon’ America; they condemn the

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articles of Versailles, but they applaud the wonders of the ; they are anti-Semitic, but they profess a religion of Hebrew origin” (210). Thus, germanophiles’ belief systems are arguably a series of contradictions and rest entirely on unrelenting hatred, rather than coherent, critical thought. They clearly represent barbarism, rather than civilization, and the flourishing of germanophiles and other likeminded individuals represents the ultimate downfall of Western civilization, a future that Borges and others desperately seek to avoid.

Given the antipathy towards England and Anglo-Saxons in general,

Borges recognizes that an Argentinian germanophile is really representative of

“un anglófobo” (Lugo Amador 245), or an Anglophobe. Thus, in this context, the

Argentinians would be thrilled with the ultimate demise of Great Britain. Borges demonstrates this phenomenon clearly in “Definition of a Germanophile” when he recounts a conversation with several Argentinian germanophiles who have no interest in Schopenhauer yet all the interest in the world of Britain’s humiliating defeat: "The triumph of Germany does not matter to him; he wants the humiliation of England and a satisfying burning of London. He admires Hitler as he once admired his precursors in the criminal underworld of Chicago” (205).

Furthermore, England is representative of far greater freedom than Germany at this point in time, particularly in terms of literary and philosophical freedom. Thus, the burning of London would be synonymous with the destruction of liberty, including all the requisite horrors that accompany the absence of freedom.

Destroying liberty enables fascist dictators to overtake nations and citizens’ minds, transforming hatred into a normalized ideology. The widespread presence

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of germanophiles makes Argentina particularly vulnerable to this barbarism, which Borges addresses in “1941.”

“1941” (“1941”) (1941): The Ominous Foreshadowing of Fascism’s

Omnipresence in Buenos Aires

One year after the publication of “Definition of a Germanophile,” Borges remained concerned with the global influence of the Third Reich, as authoritarianism became increasingly popular in Buenos Aires. This popularity ultimately foreshadowed the rise of future dictators: “In Europe, the forces of fascism were casting a dark shadow over the contemporary landscape, and many of Borges’s compatriots were concerned that Argentina might succumb to political contagion” (Fiddian 90). Tragically, by the time World War II began, “pro-

Nazi forces were everywhere visible in Argentina” (Kremer 172), and these forces foreshadowed the darkness that would befall Argentina even after World

War II had ended. Specifically, “the defeat of Nazism in Europe did not mean the end of Borges’s fight against fascism” (Jones 267), particularly once this hateful ideology had become so ingrained in numerous Argentinians’ psyches. This same ideology enabled the later rise of Juan Domingo Perón in 1945, who “had become an extremely popular political leader who could count on the support of thousands of workers” (Jones 267). In a 1945 interview, Borges would identify the increased support of Perón, or “these developments in local politics,” as analogous “to the situation that preceded the rise of Nazism in Germany” (Jones

267).

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In an effort to help combat the global contagion of fascism, Borges preemptively wrote “1941,” which served as a “venomous attack on Nationalist

Nazi Sympathizers in Argentina,” wherein he “masterfully turned their own rhetoric against them” (Sitman 148) and warned of the dangers of the Nazi regime’s infectious hatred. In addition, “1941” also marks one of Borges’s most incendiary speeches against the Argentinians who supported Hitler, underscoring

Borges’s fearlessness in challenging the prevailing viewpoint. Specifically,

Borges heralds the idiocy of the same germanophiles that he previously lambasted, declaring: “Yesterday the Germanophiles swore that the maligned

Hitler did not even dream of attacking this continent; now they justify and praise his latest hostility” (206). Borges finds that these Nazi sympathizers will “enjoy all the benefits of torture, sodomy, rape, and mass executions,” and the popularity of violence underscores why “readers of Russell, Proust, and ” (206) no longer matter. Thus, he continues emphasizing the same binary underlying his previous essays, namely that between ignorance and knowledge, or barbarism and civilization. He also makes several references to the looming threat of fascism’s global dominance from the essay’s inception to its conclusion.

At the beginning, Borges refers to the stunning possibility of Germany’s ability “to conquer and oppress all the countries of the atlas” (206). Though he acknowledges this scenario seems too fantastic to be true, Borges later states,

“the unbelievable, indisputable truth is that the directors of the Third Reich are procuring a universal empire, the conquest of the world” (206). Borges concludes the essay by drawing a parallel between the Third Reich’s growth and colonial

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empires’ reach, namely when he addresses someone who believes Argentina is too far away to be impacted by Hitler: “My answer to him is that colonies are always far from the metropolis; the Belgian Congo is not on the borders of

Belgium” (206).

Thus, this essay focuses specifically on the growing problems of jingoism and nationalism in Argentina, which were undoubtedly motivated by the Third

Reich. While it continues some of the same themes initially raised in the previous three essays, it illustrates how such problematic issues, including jingoism and blind hatred, can be tragically replicated across more than one nation. Germany, in other words, is sadly not an exception, and the hatred that engendered the fascism of the Third Reich arguably forms a contagion that can afflict any country in the world. The horrific outcome of jingoism in Germany arguably can be viewed as a microcosm for authoritarianism in general, as many authoritarian regimes adopt the same tactics: censorship, hatred, and fear. Thus, Borges recognizes the danger of extreme nationalism in any nation, and he “issues a call to fight against the evil of totalitarian ideologies and their embodiment in nationalist governments such as the one headed by Perón; he addresses the same malaise in sections of ‘Dos Libros’ (‘Two Books’)” (Fiddian 115). This malaise will also form a crucial component of “The End,” one of Borges’s later short stories, which takes a clear stand against Perón.

“Our Poor Individualism” (“Nuestro Pobre Individualismo”) (1946): The

Interminable Binary Opposition of Argentine Identity

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By 1946, World War II had ended, and Borges’s political commentaries regarding Nazi Germany and Hitler specifically had ended. However, fascism in

Argentina was just beginning to increase exponentially, given Perón’s ascension to power. Thus, Borges continued to write political notes, though he shifted his focus to Peronist Argentina. In 1946, he published “Our Poor Individualism,” which continues analyzing the concerns he presents in “1941,” though he also focuses specifically on Argentina’s ongoing struggle with identity, presenting two different forms of nationalism.

In this essay, “Borges complains about the Argentine culture trapped in a disposition to ‘hate’ each other” (Salinas, Liberty 15), and “two views of nationalism are set against one another here” (J. González 184). The first type of nationalism “is a ‘bad’ nationalism that results in the fascist ideology that brought

Perón to power” (J. González 384). This particular nationalism is clear from the first line: “There is no end to the illusions of patriotism” (309), which directly hints at the fictional unreality of a dictatorship. The opening paragraph also associates some elements of Anglo-Saxon culture with this type of futile nationalism, from the ancient “who declared that the Athenian moon is better than the

Corinthian moon” to even England, as “Milton … observed that God is in the habit of revealing Himself first to His Englishmen” (309). Borges notes the same futile nationalism has made its way to Argentina, which is clear when he laments,

“Here in Argentina we are teeming with nationalists, driven, they claim, by the worthy or innocent resolve of promoting the best traits of the Argentine people”

(309). The word “teeming” is significant, as “by tradition the Argentine does not

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identify himself (or herself) with the State” (J. González 184). Unfortunately, this tradition was voided with Peronism, which is why Borges calls for a new form of individualism.

Noting that the typical Argentine has previously never identified with the state due to the fact “that the governments in this country tend to be awful” (309),

Borges posits another alternative, which he senses could replicate itself globally:

“a ‘good’ [nationalism] that encourages individualism, therefore, antifascism” (J.

González 184). Specifically, Borges asserts, “the Argentine is an individual, not a citizen” (309), and he challenges Hegel’s assertions regarding the morality of the state as “sinister jokes” (309). Borges also points out a key distinction between

Europeans and Argentinians: “The world, for the Europeans, is a cosmos in which each individual personally corresponds to the role he plays; for the

Argentine, it is a chaos” (310). To further underscore the liberty of the Argentine individual, as Borges perceives it, he cites a famous scene from the epic Martín

Fierro, namely “the desperate night when a sergeant in the rural police shouted that he was not going to consent to the crime of killing a brave man, and started fighting against his own soldiers alongside the fugitive Martín Fierro” (310). In other words, the representative of the state, the sergeant, has the gumption to turn against centralized authoritarianism and fight alongside Martín Fierro, thus embodying the same courage that won people’s adoration of the famed .

Anticipating a counterargument to his ideal version of nationalism, Borges acknowledges that the traits he stresses may be perceived as “merely negative or anarchic” and “it may be added that they are not subject to political

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explanation” (310). However, he also adds that he “shall venture to suggest the opposite” (310). It is this point of the essay that reaches the heart of his argument, as well as the basis for his ongoing resistance to fascism, nationalism, and any other form of moblike mentality:

The most urgent problem of our time (already denounced with prophetic

lucidity by the near-forgotten Spencer) is the gradual interference of the

State in the acts of the individual; in the battle with this evil, whose names

are and Nazism. Argentine individualism, though perhaps

useless or harmful until now, will find its justification and its duties. (310)

Thus, Borges perceives seemingly anarchic behavior as the best measure an

Argentinian can take to preserve individualism: “Instead of seeing this as a negative trait that can lead to social chaos, he sees it (under the circumstances) as a positive one” (J. González 184). He invokes the figure of Martín Fierro to underscore this courage, though Perón’s appropriation of Martín Fierro complicates Borges’s perception of him, which is perhaps the clearest in the

1953 publication of the short story “The End.”

Though this essay focuses specifically on Argentina, its references to other cultures over the past several centuries demonstrate how Argentina’s struggle with nationalism is related to the infinite conflict between civilization and barbarism. In other words, Argentina is not the only nation that has fallen victim to mindless, baseless nationalism. Furthermore, Borges hopes for an opportunity in which Argentinians can demonstrate a new form of individualism to be emulated by others. In a footnote, he remarks, “the State is impersonal; the

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Argentine can only conceive of personal relations” (309), demonstrating the potential irrelevancy of the state, if Argentinians would courageously permit such an irrelevancy. Ultimately, Borges strongly believes that persistent nationalism, in its mindless, barbaric form, will call for a correction, which is clear in the concluding lines: “Nationalism seeks to captivate us with the vision of an infinitely tiresome state; this utopia, once established on earth, would have the providential virtue of making everyone yearn for, and finally build, its antithesis”

(310). Through writing “Our Poor Individualism,” Borges undoubtedly hopes to spur the catalysis of this antithesis.

“L’Illusion Comique” (“L’Illusion Comique”) (1955): The Comically Tragic

Manipulation of History and Masquerade of Argentinian Fascism

The ongoing conflict of civilization versus barbarism often renders perception of reality difficult. Specifically, widespread barbarism often results in a world that seems incomprehensible to a rational mind, from Nazi Germany to countless other atrocities that have occurred throughout the world. In a sense, such horrific worlds almost seem unreal, or fictional, in nature, which is why it is often difficult to analyze how certain historical horrors could have happened. By

1955, Perón had become a full-fledged dictator, and by this point, liberty was altogether absent in Buenos Aires and Argentina as a whole. At the same time,

Borges had started an extensive break from writing his ficciones after publishing

“The End” in 1953. However, Borges continued to write political commentaries, underscoring the degree to which fascism continued troubling him and subsequently influenced his ficciones. Even once Perón was overthrown, Borges

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continued focusing on political concerns, notably in “L’Illusion Comique,” which underscores the correlation between fiction and dictatorships. For Borges, a fascist Argentina connoted an unreal nightmare, perhaps ultimately more implausible than the labyrinthine worlds he creates in his ficciones.

Borges opens this political commentary by referencing two histories, underscoring how history can be manipulated to serve a dictator’s purposes.

Both histories allude to the same space and place, but they are perceived differently by the masses. The first history is “the criminal one, composed of jails, tortures, prostitutions, arsons, and deaths” (409). The second history, on the other hand, is “the theatrical one, tales and fables made for consumption by dolts” (409). In other words, the second history is the one that Perón and others like him depend upon to obtain and maintain their power, as they can do so through “the manipulation of politics according to the rules of drama or melodrama” (409). Unsurprisingly, such a world pits individuals against one another into a zero-sum game of civilization versus barbarism, and Borges directly associates an authoritarian state with the decline of the individualism:

“From a world of individuals we have passed into an even more passionate world of symbols: the clash was not between parties or opponents of the dictator, but rather among parties and opponents of an effigy or a name” (409). In other words, dictatorships culminate in mob rule and barbarism, which are inversely correlated to individual growth and civilization.

Borges laments, “it is useless to list examples; one can only denounce the duplicity of the fictions of the former regime, which can’t be believed and were

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believed” (410). In other words, despite experiencing Peronist Argentina firsthand, including direct confrontations between Perón and his family, Borges is still astonished by the success of Perón’s duplicitous dictatorship, particularly since it occurred after World War II ended. He remarks that Argentinians were not just ignorant of Perón’s aims; instead, they went so far as to demonstrate a

“‘willing suspension of disbelief’ that is poetic faith” (410) in Peronism, though

Borges also believes that they subconsciously “knew or sensed it was all a fiction” (410). And while this essay is brief, he does identify elements of the

Perón regime that clearly align with those of Hitler’s regime, including “crowds,”

“state radio,” and “musical compositions” (410), or propaganda designed to encourage mob mentality and distract from original thought. For this reason,

Borges believes that “the lies of a dictatorship are neither believed nor disbelieved” (410) in the same way that fiction is, though a dictatorship’s lies serve “to conceal or justify sordid or atrocious realities” (410).

As troubling as the implications in “L’Illusion Comique” are, it is important to note that Borges’s ongoing preoccupation with political matters undoubtedly influenced the development of his ficciones. At the same time, Borges’s nightmarish reality is partly why he takes such liberties with his ficciones, as they permit him a freedom of creativity strongly discouraged by the Perón regime. In short, Borges’s fictions allowed him a metaphorical, or intellectual, escape from the barbarism actively promoted by the Perón regime. Thus, “Borges’s double reaction was to strengthen the discourse on ethics and to denounce those abuses with the arms of letters” (Salinas, Liberty 16). How Borges uses the “arms

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of letters” continues to remain a source of lively debate and discussion amongst scholars today.

The Indelible Influence of Borges’s Political Commentaries on his Famed

Ficciones

Overall, a close examination of Borges’s earlier political notes provides rich insight into his later short stories, particularly in terms of their social and political undertones. Borges began writing these commentaries very early in his career, notably with the 1934 publication of “I, a Jew,” and he continued to write them alongside his ficciones throughout the 1940s and 1950s. Even after he took an extended break from writing his short stories, he continued to write on political matters, as the 1955 publication of “L’Illusion Comique” illustrates. As

Weinberger sagely notes, individuals who consider Borges “the archetype of the detached and cerebral metaphysician” would likely be “surprised to find … his principled stand against the Fascism and anti-Semitism of the Argentine in the 1930s and 1940s, and his courageous attacks on the Perón dictatorship” (xi-xii), and some of the most memorable attacks occurred in his political notes. Generally speaking, Borges’s early anti-Nazism articles, as well as his antifascist sentiment as a whole, have two major characteristics: First,

“Borges thought that it was going to be self-evident to his readers why antisemitism was wrong” (J. González 171); second, Borges used “the opposition barbarism/civilization to analyze the political situation in Germany” (J. González

172). This opposition is particularly crucial, given that Borges’s short stories are often characterized by myriad binaries, most notably between reality and

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unreality. Borges directly associates Nazism with unreality in his notes, namely when he says “Nazism suffers from unreality, like Erigena’s hell. It is uninhabitable; men can only die for it, lie for it, wound and kill for it” (“Comment”

211).

Ultimately, Borges associated fascism with barbarism, and he viewed “the emergence of fascist governments in Europe as the return of ‘barbarism,’ as a threat to Western civilization in general” (J. González 172). For this reason, in one of his 1939 works, “An Essay on Neutrality,” Borges remarked, “I do not understand … how someone could prefer a German victory to an English one”

(202), as a Germany victory would essentially be a victory for barbarism. Six years later, Borges finds a momentary bright spot in his 1945 essay, “A Note on the Peace,” namely when he remarks, “to say that England has triumphed is to say that Western civilization has triumphed” (212). Unfortunately, as Borges would discover with the popularity of the Perón regime, along with other dictatorships, the end of World War II did not mean the termination of hatred entirely. Furthermore, the immorality of anti-Semitism and hatred in general was not as self-evident to his readers as he initially hoped, which is why he continued focusing on anti-fascist themes in his ficciones in addition to his political commentaries: “The literary constituted for him the most suitable realm to decry political opposition” (Salinas, “Political” 322). Despite the ultimate defeat of the

Nazis, hatred still continued to fester throughout the world and within Latin

America, and its pervasiveness undoubtedly inspired the fantastic worlds and realities that characterize Borges’s famed short stories.

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CHAPTER 4: BORGES’S ETERNAL PREOCCUPATION WITH FUTURE

CIVILIZATION

Several of Borges’s early works reveal a propensity for prolific writing coupled with a marked concern with significant social ills. Nevertheless, these brief essays remain relatively unknown and generally underdiscussed in comparison to Borges’s ficciones, which garnered international acclaim and arguably positioned Argentinian literature within the modern global literary canon.

Borges’s short stories are renowned for their subversive, highly original nature, and they have attracted critical acclaim regarding their literary innovation, labyrinthine complexity, and extensive intertextuality, among other ingenious characteristics. While numerous scholars have analyzed the stories for their aesthetic appeal and fantastical, mind-bending elements, discussions regarding the stories’ political directives have generally been less extensive. In many ways, his stories often seem divorced from direct social and political context, if not completely separated from traditional notions of time and space, leading some scholars to conclude that Borges’s short stories, as unique as they might be, offer little more than “a casebook of irrelevant ” (Wheelock 373).

However, it is intriguing that Borges’s most productive fictional period coincided with the authoritarian regimes of Hitler and Perón, and this coincidence naturally invites scholars to examine the degree to which Borges’s concern with fascism,

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and its violation of natural laws, influenced the creation of his most renowned ficciones.170

In 1939, or just five years after the publication of his controversial essay,

“I, a Jew,” Borges began writing the short stories that were initially published in magazines and newspapers, including Sur and La Nación, and would ultimately comprise the collections in El Aleph and Ficciones. Borges’s first short story,

“Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote,” is likely “the most self-consciously ironic intertext” (Ortega 35) in Latin American Literature, and it exemplifies Borges’s early concern with the nature and limitations of reality, or individuals’ perception of reality.171 Written in the aftermath of a terrible accident,172 this short story represents “not only a form of writing in which Borges had never before written, it was a form of writing in which no one had ever before written” (Ogden 145).

Despite the brevity of “Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote,” it provides excellent insight into some of Borges’s chief literary concerns, including the nature of the individual author against the backdrop of the universality of human

170 As Federico Fridman notes, “Beginning in the 1930s, Borges cunningly sees through an impolitical lens the imminent collapse of Europe under the rising shadows of European totalitarian regimes. His literary and intellectual productions do not cease to map, interpret, and rethink the consequences of these events from an impolitical refractory angle, while integrating his alarming perception that democratic social and political processes in the Argentinian context may follow in a similar direction” (180). 171 As Julio Ortega notes, “As the author of Pierre Menard’s story of authorship, Borges cites texts from both Cervantes’ and Menard’s Don Quixote. In doing so he demonstrates, with inimitable Borgesian irony, how any early seventeenth-century text means something radically different when written in the twentieth century. The same words yield different meanings. The Borges- Menard principle applies to the transformations of myth: any myth, placed in a different context, becomes a new myth” (35). 172 As Thomas Ogden recalls, Borges hit his head badly on Christmas Eve of 1938, resulting in an infected wound that required hospitalization, which inspired Borges’s first foray into his fictional short stories: “On regaining consciousness, Borges’s deepest fear was that he suffered brain damage that would prevent him from ever writing again. To prove to himself that he could still write, he decided to write in a literary form in which he had never previously written” (145). 192

experience, which was particularly valid during a time in which Argentinian writers struggled with looking towards Europe or their own gaucho tradition for literary inspiration.173 Furthermore, Borges’s first short story can also be considered “a masterpiece of cross-cultural impersonation” (Fiddian 77), and

Borges would employ similar techniques in other short stories to assume alternative viewpoints and reveal different modes of perceiving the surrounding world.174 In fact, the thematic similarities and literary techniques shared across several of Borges’s stories reveal a strong continuity; rather than existing in isolation from one another, Borges’s short stories are analogous to fitting puzzle pieces together until a complete picture has been formed, which modernist

American writer has noted.175

In other words, an underlying unity exists amongst Borges’s ficciones, as well as his political and cultural insights. Borges’s commentaries were ultimately united by their underlying concern with fascism; whereas some notes focus specifically on education in Germany while others emphasize the spread of fascist ignorance in Buenos Aires, all these writings maintained a strong,

173 As Robin F. Fiddian notes, Borges’s “The Argentine Writer and Tradition” focuses on this concern: “In ‘The Argentina Writer and Tradition,’ Borges retrospectively analyses the options available to Argentina in the immediate postcolonial sphere. In schematic terms, they were: autochthony, exemplified in the oral poetry of the gauchos and a local tradition that stems from that; continuity with literature of Spain; and a clean break with the norms and assumptions of European culture. Borges accepts none of these positions and instead affirms the freedom of Argentine writers to draw at will on the entire Western tradition” (181). 174 Fiddian identifies “Deutsches Requiem” as one story that would embody the literary technique of impersonation: “In subsequent works and decades, Borges would use the techniques of literature to impersonate, amongst others, a Nazi who shows no compunction over his war crimes” (77). 175 For John Barth, “Borges is the father of due to his innovative style and the self-reflexive aspects of his stories. According to Barth, Borges’s short stories are not to be considered as independent entities, but as parts of a whole text which express a certain view of the world and literature” (Garrigós 19). 193

unequivocal stance against fascism. Relative to his political and cultural notes,

Borges’s short stories admittedly appear more nebulous when it comes to a firm political stance. However, these short stories are united through their diverse literary techniques and broader philosophical concerns, namely the true nature of reality, the relativity of time, the repeatability of history, and the pursuit of an order that ultimately governs the universe and everyone’s existence within it.

Given how broad these concerns are, it is unsurprising that Borges’s ficciones would lead to the perception of him as a relatively detached, apolitical literary figure, particularly in comparison to far more overt peers. Nevertheless, the generality of these philosophical concerns also underscores their applicability to humanity’s universal experience.

For instance, Borges rightfully reacted with horror to the rise of Hitler and the subsequent destruction of Germany, and his fear was exacerbated by the corresponding spread of fascism in Argentina, which revealed that the spread of ideological hatred is indifferent to physical distances. This revelation undoubtedly inspired Borges’s ficciones, which provided him with infinitely greater artistic license than his non-fiction essays. Thus, whereas Borges’s political and cultural essays revealed the world’s bleak reality, as he perceived it, his ficciones simultaneously alluded to the world’s harsh realities and its utopian possibilities.

In short, Borges’s ficciones enable him to engage with anti-fascist sentiment on an deeper level, as several of the principal concerns associated with fascism addressed in his political essays, including hatred, censorship, oppression, and nationalism, are interwoven throughout his short stories. Through diverse literary

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techniques, including the aforementioned intertextuality, along with various methods associated with the fantastic genre, Borges underscores the fallacy of fascism and promotes a world governed by culture and progress, rather than ignorance and destruction.

Some of Borges’s most famous ficciones belong to the genre of lo fantástico, or the fantastic genre, which preceded and is distinct from magical realism.176 At the same time, lo fantástico, coupled with other literary devices, also permits a significant degree of optimism in Borges’s works, as the genre’s very nature offers the possibility of envisioning diverse representations of human existence: “It can shift, slide, and transform itself over time and across cultures, and that as a literary genre it remains resistant to closure” (Duncan 3). Thus,

Borges has the freedom to create seemingly limitless possibilities, including utopias along with dystopias, within the confines of his ficciones, which highlights the liberating power of the human intellect and cultural development.177 For instance, given his resistance to extreme nationalism and imperialism, Borges

176 As Cynthia Duncan notes, magical realism “describes works that blend the magical with the real, but the precise meaning of the terms and its boundaries are far from stable entities in the world of ” (3); however, the fantastic “has perhaps been the most difficult concept to grasp … the slippery nature of the fantastic is part of what defines it as a genre, and any attempt to confine it to a set of marked characteristics inevitably leads to more confusion and debate” (3). Brian Stableford also characterizes the works of Borges and as fantastic, while noting the distinction between lo fantástico in their works as opposed to magical realism in other writers’ works: “These native traditions came into full flower in the 1940s, when the Argentinian Jorge Luis Borges, his associate Adolfo Bioy Casares, and their countryman Julio Cortázar produced much of their seminal work. They were followed by the Colombian Gabriel García Márquez, the Peruvian , the Mexicans and , the Cuban , the Argentinian Enrique Anderson Imbert, and the Brazilian Paulo Coelho. The purportedly distinctive manner of their use of the fantastic came to be characterized as ” (240). 177 Borges’s “Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote” also alludes directly to an individual’s limitless possibilities: “Up to this point … we have the visible part of Menard’s works in chronological order. Now I will pass over to that other part, which is subterranean, interminably heroic, and unequalled, and which is also—oh, the possibilities inherent in the man!—inconclusive” (48). 195

often creates worlds devoid of barriers and boundaries, which would diminish divisions between different groups of people.178 In addition, Borges frequently manipulates common conceptions of time for various reasons, from underscoring the repetition and subsequent commonality of human tragedy to offering humanity the chance of redemption. In short, the creative output of Borges’s psyche underscores the eternal necessity of culture, philosophy, and literature, particularly during times when barbarism seems to pervade all aspects of social and political life. Not only can creative and intellectual production draw attention to a given age’s worst social ills, but it can also serve to show the possibilities for humanity that exist outside of chaos and destruction.

To this day, the fantastic genre can remain controversial in literary scholarship, namely since it eludes a precise definition, as “critics have engaged in an ongoing dialogue for the past fifty years about what the fantastic is, what function it has in literature, and what relationship it has to our notions of real”

(Duncan 3). At the same time, the absence of a precise definition also enables scholars to analyze Borges’s ficciones from an array of perspectives and arrive at a variety of conclusions. In other words, Borges’s ficciones offer the type of limitless possibility that fascism’s limiting insularity does not. As Carter Wheelock notes, “Borges’s best-known fiction is ostensibly this kind of game-playing, but it has a purpose” (373).179 A major purpose of this “game-playing” is to encourage

178 Duncan also notes, “Clearly, the fantastic is a kind of writing that strains against boundaries and yet doubles back on itself to reconfigure old ideas in new ways. This is part of its appeal” (4). 179 Duncan seconds Wheelock’s thoughts, noting, “the implied reader is required to be a critical thinker; he must distinguish between what is possible and what is not; and, as the scholarly details offered in the texts become more and more improbable, he must question the validity of what he has been reading … whether the implied reader ultimately chooses to believe or 196

the reader to consistently question, just like Borges himself did, the true nature of reality and unreality, particularly in an unstable, violent world that seems torn between barbarism and civilization. From a cultured, humanist standpoint, the fascist dominance exemplified by the Nazi Party, the Peronist regime, and other authoritarian dictatorships represents an unreal world, one irrationally dedicated to the destruction of humanity on a literal and metaphorical level. Nevertheless,

Borges’s writings compel his readers to consider the dystopian horror of a world utterly dominated by fascist regimes and committed to cultural destruction, rather than production, as such considerations reveal the ongoing, dynamic struggle between civilization and barbarism.180 Thus, analyzing politically charged stories within the context of fantastical optimism will shed new light on the true depth of

Borges’s contributions. Through his ficciones, Borges not only contributed immensely to literary production, but he also demonstrated the world’s irreplaceable, ongoing need for cultural production to counteract barbaric forces that seek to destroy civilization.

Thus, examining intersections of fascism and fiction, as well as literary innovation and potential optimism, in Borges’s short stories, particularly within the context of his political notes, illuminates his evolution as a writer and an

disbelieve, the incongruities in the texts remain and open up to multiple ways of reading and understanding the material contained within” (83). 180 Judith B. Kerman also notes the value of fantastic literature when it comes to questioning reality and seemingly unthinkable human atrocities: “In the face of issues of such difficulty and human urgency, is an inadequate category and realistic strategies falter … Yet we must, by whatever means are available to us, attempt answers to the unspeakable questions posed by the Nazi Holocaust. Sometimes … the fantastic can provide serviceable approaches, however partial, to this crucial undertaking” (29-30). 197

antifascist.181 Specifically, Borges began his antifascist writings with non-fiction political and cultural commentaries regarding antisemitism, and he expanded greatly upon these concerns in his fictional short stories. Thus, this chapter will illustrate Borges’s ongoing concern with fascism, as well as underscore how his fantastic short stories reveal the power that literature has to infuse human existence with brightness, namely by detailing a host of other possibilities.

Borges himself has alluded to how optimism can manifest itself in these varied depictions: “If we assume that the world is a will of representation, why should the will be condemned to dream nightmares, why not let it dream utopias or happy too?” (qtd. in Salinas, Liberty 36).182 In other words, Borges recognizes and appreciates the imaginative power of fiction, namely in its ability to reveal possibilities that extend beyond the bleak dreariness of newspaper headlines.

Renowned writer J.R.R. Tolkien offers additional insight into the significance of the fantastic in his 1947 essay, “On Fairy Stories,” namely when he details the advantages that adults can realize upon reading fantasies, including “a rediscovery of the ordinary world” (Sandner 20). As summarized by

Sandner, Tolkien believes “the presence of the fantastic in fairy-stories offers three things: Recovery, Escape, and Consolation” (20); specifically, “the world of ordinary perception imprisons, and the fantastic, through Recovery, enables an

181 As Fridman notes, “Borges’s literary way of thinking derives from a pallet that provides him with intense colors to delineate the tonalities and nuances of the impolitical dimension … he radicalizes politics to reflect on the obscure consequences behind political representation” (191). 182 Carter Wheelock has also noted how lo fantástico permits Borges to demonstrate a great range of optimism in his writing: “Of all the contemporary writers in Spanish America, the majority of whom see the world and society from a negative and questioning view, Borges is perhaps the one who best fulfills the traditional function of literature—to uplift and inspire” (379). 198

Escape into Consolation” (21). For this reason, it is particularly interesting that

Tolkien’s 1947 essay declares that “fantasy remains a human right” (qtd in

Nicolay 97), and one can certainly perceive elements of recovery, escape, and consolation in Borges’s work. Through his ficciones, Borges can portray the world not only as it is, but also as it could and should be. Borges’s worlds shy away from ideological and national divisions and invite the ongoing exploration of the perspectives derived from a diverse array of human experiences, which is clear from his copious intertextuality from a wide range of sources, including allusions to the Jewish, Christian, and Muslim faiths alongside references to various writers and philosophers. Through effectively blurring the boundaries between seemingly distinct religious and philosophical beliefs, Borges ficciones also reveal the commonalities, rather than the differences, that bind human experiences, further illustrating how the “the fantastic, through estrangement, allows a rediscovery of the ordinary world” (Sandner 20). Given that “the Other” is virtually always characterized by difference, Borges’s short stories arguably destroy the artificial limits imposed on “the Other” by temporal institutions and further underscore the fallacy of fascism.

To demonstrate Borges’s ongoing concern with fascism not only in his political notes, but also in his ficciones, this chapter will examine how Borges employs lo fantástico, as well as innovative literary techniques, including intertextuality, in four short stories: “Deutsches Requiem,” “The Secret Miracle,”

“The Feast of the Monster,” and “The End.” “Deutsches Requiem” and “The

Secret Miracle,” which represent the initial stages of Borges’s antifascism in

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fiction, focus specifically on the Nazi regime and antisemitism. “Deutsches

Requiem,” which is told from the first-person perspective of an unrepentant Nazi,

Otto zur Linde, envisions the direct result of Hitler’s fascist regime, namely a world devoid of culture and laden hatred and violence. Despite Otto’s earlier cultural education, he ultimately symbolizes the violent barbarism of the Nazi regime. “The Secret Miracle,” which is told from the third-person perspective of a condemned Jewish writer, Hladík, serves as a corollary to “Deutsches Requiem” by indirectly revealing the incalculable amount of cultural production that never reached fruition under the Nazi regime. Thus, Hladík, in addition to representing

Jewish culture, also symbolizes intellectual civilization, or the literary and cultural production that the Nazi regime sought to destroy. Given that Borges strongly supports civilization over barbarism, he incorporates far more dreamlike, fantastic elements in “The Secret Miracle” relative to “Deutsches Requiem.” This incorporation reveals Borges’s desire to utilize lo fantástico to create brighter, limitless possibilities against the darkest contexts, specifically by promoting civilization over barbarism. This desire is further apparent when considering

Borges’s different treatment of both narrators: whereas the Otto does not seek nor receive redemption, Hladík does seek and receive redemption. Overall,

“Deutsches Requiem” and “The Secret Miracle” form an intriguing binary, in that both reveal the horrors of Nazi Germany, albeit from different perspectives.

Borges creates a similar dichotomy with “The Feast of the Monster” and

“The End,” which focus primarily on the Peronist regime. Interestingly, both stories involve Borges’s rewriting, or refashioning, of two classic nineteenth-

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century Argentinian texts: “The Feast of the Monster” and “The End” use Esteban

Echevarría’s “The Slaughterhouse” and José Hernández’s Martín Fierro as hypertexts, respectively. “The Feast of the Monster,” which was co-written with

Adolfo Bioy Casares,183 takes place in a Peronist Buenos Aires that shares frightening similarities with Nazi Germany, including a dependence on violent mobs and an aversion to independent thought. Unlike Borges’s other short stories, “The Feast of the Monster” is fairly violent, particularly when the Peronist mob murders a Jewish intellectual for refusing to participate blindly in jingoistic behavior. While “The End” is less overtly anti-Peronist than “The Feast of the

Monster,” a close analysis reveals its opposition to the Perón regime, as well as its consideration of broader concerns, including interracial conflicts and silent witnesses. Furthermore, “The End” also incorporates more dreamlike, eternal elements, including time’s infinite repeatability; much like “The Secret Miracle” opened with a long-running chess game, “The End” also features an ongoing, seemingly endless duel between two well-known figures from nineteenth-century

Argentinian literature. Specifically, the guitarist’s triumph over Martín Fierro, in full view of the silent witness Recabarren, challenges the classic assumption of

Martín Fierro as the personification of Argentine culture, or Fierro as he is portrayed in the nineteenth-century, eponymously named epic poem, Martín

Fierro. In addition, Recabarren also represents a strong counterpoint to the gaucho Martín Fierro, in that he embodies the tenets of civilization. Thus, “The

183 Adolfo Bioy Casares, like Borges, is an Argentinian writer who wrote many fantastic tales, notably The Invention of Morel, and he became a close friend of Borges after meeting him at the home of , the founder of Sur. Their friendship “would be recognized as a landmark in Bioy’s literary career” (Lockhart 31). 201

Feast of the Monster” and “The End” reveal that Borges not only remained consistently opposed to fascism throughout his life, but he also remained a staunch advocate of literature and culture’s irreplaceability in an unstable world that often defies rationality.

Overall, these four ficciones share a variety of similarities and differences in a number of different ways, from historical context to literary techniques.

“Deutsches Requiem” and “The Secret Miracle” have been grouped together due to their setting in Nazi Germany, and “The Feast of the Monster” and “The End” have been paired due to their setting in Peronist Argentina. However, clear intersections also exist between all four stories. “Deutsches Requiem” and “The

Feast of the Monster,” particularly in terms of their first-person narration, which allows the reader to explore the mental anatomy of a German Nazi and a

Peronist thug, respectively. Furthermore, “The Secret Miracle” and “The End” are also similar due to their inclusion of a seemingly eternal, infinitely repeatable duel. Aside from these intersections, all four stories reveal the constant tension of an ongoing metaphorical duel between civilization and barbarism, or human progress or decline. Analyzing these stories in the context of their political significance and fantastical possibilities will shed new light on the true depth of

Borges’s contributions as a writer, as he not only also arguably served as one of the most visible antifascists in Argentina, but he also demonstrated the world’s irreplaceable need for culture, the natural outcome of intellectual development, to counteract barbaric forces that seek to destroy civilization.

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“Deutsches Requiem” (“Deutsches Requiem”) (1946): A Diabolical

Perspective from the Intellectual Nazi

“Deutsches Requiem” is easily one of Borges’s most controversial short stories. Originally published in the February 1946 edition of Sur and later published in the collected short stories of El Aleph (1949), the story’s narration features the first-person perspective of a convicted Nazi war criminal, Otto

Dietrich zur Linde, who is set to face execution the following day. In his final hours, Otto details his tragic transformation from an adroit scholar, who is well- versed in nineteenth-century German culture, to a top Nazi lieutenant, who is indifferent to his violent cruelty. The story concludes on an arguably bleak note, given that Otto expresses no remorse for his actions and warns that Nazi

Germany prefigures the future of the world. Given this ending, Aizenberg notes that it is only natural for several critics to wonder, “how could Borges, whose anti-

Nazi credentials were impeccable, have created such a hero and allowed him such articulate free reign?” (Edge 18).184 Nevertheless, recalling that a major purpose of Borges’s ficciones is to test the limits of one’s immediate reality and envision previously unforeseen perspectives, Borges’s choice of narrator is less shocking, particularly since the complete absence of any remorse throughout the narration reveals Nazism as morally repugnant.

184 Aizenberg also notes scholars who are even “more accusatory,” including Annick Louis, who initially asserted that “Borges plays with a justification of Nazism,” though she “pulled back somewhat from her position” years later (Edge 18). On the other hand, other scholars, including Ramsey Lawrence, believe that this particular story “has been widely misunderstood … and is neither a justification of Nazism nor the explication of criminal violence” (119). 203

Despite the criticism surrounding the narrator, Otto is arguably a microcosm of Germany’s devastating about-face from the nineteenth to the twentieth century. Specifically, Otto’s immersion in the arts and humanities in his earlier years illustrates his sensitivity and intelligence. Furthermore, the younger

Otto symbolizes nineteenth-century Germany, a center of intellectual development that promoted human progress, not only within German culture, but also within the global humanities. While Otto joins the Nazi Party in 1929, he does not undergo a psychopathic transformation until his hospitalization a decade later, when he realizes that his violent destiny has already been predetermined; thus, this realization which represents not only a major turning point in Otto’s life, but also in Germany’s destiny. Two years after Otto’s hospitalization, he becomes a subdirector of a concentration camp, where he demonstrates extreme cruelty and never once shows any regret. At this point, he embodies the hyper violence and hatred of twentieth-century Germany, which fascist Germans demonstrated. Most troublingly, Otto proclaims that Germany’s ideology of hatred and violence will remain globally influential long after the war has ended. In other words, a nation that spearheaded the progress of humanity has transformed into a nation that catalyzes the destruction of humanity. Just as

Otto allowed all his humanity to be destroyed, so did Germany. Thus, despite its polemical nature, “Deutsches Requiem” serves as a cautionary tale by ultimately underscoring the true dangers of the Germanophiles and other like-minded groups, or those who have, wittingly or unwittingly, eschewed thoughtful individuality in favor of jingoistic violence.

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In the story’s opening lines, Otto implicitly reveals that Germany has lost the Second World War when he explicitly announces his impending demise, namely that he is “to be shot as a torturer and murderer” and subsequently propelled into “the realms of death” the following day, “by the time the prison clock strikes nine” (62). Since Otto has been tried and convicted for , it is clear that the war has ended. Despite his imminent execution, Otto has “no desire to be pardoned,” given that he feels “no guilt,” but he does “wish to be understood” (62-63). He justifies this desire by arguing that his personal story foreshadows not only the future of Germany, but also the future of the world: “Those who heed my words shall understand the history of

Germany and the future history of the world” (63). In other words, as horrific as

Otto’s transformation into a psychopathic Nazi is, he ultimately believes that his own life’s trajectory is not unique. Instead, he asserts that his path merely foreshadows the paths of countless others, who will follow in his metaphorical footsteps. Anticipating the incredulity of his readership, Otto explicitly states, “I know that cases such as mine, exceptional and shocking now, will very soon be unremarkable. Tomorrow I shall die, but I am a symbol of the generations to come” (63). After establishing himself as an omen for future global destruction,

Otto then launches into an abbreviated overview of his life, illuminating his tragic transformation from a young man passionate about music and philosophy into a coldhearted Nazi impervious to death and destruction, which parallels Germany’s transformation from a center of culture to a center of destruction.

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After informing the reader about his impending death, Otto begins his narrative by recalling his previous interest in the arts and humanities, providing insight into his intelligence and sensitivity. Otto “was born in Marienburg in 1908”

(63), and he recalls “two passions, music and metaphysics,” allowing him to face

“many terrible years with bravery and even happiness” (63). Otto recognizes the darkness that often cloaks various aspects of life, yet his pure enjoyment of music and metaphysics enables him to also see the beauty and brightness of life, thereby providing him with steadfast courage and occasional happiness. Otto also alludes to fairly extensive erudition, namely when he says, “I cannot list all my benefactors” (63), implying his familiarity with several works and underscoring his intellectual development. In other words, Otto clearly devoted a large percentage of his time to studying philosophy and listening to music, which in turn influenced his response to the surrounding world. Given that the humanities seek to elevate the human race and its intellectual progress, Otto’s initial immersion in the humanities also provides a sharp contrast to the man he becomes after succumbing to the violent ideology of the Nazi Party, whose objectives are diametrically opposed to those of the humanities. Otto himself alludes to this transformation: “I wish anyone who is held in awe and wonder, quivering with tenderness and gratitude, transfixed by some passage in the work of those blessed men—anyone so touched—to know that I too was once transfixed like them—I the abominable” (63). While Otto was once mesmerized by music, philosophy, and literature, he no longer felt “tenderness and gratitude” towards them in the final years of his life, revealing the correlation between his

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diminished passion for the humanities and increased indifference towards humanity’s suffering.

Otto’s references to “those blessed men,” or specific philosophers, underscore Germany’s progress in the humanities during the nineteenth century, which encouraged humanity’s progress and perfectibility on a global scale. The title of the short story itself is also an allusion to German music, as “Deutsches

Requiem” is derived from the classic work of German composer Johannes

Brahms:185 Opus 45, Ein deutsches Requiem (Buch 29). In terms of influential philosophers, while “theology had held some interest” (63) for him, Otto recalls being “forever turned from that fantastic discipline (and from Christianity) by

Schopenhauer with his direct arguments and Shakespeare and Brahms with the infinite variety of their worlds” (63). This line marks the first point in the story wherein Otto reveals his agnosticism, though his rejection of organized religion ironically does not obviate his participation in the Nazi Party. Furthermore, Otto’s references to specific, well-known writers and philosophers reveal the extent of nineteenth-century Germany’s influence on humanity’s intellectual development.

For instance, “Schopenhauer’s originality is enormous; it was he who radically challenged the philosophy of the logos that had existed since the Greeks … his influence extends to the whole of subsequent German, indeed European intellectual history” (Hösle 129). In addition, Otto also becomes immersed in the philosophy of Spengler and Nietzsche. Nietzsche is particularly well-known, and he “is widely acknowledged as a seminal thinker in 19th century philosophy and

185 was also Borges’s favorite classical composer (Bell-Villada 201). 207

greatly influenced the literature and art of the time” (zu Solms-Laubach xi).

However, given Nietzsche’s nihilism, he was considered “the most eloquent modern spokesman for warlike values and ruthlessness” (Bell-Villada 199). For this reason, Otto’s immersion with the works of Nietzsche in particular is significant, given that the themes of Nietzsche’s works, among other philosophers’, were twisted to serve the perverse aims of the Nazi Party.186

Tragically, when fascist regimes can appropriate leading thinkers’ words and reinterpret them, however superficially, as a justification the sadistic violence, philosophy can be used as a tool of universal destruction, rather than elevation.

Furthermore, repurposing philosophy to serve perverse aims can also help recruit intelligent individuals to serve in the upper tiers of fascist regimes, just as

Otto eventually does.

While Otto joins the Nazi Party in 1929, he is still strongly influenced by the humanities, which may be why his most sadistic actions do not take place until several years later, after his hospitalization. Thus, he provides little insight into the early years of his “apprenticeship” (64) as a Nazi, aside from stating that this early period was more difficult for him than others: “[These years] were harder for me than for many others, for in spite of the fact that I did not lack valor,

I felt no calling for violence” (64). In fact, Otto experiences violence before perpetuating it himself, namely when he is shot twice and has to have his leg amputated on March 1, 1939. While in the hospital, Otto tries to lose himself in

186 Hitler became acquainted with Nietzsche’s works while in prison, years before he ruled Germany, and on December 11, 1941, Hitler delivered a speech declaring war on the United States and “quoting the mythic notion of ‘blood sacrifice’, which he was adamant came directly from his reading of Nietzsche” (Sherratt 27). 208

the words of Schopenhauer during his hospitalization: “I was in that sedentary hospital, trying to lose myself, forget myself, in the books of Schopenhauer” (64).

The phrases “lose myself” and “forget myself” are telling, indicating Otto’s potential efforts to re-acquaint himself with the individual he once was, particularly after experiencing violence firsthand; they also indicate his uncertainty about who he is and where he is headed. At the same time, Otto seems to realize his ultimate path on a subconscious level: “On the windowsill slept a massive, obese cat—the symbol of my vain destiny” (64). At this juncture in the story, the cat is a significant omen, as Otto believes it symbolizes the futility of trying to control his future.187

After succumbing to violent predestination, Otto becomes increasingly sadistic as the story progresses, particularly after he “was made subdirector of the Tarnowitz concentration camp” (65), and most notably with his torture of

David Jerusalem, a prisoner in the Tarnowitz concentration camp. From Otto’s viewpoint, Jerusalem is reminiscent of Walt Whitman, particularly since

Jerusalem “consecrated his genius to hymns of happiness” and took “delight in every small thing” (65-66). Otto subsequently cannot stand Jerusalem since

Jerusalem reminds him of the person he used to be, and rather than regress back to this person, Otto torments Jerusalem to the point where “he went insane” and “succeeded in killing himself” (66). While Otto is unapologetically cruel, he

187 Borges deliberately inserts this symbol at this point in the story to draw a clear analogy between the wounded, physically restricted zur Linde and the lethargic, physically limited cat; neither one is capable of escaping his respective destiny (Fine & Blaustein 107). 209

does admit that he caused Jerusalem’s self-destruction as a mode of destroying every last vestige of compassion that he has:

I do not know whether Jerusalem understood that if I destroyed him, it was

in order to destroy my own compassion. In my eyes, he was not a man,

not even a Jew; he had become a symbol of a detested region of my soul.

I suffered with him, I died with him, I somehow have been lost with him;

that was why I was implacable. (66-67)

Amazingly, Otto utilizes Nietzsche’s philosophy to justify this horrific act, namely when he recalls “compassion on the part of the superior man is Zarathustra’s ultimate sin” (65). By citing one of Nietzsche’s most well-known works, Otto indicates not only the depth of his erudition, but also how the Nazi regime manipulated nineteenth-century philosophy to justify its murderous aims. In short, surviving works from nineteenth-century German culture were only valuable to the Nazis if they could be interpreted in such a way to provide justification for the

Nazi Party and its actions.

As disturbing as Otto’s transformation into an unrepentant Nazi is, one of the most troubling aspects of the story is that Otto’s journey mirrors the downward path of Germany itself from the nineteenth to the twentieth century, underscoring the devastating outcome of succumbing to ideological hatred. For instance, despite the then-absence of a desire for violence when he initially joined the Nazi Party, Otto ultimately believes that this desire must be a natural outcome of the new ideology that has begun to govern Germany. Furthermore, this ideology’s spread is contingent on the absence of true individuality, which is

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clear when Otto details his contrasting views of his Nazi colleagues: “As individuals, my comrades were odious to me; I strove in vain to convince myself that for the high cause that had brought us all together, we were not individuals”

(64). This line is perhaps one of the most compelling examples to illustrate how

Otto’s story mirrors the story of several other Germans. Specifically, illuminates the influence of the Nazi regime on an individual’s mentality; the regime’s very survival was contingent on people who followed orders and didn’t ask questions, regardless of how increasingly horrific and publicized the regime’s practices became. In other words, critical thinking, alternative beliefs, and contrary opinions, along with any other hallmark of distinct individuality, would threaten the Nazis.188 Otto does not regret allowing his individual identity to become subsumed by the Nazis, and he reinforces this position in the story’s ending: “We have given something more than our lives; we have given the life of our beloved nation” (68). Thus, Otto has no regrets about his participation in the Nazi regime, especially since he believes that Germany will serve as a guide to other nations in the near-future.

Most disturbingly, Otto also suggests that Germany’s transformation is not unique among nations; instead, Germany represents what several nations may well become in the near-future. Borges foreshadows this development himself when he refers to Germany as “the universal mirror that receives all others—the conscience of the world” in a footnote (63). In other words, Germany is not

188 Moritz Föllmer challenges this position to a degree in a lengthy journal article, though he points out the statement following statement “could have figured in many speeches, tracts, or newspaper articles”: “In our nation the priority is not on the individual and what benefits him but on the common good, the Volk and Germany. We are responsible for future generations” (61). 211

exceptional in its brutality, and since the nation serves as a “universal mirror,” its violence merely reflects the conscience of “all others.” Just as nineteenth-century

German culture left a permanent influence on philosophy and the arts, twentieth- century German fascism left an indelible mark on international politics and human relations. Otto realizes “we were on a threshold of a new age, and that new age, like the first years of Islam or Christianity, demanded new men” (64).

Otto’s analogy of the “new age” with Islam and Christianity is compelling, as it likens the Nazi Party to a global development, not a localized movement; in other words, just as Islam and Christianity pervaded the planet, so will the hatred of the

Nazi Party. Otto reaffirms this position near the end of his confession, remarking,

“Nazism is intrinsically a moral act, a stripping away of the old man, which is corrupt and depraved, in order to put on the new” (65). Thus, despite Germany’s loss in World War II, the nation ultimately won in terms of the spread of its violent ideology. As Otto notes at the story’s end, “What does it matter that England is the hammer and we the anvil? What matters is that violence, not servile

Christianity, now rules” (68). Alicia Borinsky also echoes this sentiment, namely when she mentions that Otto believes “because its enemies have adopted

Germany’s own methods of violence, Germany has in fact won despite its defeat, though the victors do not know it” (91-92). In that sense, Germany arguably serves as a potential microcosm for the world in the same way that Otto serves as a microcosm for Germany.

“Deutsches Requiem” understandably makes several readers feel uneasy, not only due to its disturbing first-person narration, but also due to the largely

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ambiguous ending, which seems to accept violence as the new norm on a global stage. However, this uneasiness underscores Borges’s skill as a writer in conveying such a disturbing viewpoint; as unpalatable as the truth may be, several individuals allowed themselves to become Nazi Party adherents, and these individuals included several intelligent people who attempted to rationalize the regime’s horrific actions. As troubling as Otto’s account is, it is also representative of the mentality of an entire regime, not an individual’s, which he makes explicitly clear early in his commentary. Furthermore, Otto does not seem terribly distressed about his execution as he feels no guilt, and he also believes that Germany has ultimately won the war, despite losing the battle of World War

II. The “new age” detailed by Otto is not one restricted to Germany; instead, it may merely have been conceived in Germany and destined to spread elsewhere.

In that regard, Germany is a small representation of the fate that could befall several nations, just as Otto is of the Nazi regime.

Nevertheless, it is important not to conflate Borges’s beliefs with Borges’s narrator in “Deutsches Requiem,” as Borges clearly desired for Hitler to lose the war. He made this point abundantly clear in his own political commentaries, and he also reinforced this position after writing “Deutsches Requiem.” Aizenberg recalls Borges’s own note in the epilogue to El Aleph, wherein he explicitly states, “In the last war no one wished more than I did for Germany to be defeated; no one felt more than I did Germany’s tragic fate. ‘Deutsches Requiem’ tries to understand that fate which our so-called Germanophiles, who know nothing about Germany, couldn’t mourn, much less foresee” (qtd. in Edge 18).

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Recognizing the dangerous influence of Argentinian Germanophiles is particularly important during this time period, considering the numerous Jews who fled to Argentina to escape Nazi Germany.189 Borges found the

Germanophiles problematic enough due to their dearth of knowledge regarding

German culture and history, and he considered their mentality akin to the Nazis’, who preferred physical violence over human progress. Given the increased flood of Jews into Buenos Aires, later followed by several Nazis, Borges’s sense of fear regarding Argentina’s future becomes even more understandable.190

The significance of “Deutsches Requiem” can also be appreciated within the context of “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius,” which was published six years earlier in Sur. This short story is often considered “to be Borges’s most complex, abstract, and hermetic short story, but it is also a literary allegory about the rise of Nazism” (Kristal, “Jorge” 356), an allegory that Borges made far more explicit in “Deutsches Requiem.” Specifically, near the end of “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis

Tertius,” Borges points out the willingness of humanity to accept any system that appears orderly, including the Nazi regime: “Ten years ago, any symmetrical system whatsoever which gave the appearance of order—dialectical materialism,

189 The number of Jews in Argentina steadily increased over the course of three decades: “According to Sergio Della Pergola, one of the leading authorities in the demography of the Jewish people, the number of Jews in Argentina grew from 14,700 to 191,400 in 1930, reaching 273,400 at the end of World War II, and a peak of 310,000 in the early 1960s” (Lesser and Rein 10). 190 Borges was well-justified in his fears, given the events that unfolded in Argentina years later. Aside from the dictatorial regime of Perón, other forms of state-sanctioned violence during Videla’s reign: “Argentina’s own rendezvous with the empire of force can be described, in the peculiar, already canonical language of post-Holocaust Western thought, as an event of radical evil. For almost a decade, the Argentine state used its monopoly to secretly kidnap, torture, and eventually kill tens of thousands of Argentines. We Argentines even coined our own word for them: desaparecidos” (Böhmer 89-90). 214

anti-Semitism, Nazism—was enough to fascinate men. Why not fall under the spell of Tlön and submit to the minute and vast evidence of an ordered planet?”

(34). In other words, Tlön had become universally appealing, and people were

“more than ready to embrace such an idealizing system, eager to accept the absolutist ideals of Tlön” (J. Clark 78). Accepting absolutist beliefs would superficially eliminate ongoing uncertainty regarding significant existential questions, though the clear caveat is the strong correlation between absolutism and intolerance, including nihilistic intolerance.

Despite how unreal Nazi Germany seems in hindsight, countless individuals permitted themselves to buy into the Nazis’ version of absolute order, including its absolute intolerance. Given how Otto details the ease with which he aligned himself with the Nazi regime, it is clear that the inhabitants of Borges’s invented Tlön are not remarkably different than German citizens under Hitler’s dominion. This analogy is even clearer considering one of the final lines of “Tlön,

Uqbar, Orbis Tertius”: “Then, English, French, and mere Spanish will disappear from this planet. The world will be Tlön” (35). If “Germany” were to replace “Tlön” in this line, then the quote would encapsulate the same objectives of the Nazi

Party. Specifically, the Nazis sought to mandate a monolithic existence that would destroy all forms of diversity not only throughout Germany, but also throughout the entire world. Such a conquering would certainly involve the elimination of different languages, as well as anything else that did not align with their horrific vision.

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Furthermore, “Tlön, Uqbar, Tertius Orbis” also includes brief commentary regarding the distinction between divine laws and other laws; since reality is governed by divine laws, its order is always just out of reach from human perception: “Useless to reply that reality, too, is ordered. It may be so, but in accordance with divine laws—I translate: inhuman laws—which we will never completely perceive” (34). In other words, in the absence of divine perception, humanity can only speculate as to the entire order of the universe, not have complete knowledge of it. Borges also alludes to this futility in “Deutsches

Requiem,” namely when he states, “there is no more cunning consolation than the thought that we have chosen our own misfortunes; that individual theology reveals a secret order, and in a marvelous way confuses ourselves with the deity” (65). In other words, people who believe they have acquired a complete understanding of the secret order underlying the universe can easily confuse themselves with deities, or entities well above any terrestrial reproach or justice.

In addition, confusing one’s self with a deity also leads one to believe others are inferior and inherently unequal, the precise beliefs espoused by the Nazi regime.

Nevertheless, the eagerness to perceive universal order in its entirety is a persistent hope shared among humanity, which is precisely why Tlön becomes an increasingly powerful presence throughout the world. Ultimately, its influence grows to the point that the world is now synonymous with Tlön, which is clear when Borges writes, “the ways of Tlön have disintegrated this world … Then,

English, French, and mere Spanish will disappear from this planet. The world will be Tlön” (34-35). In other words, Tlön gradually became influential to the point

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that it has overtaken the entire world, leaving no room for other languages or modes of interpretation. Thus, the ending section of “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius” is considered “a small, passing allusion to the diseased modern political and military events,” particularly since “the Nazi and Bolshevik triumphs in the 1930s and 1940s demonstrate only too badly that planet Earth does not need a Tlön to captivate us” (J. Clark 78). Thus, when considering “Tlön, Uqbar, Tertius Orbis” alongside “Deutsches Requiem,” it becomes clear that Borges has illuminated the reality of the “new age,” namely that humanity’s desperate pursuit of order, particularly during more areligious times, often carries the risk of accepting any system that appears orderly, even if it is one ultimately destructive to humanity.

“The Secret Miracle” (“El Milagro Secreto”) (1943): The Metaphorical

Salvation of the Condemned Jew

In several ways, “The Secret Miracle,” which was published in the

February 1943 edition of Sur, is a corollary to “Deutsches Requiem.”191 Both stories share a major thematic similarity: The number of the world’s future humanists and intellectuals is dwindling, while the number of fascist

Germanophiles and other likeminded groups is increasing. In addition, both stories also address the horrors of the Nazi regime, including its physical and symbolic destruction of humanity. Furthermore, both stories’ protagonists have been sentenced to death and face imminent execution. However, the narrative

191 Balderston notes that “El Milagro Secreto” is Borges’s “first story to deal explicitly with current events” (62), and he also keenly observes the story’s prescient nature: “One of the odder aspects of ‘El Milagro Secreto’ is the historical prescience that Borges expressed in it. The ‘final solution’ was not yet public knowledge, and within a few years Borges would write a curious story about the death camps, ‘Deutsches Requiem,’ the story of a camp leader. But Hladík’s story is that of the death of the Jewish people in Central Europe and of the end of Central Europe as an idea” (63). 217

perspectives of the protagonists differ: “Deutsches Requiem” is told from the limited, first-person perspective of a convicted Nazi, and “The Secret Miracle” is recounted from the omniscient, third-person perspective of a condemned Jew.

Thus, each story seemingly approaches similar conclusions from opposite angles: “Deutsches Requiem” alludes to the rising influence of fascist groups and ideological hatred through Otto, whereas “The Secret Miracle” illustrates the increasing absence of public intellectuals and universal morality through Hladík.

Nevertheless, “The Secret Miracle” also differs from “Deutsches Requiem” in that it incorporates a significantly greater degree of dreamlike unreality. Through this unreality, Borges simultaneously reveals the irrational barbarism of the Nazi regime and allows culture to triumph over barbarism through fictionally granting

Hladík a secret miracle.

Unlike Otto, a Nazi who is sentenced to death for crimes against humanity, Hladík is a writer sentenced to death for his Jewish ancestry. While he initially is horrified by his upcoming death, he becomes the most preoccupied with his unfinished drama, The Enemies, which is what causes him to pray desperately for a miracle. Specifically, Hladík pleads with God for just one more year so that he can complete The Enemies, and he is miraculously granted the time to finish the work just before he is executed. It is at this junction in the story that unreality supplants reality, as time freezes and enables Hladík to miraculously complete The Enemies just before he is shot. However, Borges challenges the nature of reality and unreality, considering that the circumstances surrounding Hladík’s execution, namely that he must die solely due to his Jewish

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ancestry and intelligence, are so absurd that the Nazi regime seems far more emblematic of an unreal, irrational world. Such a world seeks to destroy humanity on both a physical and symbolic level, and this dual destruction was perpetuated by the Nazis. Not only were countless lives lost during the Holocaust, but also innumerable unfulfilled ideas and unrealized contributions vanished alongside this loss. Within “The Secret Miracle,” Hladík serves as a microcosm for the countless Jewish intellectuals who senselessly lost their lives under the Nazi regime, as well as a symbol of the unreality of Hitler’s regime.192 Through humanization of Hladík, or “the Other” in Nazi Germany,193 Borges reveals the irrational fallacy of fascism and its accompanying practices, and he “tended to find himself on the right side of history, using his extraordinary writerly talent to strip away the façade of toxic political ideologies” (Myers 335).194 At the same time, Borges also infuses a degree of optimism in the story through unreality by metaphorically providing Hladík with enough time to complete his drama, thereby providing a metaphorical victory of culture over barbarism.

“The Secret Miracle” “is one of Borges’s most effective,” given that “within its range it suggests all that can be suggested” (Bell-Villada 91), particularly

192 It is important to recall that “Borges prefers to work on composites, seeking to define archetypal figures that represent not one single person but humanity as a whole” (Stavans, Borges 41), which means that Hladík is arguably a composite for several people senselessly sentenced to execution. 193 Borges included a diverse array of characters in his short stories, as noted by Evelyn Fishburn: “His Jewish characters adhere to no stereotype and include as much as peace- loving, bookish individuals. Though far from idealized, they are mostly sympathetically portrayed” (57). 194 Ilan Stavans also concurs with this point, indicating that Borges’s allegiance to the Jews not only underscored his strong character, but also helped define his literature’s purpose: “How is it that in an area where lo judío is often met with lo anti-judío, an ecosystem in which Jews have thrived for more than a century and a half yet have also met with a persistent, unabated anti- Semitic animus, comes along so influential and visionary a figure? The answer, perhaps, is that quality comes from contest. To be opposed gives literature a purpose” (Borges 6). 219

given its incorporation of dreamlike unreality from the story’s onset. The story’s opening epigraph features verse 2:26 from the Qur’an: “And God made him die during the course of a hundred years and then he revived him and said: ‘How long have you been here?’ ‘A day, or part of a day,’ he replied’” (143). This verse foreshadows the secret miracle that Hladík will experience later, and it also highlights Borges’s ongoing fixation on the nature and relativity of time, particularly from a divine, universal perspective. Shortly after this epigraph, the story’s first scene details one of Hladík’s dreams, wherein opponents in “a long drawn out chess game” had been participants for so long that “no one could any longer describe the forgotten prize,” and the dreamer but they also could not even remember “the rules of chess” (143). While a chess game might not immediately connote the Nazi regime, its fierce opponents, who symbolize the timelessness of human conflict, are familiar; thus, “Borges is setting the stage for a rivalry between Jews and Nazis as ancient as the world itself” (Stavans, Borges

65). This rivalry is particularly clear when considering Borges’s description of the opponents: “The antagonists were not two individuals, but two illustrious families.

The contest had begun many centuries before” (143). In other words, similar to

“Deutsches Requiem,” the absence of individuality is fundamental, as

“” is often what helps catalyze the most virulent ideologies and compel two opposing sides to fight each other until the death. Thus, from the story’s onset, it becomes clear that the relativity of time will play a fundamental role in the story’s development, particularly when considering that conflict between

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various groups of people has been a recurring theme of human history since time immemorial.195

After the opening dream sequence, Borges abruptly shifts back to Hladík’s present reality, wherein he underscores the ruthlessness of the Nazi regime.196

Hladík’s dream ends abruptly as “the armored vanguards of the Third Reich were entering Prague” (143), and he was subsequently arrested for his Jewish ancestry. Hladík knows he is “unable to refute a single one of the charges made by the Gestapo: his maternal was Jaroslavski, his blood was Jewish, his study of Boehme was Judaizing” (143-44). Furthermore, Hladík represents a major threat to the Nazi regime not only due to his Jewish ancestry, but also due to his intellect. Julius Rothe, “one of the officials in whose hands lay Hladík’s fate”

(144), examines Hladík’s of Sepher Yezirah, and this examination

“sufficed to convince Julius Rothe of Hladík’s pre-eminence, and of the need for the death penalty” (144). Thus, Hladík must not only face death due to his Jewish ancestry, but also due to his intelligence, underscoring the dedication of the Nazi regime to destroying every aspect of Jewish existence, along with other countless writings that span well beyond Jewish culture. Ironically, in an effort to appear rational, Hladík is due to be executed ten days after his arrest, which the

Nazis considered an extended period of time that would ostensibly demonstrate

195 Borges himself confirmed this conflict in a later interview; when asked if the “dream chess game” could be “symbolic of war, nation against nation, rather than individual against individual,” Borges replied, “yes, if you like. Yes. Perhaps war is less interesting than a game of chess” (Conversations 232). 196 Unlike “Deutsches Requiem,” which takes place in Germany, “The Secret Miracle” takes place in Prague, which Balderston identifies as an excellent choice of setting: “The bonds between the dangerous developments in Europe and the dangers at home … make the setting of Prague in 1939 a logical choice for a story on the rise of fascism, since, after the Anschluss … that city and that time were the first sites of German expansionism” (64). 221

the ability “of the authorities to act slowly and impersonally, in the manner of plants or vegetables” (144). Needless to say, Hladík does not consider this ten- day period a particularly long period of time. Thus, his first reaction to his sentencing is “simply one of horror” (144), particularly since he is doomed to execution by a firing squad, which he finds “unbearable” (144), particularly in comparison to “the gallows, the block, or the knife” (144).

After his sentencing, Hladík spends the next several days feeling a sense of unreality, and while he is initially the most preoccupied with his physical death, he ultimately becomes far more concerned with his incomplete drama. After he learns of his imminent death, Hladík mentally prepares himself for the physicality of dying, and he “did not grow weary of imagining these circumstances” (144); he mentally dies “hundreds of deaths, in courtyards whose shapes and angles defied geometry, shot down by changeable soldiers whose numbers varied and who sometimes put an end to him close up and sometimes far away” (144).

Throughout these mental exercises, Hladík “faced these imaginary executions with true terror (perhaps with true courage)” (144), and the reference to courage is intriguing, given that the young Otto in “Deutsches Requiem” recalled facing horrific years with bravery. However, by March 28, the night before his execution, he ultimately becomes the most preoccupied with his unfinished work, which he mistakenly thought he would have far more time to complete: “As the final sunset reverberated across the high barred windows, he was distracted from all these abject considerations by thought of his drama, The Enemies” (145). This preoccupation is especially acute, given Hladík’s realization of his unfair

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judgment of other writers; specifically, Hladík acknowledges that he judged others based on “their performance,” yet he “Asked that they measure him by what he conjectured or planned” (145). Recognizing this hypocrisy as his life nears an end, Hladík feels “anxious to redeem himself from his equivocal and languid past with his verse drama, The Enemies” (146). In other words, Hladík has mentally prepared himself for the physicality of dying, but he cannot bear the thought of leaving behind his unfinished play. While Hladík knows his time remaining is limited, he believes that he may have the chance to die peacefully if he is able to leave behind a complete record of his creativity and originality; while his body may vanish into oblivion, his originality and creativity will not. In essence, metaphysical death of his incomplete drama seems to be more unbearable to Hladík than the physical death of his body from firing squad, which is clear when he ultimately prays to God not to spare his body, but to spare his unfinished work.

While thinking “of the two acts still to do, and of his coming death” (147),

Hladík prays to God, and this prayer is what ultimately catalyzes the secret miracle that Hladík inexplicably experiences just before his execution. Hladík’s prayer underscores the connection between his personal identity and his unfinished drama: “If I exist at all … I exist as the author of The Enemies. In order to bring this drama, which may serve to justify me, to justify you, I need one more year. Grant me that year, You to whom belong the centuries and all time” (147).

In other words, Hladík’s existence is one that is contingent on his authorship of

The Enemies, which is a “tragicomedy of errors” (147), albeit a work that

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“embodied the possibility of redeeming (symbolically) the fundamental meaning of his life” (147). Hladík’s prayer also marks a critical juncture of the story, where reality becomes subsumed by unreality just hours later. After being prompted by two soldiers to leave his cell, Hladík descends downward “to an inner courtyard by a single iron stairway” (148) to the firing squad, where he “waited for the volley” (148) and “recalled, absurdly, the preliminary maneuvers of a photographer” (148). The word “absurdly” is key, as it brings to mind existentialist connotations and suggests that even though Hladík truly is facing the firing squad, the circumstances for this execution, namely his Jewish ancestry coupled with his intelligence, are incomprehensible. Furthermore, shortly after this recollection, two events occur concurrently: “The sergeant barked the final command … The physical universe stood still” (148). The word “physical” is significant, as it instantly signals the story’s crossroads: While the physical universe may stand still, time will not. Thus, it is at this moment in the story that

Hladík’s prayer has been answered; he has been granted an additional year to finish his drama.

Initially, Hladík experiences a sense of complete disorientation, though once he recognizes his prayer has been miraculously answered, he immediately sets forth on completing The Enemies. Shortly after Hladík’s physical surroundings freeze, he is struck by a barrage of simultaneous thoughts: “I’m in hell, I’m dead … I’ve gone mad … Time has come to a halt” (149). Interestingly,

Hladík initially confuses time with his physical surroundings; since “then men assigned to pull the triggers were immobile” (148) and “the sergeant’s arm

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eternalized an inconclusive gesture” (148), he believes that time must also have frozen. Yet “then he reflected that in that case, his thought, too, would have come to a halt” (149), and after this reflection, Hladík is overjoyed to realize that “God projected a secret miracle: German lead would kill him, at the determined hour, but in his mind a year would elapse between the command to fire and its execution” (149). Passing suddenly “from resignation to sudden gratitude” (149),

Hladík works rapidly, taking full advantage of the additional time he has been granted and disposing “of no document but his own memory” (149), underscoring the potential power of human intellect, even when devoid of other resources. In addition, Borges continues to stress the dichotomy between physical presence and symbolic existence: “Meticulous, unmoving, secretive, he wove his lofty invisible labyrinth in time” (149). Hladík may not physically move at all, but his mind continues to operate in a different realm, finishing a work that Hladík’s spirit requires finishing before his body and mind meet a physical death. Ironically, given that his physical surroundings are frozen, Hladík experiences “no circumstances to constrain him” (150), illuminating greater intellectual freedom in

Borges’s unreal fantasy than in the Nazis’ real world. The only aspect remaining for Hladík to complete his story is “a single epithet” (150), and once he finds it,

“the drop of water slid down his cheek” (150), and the physical universe no longer stands still. Hladík physically dies from “a quadruple blast” (150), but he metaphorically completes the drama that symbolizes his spirt and identity before his body and mind cease to exist.

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While Hladík dies satisfied, the reader is also left to wonder about the nature of unreality and reality, particularly since both figure prominently into the story. While many of Borges’s stories fuse unreality and reality, “The Secret

Miracle” is particularly adept at this fusion, given that “fantasy and reality are flawlessly blended, evenly balanced, with each element maintaining as intense and convincing a level as the other” (Bell-Villada 91). Thus, much like “Deutsches

Requiem,” within the framework of “The Secret Miracle,” “Borges permitted himself to ponder, in his dream-like fictional mode, the terrifying prospect of a

Nazi triumph against the civilized world, culminating in the possible eradication of the Jews” (Myers 337). This rumination is even more compelling given that both fantasy and reality are equally plausible in “The Secret Miracle”; after all, the

Nazi’s potential triumph over the civilized world would seem completely irrational, yet a very real threat of that existed. Since this travesty occurred just after a time of great development in the humanities, such a regime’s dominance and influence appear even more unreal. Against this setting, Borges’s fantastic world, appears equally as plausible as the existence of the Nazi regime. Furthermore,

Borges’s world is certainly preferable, given that his world would not involve the destruction of books or the elimination of an entire group’s presence and influence. The Nazis, on the other hand, made a concentrated effort to purge

Jewish contributions to the arts and sciences, which brings to mind the “Purifiers” in Borges’s “The Library of Babel,” or those who condemned “entire bookshelves to destruction,” resulting in “the senseless loss of millions of books” (84-85).

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Thus, Borges demonstrates that the Nazis not only destroyed humanity on a physical level, but also on a symbolic level.

At the same, elements of lo fantástico enable Borges to infuse his fiction with some optimism in spite of their dark context. Borges himself likely feels an affinity with Hladík, as “the story’s plot corresponds to the basic pattern of

Borges’s existence in the 1940s: the creative spirit isolated under harsh political circumstances, besieged by military violence and barbarism” (Bell-Villada 92).

Fortunately, creativity not only enables artistic creation and release, but above all, limitless possibility, which is precisely what Borges engineers in “The Secret

Miracle.” Through fictionally giving Hladík with enough time to complete his drama, culture triumphs over barbarism. In reality, it is likely that countless intellectuals died prematurely before completing their life’s work, and Borges attempts to provide them with redemption through his seemingly unreal fiction that embodies very real human desires. Hladík himself notes the importance of such unreality in fiction, which is why he prefers writing drama: “He favored the verse form in the theater because it prevents the spectators from forgetting unreality, which is the necessary condition of art” (146).

Borges himself incorporates unreality in his ficciones, ironically creating fantastic worlds that “may move the reader to look for something which cannot be found in the text” (Sandner 20). In a sense, Borges’s worlds may ironically appear more plausible than a world saturated with barbarism and extreme violence, the type of world promoted by the Nazi regime. In response to such an inconceivable human tragedy, Borges uses lo fantástico to encourage readers to

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imagine the possibilities that exist beyond the immediately observable, a particularly vital reminder during such dark times. While the Nazis may have appeared omnipotent for an extended period of time, they were eventually defeated by the Allied powers, which ended World War II. However, for Borges, times would become even darker after the war’s end. While a significant percentage of the world was embroiled in conflict during the final years of World

War II, fascism began steadily rising in Argentina, reaching its apex when Perón assumed power.

Borges, who began written critically about Nazi fascism during the 1930s, suddenly found himself living in a fascist regime within his own country, which must have appeared to be the ultimate “unreality,” particularly so recently after the horrors of Hitler’s regime. Tragically, Perón’s ascension mirrors the reality foreshadowed by Otto in “Deutsches Requiem”: Even if Germany loses, the ideology of violence has ultimately won. However, Borges did not give hope entirely, and he continued writing ficciones alongside his political commentaries, despite the grave risks he faced and the punishment he and his family endured.

Nevertheless, Borges realizes that complete silence reinforces a fascist regime’s power, and he refused to sit by idly while Argentina took a political turn for the worse. Thus, in addition to his scathing political commentaries on Argentina, he produced short stories that targeted Perón. Of these short stories, “The Feast of the Monster” and “The End” are the most intriguing, particularly given their varied approaches. “The Feast of the Monster” is a direct attack on Perón, which warranted its anonymous circulation, whereas “The End” appears to be a

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fantastic rewriting of Martín Fierro, though a close analysis reveals it to be perhaps an even more insidious attack on Perón.

“The Feast of the Monster” (“La Fiesta del Monstruo”) (1947): A Grotesque

Reimagining of “The Slaughterhouse” in Peronist Argentina

“The Feast of the Monster,” a satirical piece co-written by Borges and Bioy

Casares, or “Biorges,” is a bit unique from Borges’s other short stories. Originally written in 1947, the story was “circulated in typescript at the time, and finally published in Argentina for the first time in Nuevos cuentos de Bustos Domecq in

1977” (Boldy 39), or thirty years later,197 given its explicit, unambiguous criticism of Perón and his followers. This extended lapse between secrecy and publicity underscores the omnipresence of censorship during the Perón regime, an authoritarian policy that Borges sharply rebuked in Nazi Germany only to see it emerge in Buenos Aires just after the Second World War ended. Considered fairly violent and grotesque, “The Feast of the Monster” is “quite uncharacteristic of Borges’s other work, which is often praised for its ironic subtleties,” and its

“crude portrayals suggest the degree to which Borges viscerally rejected

Peronism” (Podalsky 41). This visceral rejection can be attributed to the fact that

Borges has firsthand experience with Peronist fascism. In addition to his direct conflicts with Perón, Borges was often “criticized by the Peronist intellectuals for

197 According to Juan Manuel Silva Barandica, “The Feast of the Monster” was first formally published in Uruguay in 1955: “Fue puesto en circulación de manera clandestina, hasta su posterior publicación en 1955 en el semanario uruguayo de izquierda Marcha, editado por Emir Rodríguez Monegal” (“It was clandestinely circulated until its 1955 publication in the Uruguayan weekly Marcha, edited by Emir Rodríguez Monegal; my trans; 132). However, the story would still have been circulated in complete anonymity for at least eight years. Furthermore, 1955 is also the same year that Perón left power for the first time, which is likely why even a publication outside Argentina would have been possible. 229

his supposed lack of nationalism” (De Castro 59),198 and how the Peronists define and enforce their version of nationalism in Argentina comprises the central concern of “The Feast of the Monster.”

Thus, “The Feast of the Monster” echoes a similar thematic concern of

Borges’s other writings: the deleterious effects of authoritarian jingoism.199

Specifically, through the setting of the story, the narration of the protagonist, and the ultimate execution of an innocent Jew, Borges illustrates the elements of fascism that defy spatial and temporal boundaries, including a mob mentality, extreme nationalism, and unapologetic brutality. The story is physically set in

Buenos Aires, but the psychological state of the Peronist mob is essentially synonymous with the public sentiment present throughout Nazi Germany or any other fascist regime. In addition, the story’s first-person narration offers Borges the opportunity to explore the seemingly unreal mentality of a Peronist follower, which is strongly reminiscent of his exploration of Otto’s mentality in “Deutsches

Requiem.” Furthermore, the Jewish scholar is mindlessly murdered by the

Peronist mob, just as Hladík is senselessly executed at the conclusion of “The

Secret Miracle.” The execution of the Jew also demonstrates strong intertextuality with Esteban Echevarría’s “The Slaughterhouse,” which further illuminates Borges’s recurrent preoccupation with the tension between civilization and barbarism, particularly as it affects national identity. Thus, Borges skillfully

198 As Williamson notes, “on the 18 June 1943, a decree was issued condemning artists and intellectuals who showed insufficient interest in historical themes, by which was meant Argentine history as interpreted by the nacionalistas” (“Borges” 279). 199 From Borges’s perspective, the travesty of fascism not only affects the political, but also all other aspects of life, which is why “The Feast of the Monster” “provides a corrosive critique not only of the political, but also of the social movement that was represented by the Peronist regime” (Fridman 191). 230

portrays a world in which barbarism represents a constant threat to civilization, clearly aligning the Perón regime with barbarism and the executed Jewish intellectual with civilization. Given its generally bleak tone and morbid conclusion,

“The Feast of the Monster” serves as a clear warning regarding the most deleterious effects of barbarism, a state of being in which political neutrality is impossible and intellectual liberty is absent.

The setting of “The Feast of the Monster” is significant, as it demonstrates ideological hatred’s indifference to geographical boundaries. In contrast to

“Deutsches Requiem” and “The Secret Miracle,” which take place in Europe, this story takes place in Buenos Aires, Argentina’s capital city. Buenos Aires represents “a space in dispute between mass-serving Peronism and the intelligentsia” (O’Ryan 164), with the mass-serving Peronistas’ presence dominating. Nevertheless, despite the geographical distance between Europe and Argentina, both experienced simultaneous political and cultural disruption.200

Just as several of the German intellectuals experienced complete upheaval in society and culture as they knew it with the rise of Hitler, Argentinian intellectuals, including Borges and several others, similarly experienced cultural dissonance with the widespread popularity of Perón. Thus, for Borges’s purposes, the setting is dually significant; it is simultaneously localized and universal. Some aspects clearly denote or connote Argentina, such as references to Plaza de Mayo (64).

On the other hand, other components of the setting explicitly denote or connote a

200 As Susana Rosano notes, Peronism in Argentina led to the dual rupture of politics and culture: “La irrupción del peronismo implicó en la Argentina posterior a la década del 40 una ruptura no sólo política sino también cultural” (“The Peronist irruption involved a rupture that was not only political, but also cultural, in Argentina after the 1940s”; my trans; 7). 231

more universal setting, one that could be endlessly repeated across numerous locales spread throughout the planet. This endless repetition is even more apparent when taking into account the story’s first-person narration, which brings to mind “Deutsches Requiem.”

Despite the strong similarities between the respective narrators of

“Deutsches Requiem” and “The Feast of the Monster,” some key differences exist, aside from the different geographical settings in which the narrations occur.

These differences are significant, in that they highlight the relative risks Borges undertook when co-authoring “The Feast of the Monster” and subsequently reveal the very real political dangers in which anti-Peronist intellectuals faced in

Buenos Aires. For instance, the narrator in “Deutsches Requiem” is named, yet the narrator in “The Feast of the Monster” remains unnamed. Given that “The

Feast of the Monster” was circulated secretly for years before achieving formal publication in Argentina in 1977, the unnamed narrator may be deliberate to prevent anyone from accusing Borges of intentional slander. Alternately, the unnamed narrator may also be deliberate to reveal the relative lack of individuality that Borges perceives in a mindless, Peronist thug. Unlike Otto zur

Linde, the narrator in “The Feast of the Monster” is not nearly as eloquent or well- educated, which may also be why his name is absent; Otto assumes a position of authority in a concentration camp likely due in part to his intelligence, whereas the unnamed narrator appears to be just another mindless Peronist militant.

In addition, Otto recounts his tale alone, without an audience, whereas the unnamed narrator regales his girlfriend, Nelly, with tales of “the group’s journey

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from working-class neighborhoods in the south of the Buenos Aires Province to a political rally at May Square” (Fridman 191). Interestingly, Nelly does not appear to speak throughout the story, which loosely alludes to the machismo associated with the Peronist regime.201 Nelly’s name is invoked within the story’s opening line, but she remains largely passive and obsequious throughout its narration, which is particularly clear when the narrator remarks, “tranquila, Nelly” (47).202 In fact, the only time Nelly does or says anything within the story appears in a small footnote: “Mientras nos reponíamos con ensaimadas, Nelly me manifestó…”

(50).203 The ultimate difference in each narrator’s fate represents perhaps the greatest distinction between the narrators of “Deutsches Requiem” and “The

Feast of the Monster,” as Otto is set to be executed the following day, whereas the unnamed narrator does not appear to face any form of punishment in the near future, despite openly participating in the brutal execution of an innocent person. However, at the time that Borges wrote “Deutsches Requiem,” World

War II had ended and the Nuremburg trials had commenced, which makes Otto’s fate appear more realistic. In contrast, Borges wrote “The Feast of the Monster” during a time when Perón’s reign still dominated, when the Peronist mob was praised and emulated and the anti-Peronists were ostracized and punished.

Thus, the distinctions in the historical contexts that produced these stories may

201 As Finchelstein notes, “To be sure, Eva and Juan Perón’s complex legacy includes the creation of the female branch of the Peronist party and the electoral enfranchisement of women. But especially in Eva Perón’s thinking and practice, the antibourgeois discourse was mixed with the anti-imperialism of the right, a patriarchal vision of gender relations, an exacerbated machismo, and a new understanding of national identity that came from the period between the wars” (Ideological 78). 202 (“Quiet, Nelly”; my trans; 47). 203 (“While we recovered with pastries, Nelly told me…”; my trans; 50). 233

well explain the differences in each narrator’s ultimate fate. Nevertheless, in spite of the differences between each narrator, both are more similar than distinct in that they reveal the core principles that bind fascism across geographical boundaries and time periods: extreme nationalism and unrepentant violence, particularly against “the Other.”

However, aside from these differences, the narrative technique of “The

Feast of the Monster” essentially mirrors the perspective of “Deutsches Requiem” for Borges’s thematic intent. Since “The Feast of the Monster” is “written in the first person as a pastiche of the urban lunfardo of a Peronist thug” (Boldy 39),

Borges is able explore the mental anatomy of a Peronist fascist, much in the same way he does with Otto’s psyche in “Deutsches Requiem.” This exploration brings to mind Duncan’s commentary on Borges’s frequent usage of “an implied author and implied reader,” which can make “it difficult for real readers to find a way out of the labyrinth Borges has constructed for them” (82). In other words, much in the same way that readers and scholars became unduly disturbed by their unwitting absorption into Otto’s psyche in “Deutsches Requiem,” a similar situation unfolds with the unnamed narrator in “The Feast of the Monster.”204

Perhaps Borges himself found the unreality of a fascist mentality so difficult to grasp that the use of first-person narration enabled him to reveal the fallacy of barbarism more easily. Thus, attempting to directly enter the mind of a fascist, be it a Peronist or a Nazi, is one logical way to explore how external irrational

204 First-person narration “draws readers into a relationship with the narrator, allowing them to feel the character’s emotions and experience the same events as if alongside him” (Pugh and Johnson 135), which means non-fascist readers of “Deutsches Requiem” and “The Feast of the Monster” may acutely feel emotions and experience events that they have no desire to encounter. 234

actions originate from internal irrational thoughts. After all, through each story’s narrator, readers uncomfortably witness firsthand the internal depravity omnipresent in a fascist’s mindset, which naturally leads towards external violence against others. Furthermore, it is likely that Borges intends this discomfort to underscore the rapid contagion of fascist regimes, as each narrator is not speaking for himself alone, but rather for the respective fascist group to which each belongs: the Nazis or the Peronist militants.

Throughout the unnamed narrator’s dialogue in “The Feast of the

Monster,” it is clear that he is a mindless, uneducated militant who, along with the rest of the mob, is exceedingly pleased with the growth of Peronism. For instance, he has no qualms about sleeping with chickens: “La noche antes yo pensaba acostarme con las gallinas” (45),205 one of the short story’s many satirical statements. He is also portrayed as flat-footed and physically unfit, which is clear when he refers to his “condición de pie plano”206 and “panza hipopótama,”207 which often renders him susceptible to “la fatiga” (45).208 His dreams and objectives primarily appear to consist of acquiring Perón’s approval, and by default the mob’s approval, particularly when he recalls how “el Monstruo me había nombrado su mascota” (48).209 He clearly considers loyalty to Perón as equivalent to patriotism and national pride, and he has no apprehension about fighting through the darkest hours, using the darkest means, for his dedication to

205 (“Last night I was thinking about going to sleep with the chickens”; my trans; 45). 206 (“flat-footed condition”; my trans; 45). 207 (“hippopotamus belly”; my trans; 45). 208 (“the fatigue”; my trans; 45). 209 (“The Monster had named me his mascot”; my trans, 48). 235

the Argentine state: “Como yo no dejo siempre de recalcar en las horas que el luchador viene enervado y se aglomeran los más negros pronósticos, despunta el delantero fenómeno que marca goal; para la patria, para el Monstruo” (54).210

In other words, the narrator never once stops to think critically and carefully about the fascist movement he has thrown himself wholeheartedly into; he is infinitely more comfortable permitting Perón to think for him, bringing to mind an image of the narrator as a puppet and Perón as a puppet master.

In addition, he is thrilled to be part of the simultaneously grotesque and dangerous mob that underlies and supports the Peronist militancy, or “proud of his fusion with the group, which will then join with the multitude at the square”

(Fridman 191). At times, it seems that the group is primarily filled with buffoons.

For instance, at one point in the short story, the group’s members carefully discuss distributing and wearing noses for the upcoming political parade:

“Entramos a hablar de la distribución de bufosos para el magno desfile” (46).211

Despite its clownish nature, however, the group clearly relies on varied weapons and violence as its principal weapons of choice, as the narrator’s rambling dialogue includes several references to firearms, including “posesión del arma del fuego” (46),212 “la remesa de las armas” (47),213 “un arma en buen uso”

(49).214 In addition, some members of the group also appears to make fun of the narrator on occasion, as he recalls a time that he was kicked for falling out of

210 (“As I will not ever stop stressing, in the hours that the fighter becomes weak and the darkest predictions cluster, the progressive phenomenon that marks the goal sprouts: for the homeland, for the Monster”; my trans; 54). 211 (“We went to discuss the distribution of guns for the grand parade”; my trans; 46). 212 (“possession of a firearm; my trans; 46). 213 (“the remittance of arms”; my trans; 47). 214 (“weapon in good use”; my trans; 49). 236

line, resulting in pain that “todavía [le] duele sentarme” (55).215 Despite these circumstances, the narrator romanticizes his participation alongside the mob as one of the happiest moments in his life: “En el sueño comprendí que era la más feliz de mi vida” (48),216 underscoring the emotional vehemence and unwavering adulation underpinning the Peronist militancy and its adherents.

Thus, Borges also skillfully paints Perón’s bestial followers who are a perverse reflection of the monstrous dictator they’ve willingly agreed to serve and obey. Through his dialogue, the narrator openly depicts Perón as a monster, referring to him as a “Monstruo”217 on ten separate occasions throughout the story, and the capitalization of the word, or the use of “Monstruo” instead of

“monstruo” lends credibility to the idea that Perón is essentially a godlike figure to the masses. In addition, narrator likely neither recognizes nor cares about the negative connotations of this definition, given his own monstrous nature. Just like his followers, Perón is portrayed as a dangerous strongman, as well as the ultimate caricature of the mob who worships him, which is clear when the narrator remarks, “no pensaba más que en el Monstruo y al otro día lo vería sonreírse y hablar como el gran laburante argentino que es” (47-48).218

Furthermore, Perón is not content to hold and execute power silently; instead, he prefers enormous, adoring crowds who concur with his every word, embodying the dictatorial travesty Borges detailed in “L’Illusion Comique.” This mob is further

215 (“that still hurts him every time he sits down”; my trans; 55). 216 (“In the dream, I understood that it was the happiest afternoon of my life”; my trans; 48). 217 The word “Monstruo,” which means “monster,” is likely a significant reason why the short story was long circulated in an anonymous, clandestine manner. 218 (“I only thought of the Monster and how the following day I’d see him smile and talk like the great Argentinian worker he is”; my trans; 47-48). 237

buoyed by the presence of popular musicians, who help legitimize Perón’s rule:

“Se cree Gardel. Es más, se cree Gotuso. Es más, se cree Garófalo” (61);219 in a footnote, Borges reveals Gardel, Gotuso, and Garófalo as “los cantaores más conocidos de aquella temporada” (61).220 These singers and other performers encourage the crowd to sing “Adiós Pampa Mía,” a nationalist, gauchesque song.221 During these frightening festivities, the narrator recalls “todos lo coreamos”222 in unison, and it is at this point in the story that the young Jewish intellectual enters the scene, representing a distinct anomaly in the Peronist rally.

The narrator’s dialogue and the localized, yet universalized, setting, set the stage for a tragedy that has been infinitely repeated throughout history and the present day: the senseless execution of an innocent individual by a mob. The narrator’s tone becomes macabre when detailing the young student, characterizing him as “un miserable cuatro ojos, sin la musculatura del deportivo”

(62).223 Adding insult to injury, from the Peronist perspective, the young man also has “los libros bajos el brazo,”224 signifying someone who has the capacity for independent thought, as well as someone who routinely partakes in products of civilization, rather than barbarism. Furthermore, the “slight, red-haired and bespectacled Jewish student … refuses to salute their flag and the photo of

219 (“He thinks he is Gardel. Moreover, He thinks he is Gotuso. Moreover, he thinks he is Garófalo”; my trans; 61). 220 (“the most well-known singers of that time”; my trans; 61). 221 As Faye Bendrups notes, “Adiós Pampa Mía” is a song in which “the singer speaks of the beloved ground of the pampa, the wind’s song and the sobbing guitars … In a romantic salutation, the singer attests to his love of the land and that away from the pampa, life is nothing” (104). 222 (“we all chant”; my trans; 61). 223 (“a miserable youth wearing glasses, without athletic strength”; my trans; 62). 224 (“books underneath his arm”; my trans; 62). 238

Perón” (Boldy 39), reinforcing his unwillingness to go along with the mob. This refusal is tantamount to a capital offense in the eyes of the Peronist militancy, which would never “tolerar que un impune desacatara el estandarte y foto del

Monstruo” (62).225 Thus, the mob responds with extreme violence, stoning the

Jewish student to death. The narrator becomes frighteningly animated when he describes this violent death, and he takes great pride in how many times he was hit: “Perdí la cuenta de los impactos, porque el bombardeo era masivo” (63).226

Even more disturbingly, the mob roars with laughter as the Jewish youth falls to the ground while simultaneously dying and praying: “Fue desopilante; el jude se puso de rodillas y miró al cielo y rezó como ausente en su media lengua” (63).227

Tragically, this young man’s death contrasts strongly with Hladík’s, as Hladík is at least provided the time necessary to finish his life’s work, courtesy of lo fantástico. In the satirical, albeit brutally realistic, “The Feast of the Monster,” the

Jewish student’s life is abruptly terminated, and the mob proceeds to worship

Perón as if nothing has happened.

While the short story is disturbing from its inception to its conclusion, perhaps one of the most disturbing elements is the mob’s behavior after the violent killing. Shortly after the killing, the mob quiets itself when it anticipates “lo que vino después: la palabra del Monstruo” (65),228 becoming virtually reverent as they await the speech from Perón. Thus, Borges reveals how the irrationality

225 (“tolerate impunity for disregarding the banner and photo of the Monster; my trans; 62). 226 (“I lost count of all the impacts, as the bombardment was massive”; my trans; 63). 227 (“It was hilarious; the Jew fell to his knees and gazed at the sky and prayed as if already absent in ancestral language; my trans; 63). 228 (“what came next: the word of the Monster”; my trans; 65). 239

of mob mindlessly bends its will to the will of the monster, however barbaric and ignorant it might be: “In this text the multitude converges with and within ‘the monster,’ becoming an irrational beast” (Fridman 191). In other words, Perón serves as microcosm of the mob that enforces his authoritarian state through any means necessary. The narrator is an unapologetic Peronista, and his views clearly represent those of the majority. Thus, while Buenos Aires may represent a setting in which barbarism opposes civilization, the Peronist mob unfortunately outnumbers the intellectuals, which means irrational behavior triumphs over rational thought.229 In “The Feast of the Monster,” this bestial irrationality reaches its apex with the violent execution of an innocent Jewish student.

The senseless, bloody demise of the Jew in “The Feast of the Monster” features clear intersections with Borges’s other ficciones. These intersections are critical, as they reveal the infinite repeatability of the tragic consequences that will inevitably surface when barbarism supplants civilization. Just as the setting and narration of “The Feast of the Monster” are simultaneously localized and universalized, so is the violent murder of the Jewish scholar, who symbolizes a composite of other innocent intellectuals who have suffered an untimely demise at the hands of fascist regimes throughout history. For instance, while the

Peronist mob’s convergence on the Jew in “The Feast of the Monster” is admittedly sudden and random, relative to the Nazis’ planned arrest and coldly calculated execution of Hladík in “The Secret Miracle,” both stories portray the

229 Williamson also notes the omnipresence of barbarism in Perón’s Argentina: “Argentina was living through a time of barbarism … in which it was obligatory to praise Hitler and Mussolini, a time of ignorance that was detrimental to the patria” (281). 240

moral bankruptcy of fascism, in that it predestines innocent people to an ignominious death. From this standpoint, the mob’s violent murder of Jewish student also marks another intersection with “Deutsches Requiem”: the suicide of the Nazi concentration camp prisoner, Jerusalem. Just as Otto encourages

Jerusalem’s death because he despises the reminder of his own former goodness and compassion, the mob callously executes the Jewish student because they despise the reminder of different perspectives and intellectual culture, which were considered threats to the Perón regime.

“The Feast of the Monster” also demonstrates clear intertextuality with

Esteban Echevarría’s “The Slaughterhouse,” which, like Borges’s other ficciones, further underscores its universal concern with the conflict between civilization and barbarism. However, while the intersections with “The Secret Miracle” and

“Deutsches Requiem” reveal how barbarism transcends space, from Nazi

Germany to Peronist Argentina, the intertextuality with “The Slaughterhouse” illuminates how barbarism transcends time. Similar to Borges’s campaign against

Perón, Echevarría is famed “for his campaign against the dictatorship of Manuel de Rosas” (Ocasio 37),230 which eventually drove him to permanent exile in

Montevideo, Uruguay in 1840.231 At some point around 1838-1841,232 Echevarría wrote “The Slaughterhouse,” widely “considered a remarkable precursor to the

230 Interestingly, the influence of European culture on Echevarría marks another similarity with Borges, as Echevarría traveled to Europe as a young man and subsequently “introduced his readers to current European literature, particularly to the poetry of , whose influence is visible in Echevarría’s poetry” (Ocasio 37). 231 Though Echevarría never returned to Argentina, “his political efforts were not in vain, however; Rosas’s government was deposed in 1852” (Ocasio 37). 232 Different sources identify different years for the inception of “The Slaughterhouse”; for instance, Hess writes that “The Slaughterhouse” was written in 1838 (342); Ocasio states that it was written in 1839 (37); and Nouzielles and Montaldo say it was written in 1841 (107). 241

modern Latin American short story” (Ocasio 37), as well as “a national classic”

(Nouzielles and Montaldo 107) in Argentinian literature. Similar to the publication history of “The Feast of the Monster,” “The Slaughterhouse” was not published until 1871, or approximately three decades after it was written. Furthermore, each story can also be characterized as “a remarkable example of a fine literary work that serves as an agent of political activism” (Ocasio 37), as Borges’s work challenges Peronismo and Echevarría’s story represents a “powerful indictment of Rosas” (Dawson 59), a nineteenth-century version of Perón.

Thus, despite the time elapsed between their respective creations, “The

Slaughterhouse” and “The Feast of the Monster” originate from similar political contexts and address virtually identical concerns, as both feature the principal themes of “political divisions and national upheaval” (Ocasio 37), as well as

“narratives … full of hatred and violence” (De Grandis 97), respectively. Similar to

Borges’s criticism of Peronismo’s adverse influence on Argentina’s culture in

“The Feast of the Monster,” “The Slaughterhouse” offers “an explicit and passionate critique of the society that, according to Echevarría, grew out of

Rosas’s authoritarian and populist policies” (Nouzeilles and Montaldo 107).

Echevarría’s portrayal of society under Rosas’s reign in “The Slaughterhouse” is remarkably similar to Borges’s depiction of culture underneath Perón’s dominion in “The Feast of the Monster,” as both illustrate a Buenos Aires overtaken by barbarism in the form of a fascist dictator, who is dependent on militant

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conformity to reinforce his power and subsequently opposed to cultural progress, intellectual development, and alternative perspectives.233

The fact that both dictatorships occurred in different centuries is immaterial, as the political tactics and social outcomes are virtually identical.

Rosas and Perón are both authoritarian strongmen who depend on an absence of liberty and a preponderance of moblike devotion. Thus, societies under each respective strongman concurrently feature a dearth of human progress and an escalation of ignorant violence. Similar to the conclusion of “The Feast of the

Monster,” “The Slaughterhouse” portrays a “crazed mob that beats to death a refined youth, detailing its barbarism, bloodthirstiness, and physical ugliness”

(Hess 342).234 Furthermore, “The Slaughterhouse” illustrates how “with the same ease and brutality that the federalist rabble slaughtered a cow, it could end the life of a suspected unitario” (Salvatore 199), which is also exemplified by the mob in “The Feast of the Monster,” which mindlessly murders an innocent individual with impunity and without guilt. Overall, both short stories depict the terrifying unreality of a world in which barbarism triumphs over civilization.

233 As Aníbel González notes, “The Slaughterhouse” represents one of “the attempts by the Argentine romantics to examine the nature of evil embodied in the figure of the dictator or the ” (7), and such an attempt would also clearly be applicable to “The Feast of the Monster.” 234 Much like the Jew’s death in “The Feast of the Monster,” in Echevarría’s text, the young Unitarian’s death is violent and humiliating: “In a short while they had tied his feet to the legs of the table and turned his body upside down. In trying to tie his hands, the men had to unfasten them from behind his back. Feeling free, the young man, with a brusque movement which seemed to drain him of all his strength and vitality, raised himself up, first upon his arms, then upon his knees, and collapsed immediately, murmuring: ‘Rather behead me than undress me, infamous rabble!’ His strength was exhausted, and having tied him down crosswise, they began undressing him. Then a torrent of blood spouted, bubbling from the young man’s mouth and nose, and flowed freely down the table. The cutthroats remained immobile and the spectators, astonished” (404). 243

Overall, “The Feast of the Monster” is generally devoid of hope and optimism. The setting is clearly twentieth-century Buenos Aires, but the depiction of fascism, coupled with its barbaric effects, is infinitely repeatable across both spatial and temporal boundaries. This repeatability is particularly explicit when examining “The Feast of the Monster” in the context of ficciones such as

“Deutsches Requiem,” given its first-person narration from a fascist perspective.

In addition, “The Secret Miracle” also features the execution of an innocent Jew, though this ficción is significantly more optimistic in that Hladík receives a temporary, miraculous respite before his death whereas the Jew in “The Feast of the Monster” does not. Thus, “The Feast of the Monster” shares more intersections with “Deutsches Requiem,” not only in terms of its narration, but also its morbid certainty that violence, or barbarism, will define humanity in the future. Furthermore, this fixation brings to mind the central concerns presented in

“Our Poor Nationalism.” Specifically, despite Borges’s personal dealings with

Perón, “The Feast of the Monster” addresses a larger grievance with the increased tension between the individual and the Argentine state, as the story’s violent conclusion clearly illustrates that individual beliefs and distinct thoughts have no place in an authoritarian regime. Aside from thematic similarities with his own work, Borges’s use of Echevarría’s “The Slaughterhouse” as a hypertext in

“The Feast of the Monster” further exemplifies how barbarism renders the value of human life meaningless, as mindless mobs, rather than individual thinkers, dominate, regardless of the century in which the barbarism takes place.

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However, despite the grim similarities between Echevarría’s and Borges’s short stories, it should be noted that Echevarría, like Borges, “used fiction to articulate a vision of the nation as it was and how it should be” (Dawson 59). In other words, both “The Slaughterhouse” and “The Feast of the Monster” depict the reality of Argentina in the nineteenth and twentieth century under the reigns of Rosas and Perón, respectively. Nevertheless, while Echevarría and Borges both clearly shared a significant preoccupation with barbarism’s threat to civilization, both Argentinian writers also made a concentrated effort to combat fascism through their writings, which still exist for readers’ perusal today.

Fortunately for Borges, “The Slaughterhouse” was miraculously published, providing him with the opportunity to respond in the twentieth century to the same concern posed in the nineteenth century, as well as realize that others who preceded him stood up for civilization over barbarism. Furthermore, Borges subsequently influenced other writers who followed him, notably Mario Vargas

Llosa, whose work The Feast of the Goat was inspired by “The Feast of the

Monster.”235 According to De Grandis, “this overlapping and saturation of analogies and textual equivalencies are the late twentieth century’s response to violence: a desire to foster social understanding and civil responsibility through a culturally based memory” (97). This quote is particularly cogent given Borges’s

235 Kristal draws a parallel between Mario Vargas Llosa’s The Feast of the Goat and “The Feast of the Monster” regarding the absence of neutrality: “As in The Feast of the Goat in the “Feast of the Monster” neutrality in a dictatorial milieu is not possible, and no one is immune from the violence, iniquities, and abominations of a charismatic dictator who has managed to gain absolute power” (“Fault” 96). Furthermore, The Feast of the Goat also clearly demonstrates that intelligence has no place in an absolutist regime: “The worst thing that can happen to a Dominican is to be intelligent or competent ... Because sooner or later Trujillo will call upon him to serve the regime, or his person, and when he calls, one is not permitted to say no” (143). 245

use of another significant nineteenth-century Argentinian work, Martín Fierro, as a hypertext in his short story “The End,” to challenge Peronismo, which is also

“part of Argentina’s collective memory” (Hess 342). Through contrasting Borges’s respective usage of “The Slaughterhouse” and Martín Fierro in two different stories, it becomes clear that Borges utilizes intertextuality not only to depict the world as it is in “The Feast of the Monster,” but also how it could and should be in

“The End.”

“The End” (“El Fin”) (1953): A Compelling Rewriting of Martín Fierro in the

Ongoing Quest for Argentine Identity in a Civilized World

Published in La Nación in 1953, “The End”236 was the final short story

Borges wrote before taking a break from writing his ficciones for several years.237

“The End” shares clear similarities with “The Feast of the Monster,” as the cultural and historical context of both stories is grounded in Argentina, specifically the Perón regime; both stories also use famous nineteenth-century Argentinian works as hypertexts. However, unlike “The Feast of the Monster,” “The End” is not set amidst the cacophony of the Peronist mob in Buenos Aires; it is set in a rural location in Argentina that appears to have a generally limited human presence, namely “the tavern in the middle of the pampas where Martín Fierro and El Moreno held the payada” (Williamson, “Borges” 288) in José Hernández’s epic poem, Martín Fierro. Relative to the breadth of scholarship on Borges’s

236 Interestingly, given its structural setup, “The End” could be considered an example of detective fiction: “The whole narrative had been, in fact, ciphered, and that seemingly irrelevant details were clues that a good reader (acting here as detective) could have deciphered before the conclusion” (Díaz 100). 237 Borges did not publish another short story for sixteen years after writing “The End,” (Williamson, “Borges” 275), which means that this short story ultimately concluded the selection of Borges’s ficciones considered to be part of his anti-fascist writings. 246

other short stories, “The End” is “possibly the least studied in all the stories in

Borges’s Ficciones,” (Williamson, “Borges” 275), and the relative absence of scholarship has opened up the story for a broad range of interpretations regarding its varied elements, from its intertextuality to its historical and political context. From a first glance, “The End” appears to be the most similar to “Pierre

Menard, Author of the Quixote,” as both stories involve rewriting a classic text, or invoking the “death of the author” that Roland Barthes would later detail.238 At just under 1,000 words, “The End” is also one of Borges’s shortest stories.

Despite the brevity of “The End,” Borges successfully demonstrates his evolution as a political, antifascist writer in several key ways.239 First, through using the nineteenth-century epic poem Martín Fierro as a hypertext, Borges challenges the concept of Argentinian nationalism, as posited by the Peronists, and offers an alternative perspective. In addition, Borges’s portrayal of the predestined bloody duel between Martín Fierro and the guitarist, particularly its aftermath, illustrates the infinite repeatability not only of violent conflict, but also of violence’s ultimate irresolution, thereby revealing how barbarism continuously blinds humanity well into the twentieth century and beyond. In this vein, this preordained conflict is also reminiscent of the divine laws alluded to in

“Deutsches Requiem,” as well as the opening chess scene in “The Secret

Miracle,” which characterizes the game as chronically unbeatable and infinitely

238 As Williamson notes, “these ideas were a feature of Borges’s writing well before Roland Barthes declared the ‘death of the author’” (“Borges” 273). 239 Williamson also argues that “The End” should be “seen in the context of Borges’s opposition to the regime of Juan Domingo Perón” (Williamson, “Borges” 275), though this opposition is admittedly not as explicit as it is in “The Feast of the Monster.” 247

repeatable. The futility of barbarism is particularly pronounced when taking into account the presence of Recabarren, perhaps the most enigmatic, yet compelling, character in the story. Unlike Martín Fierro and the guitarist,

Recabarren is physically and vocally immobilized, yet his mind is also vastly more liberated than either of these duel participants. As the symbol of civilization in “The End,” Recabarren is imbued with insight and wisdom that barbarism lacks, which is especially clear when Recabarren is capable of viewing the future while neither Martín Fierro nor the guitarist can, as they occupy themselves with repeating a duel from the past, rather than looking forward to a different way of living and relating to others. Thus, through “The End,” Borges not only challenges the Peronists’ concept of Argentina’s national identity through the duel between

Martín Fierro and the guitarist, but he also underscores humanity’s need for civilization to ultimately triumph over barbarism through contrasting the ultimate blindness of both Martín Fierro and the guitarist with the introspection of

Recabarren.

“The End,” at its surface, appears to be a response to José Hernández’s nineteenth-century Argentinian epic poem, Martín Fierro,240 much in the same way that “Pierre Menard, Author of the Quixote” is a response to Cervantes’s

Don Quijote de la Mancha. However, “The End” demonstrates significantly greater political significance than “Pierre Menard,” given that the epic poem’s protagonist, the eponymously named Martín Fierro, is a in

Argentinian culture. Martín Fierro personifies the figure of the gaucho, the

240 As Mariana Casale O’Ryan notes, “Borges’s ‘El Fin’ provides an ending to José Hernández’s canonical gauchesque Martín Fierro” (149). 248

ultimate wanderer who “symbolizes the excluded, the unfairly persecuted”

(Böhmer 97).241 The gaucho figure is also highly polarizing, given its historically uncertain place in Argentinian culture,242 and Martín Fierro unequivocally praises the rebellion of the gaucho lifestyle over the conformity of organized society.243 In

1845, Domingo F. Sarmiento, who served as President of Argentina, published

Facundo: Or, Civilization and Barbarism,244 which equated the gaucho with barbarism and argued that Argentina should allow Europe, rather than the gaucho, 245 to be the predominant influence on its burgeoning national culture.246

However, by the early twentieth century, Leopoldo Lugones argued that the gaucho figure, as epitomized by the poem Martín Fierro, should define

Argentina’s culture. In 1913, Lugones delivered several lectures regarding the

241 John Armstrong Crow has also noted the intersections between the gaucho figure and the marginalized classes, noting that Martín Fierro “re-created in lines of stirring beauty the epitome and the swan song of that unfortunate class” (578). 242 For this reason, the gauchesca element in literature often serves as “a hinge between lettered culture and physical violence” (Díaz 100). 243 As Amy Kaminsky has noted, “In Martín Fierro, the gaucho escapes ‘civilized’ society, which in Argentina as in the United States is associated with cities, education, and the civilizing effects of women, by lighting out to Indian country, very like ’s Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn” (115). 244 Interestingly, as De Grandis has noted, Echevarría’s “The Slaughterhouse” “confirms Sarmiento’s theme of civilization and barbarity” (97). In addition, Nouzielles and Montaldo note that that the process of transforming Argentina into a modern nation and leaving the gauchos in the past, was, from Sarmiento’s perspective, “an epic struggle between Western civilization and local barbarism” (1). 245 Sarmiento periodically acknowledges some favorable characteristics of the gauchos, but he largely associates them with barbarism, as demonstrated in the following: “Country life, then, has developed all the physical but none of the intellectual powers of the gaucho … Thus if the disorganization of society among the gauchos deeply implants barbarism in their , through the impossibility and uselessness of moral and intellectual education, it has, too, its attractive aside to him” (26-27). 246 Interestingly, Sarmiento references France as a pinnacle of progressive achievement in Facundo, which recalls Emerson’s “Fortune of the Republic”: “In addition, the close contact established with Europe by the Revolution of Independence, commerce, and the Rivadavia administration, so eminently European, had thrown Argentine youth into studying political and literary movements in Europe and above all in France. Romanticism, , —all those diverse systems of ideas had devoted followers—and the study of social theories was carried out in the shadow of a despotism most hostile to all development of ideas” (230). 249

gaucho’s significance in Argentine history, given that they “had provided the foundation of national character … and had later formed the backbone of the patriot armies in the wars of independence against Spain” (Williamson, “Borges”

277). For this reason, Lugones believed that Martín Fierro should be considered

Argentina’s national epic for expressing “the essential spirit and character of the people of the River Plate as embodied in the gaucho” (Williamson, “Borges” 277).

Lugones’ viewpoint significantly influenced Argentina nationalism, as well as the future development of Peronism.247

Thus, Borges’ selection of Martín Fierro for a hypertext is “deeply political, for this famous gauchesque poem had been a bone of contention over the question of national identity since the early twentieth century” (Williamson

276).248 Borges prefigures his challenge to Lugones in a 1951 essay, “The

Argentine Writer and Tradition,” where he directly expresses his ambivalence towards Martín Fierro:

It was proposed by Lugones in El payador; there we read that we

Argentines possess a classic poem, Martín Fierro, and that this poem

should be for us what they Homeric poems were for the Greeks. It seems

difficult to contradict this opinion without detriment to Martín Fierro. I

believe that Martín Fierro is the most lasting work we Argentines have

247 Specifically, “Lugones’s interpretation of Martín Fierro was to influence Argentina nationalism for many decades to come, giving it a distinctly right-wing bent, for his insistence on the cultural supremacy of the criollos over the immigrants was inherently reactionary, and it is no surprise that by the 1920s he had espoused fascism and was advocating a theory of Argentina in which the criollos were accorded a pre-eminent position which would be guaranteed, if necessary, by military force” (Williamson, “Borges” 277). 248 Furthermore, both Facundo and Martín Fierro “have an impact on numerous Argentine writers, such as the internationally famous short story writer Jorge Luis Borges” (Ocasio 38), further underscoring the national significance of both works. 250

written; I also believe, with equal intensity, that we cannot take Martín

Fierro to be, as has sometimes been said, our Bible, our canonical book.

(420)

While Borges is particularly vehement during the 1950s, he had already begun challenging Lugones’s vision of Argentinian culture several decades earlier with the 1926 publication of El tamaño de mi esperanza. This work argues for a more fluid, hybridized national identity, one that synthesizes the rural tradition with urban cosmopolitanism, particularly “since national identity was as uncertain and fleeting as personal identity” (Williamson, “Borges” 289).249 Williamson also argues that Borges eventually abandons his version of criollismo by the early

1930s (“Borges” 278), though Ronaldo Munck asserts that Borges’s “criollismo

(or celebration of the local and, especially, rural traditions) may have been transformed, but its politics was never wholly abandoned” (190). The politics

Munck refers to are likely those most associated with the figure of the gaucho, as the gaucho had long represented the antithesis of conformity to governmental dictums and mandates. Borges himself characterizes the nineteenth-century version of the gaucho Martín Fierro as “a champion of individual liberty against the state,” (Dapía 159).250 However, by the mid-twentieth century, the figure of the gaucho had been appropriated by the Perón regime, and “Borges’s views of

249 In this work, Borges “envisaged a national culture drawing not on a nostalgic view of the gaucho and the pampas but on Buenos Aires, and specifically on the city’s peripheral barrios, popularly known as the orillas, the ‘shores’ of the great metropolis, where ordinary criollos lived cheek by jowl with poor immigrants” (Williamson, “Borges” 277). 250 For instance, “in Martín Fierro, Borges highlights the moment when a sergeant in the rural police decides that ‘he was not going to consent to the crime of killing a brave man, and started fighting against his own soldiers alongside the deserter Martín Fierro’” (Dapía 159). 251

the gaucho went from an initial praise to a condescending criticism of an unbridled political militancy” (Salinas, Liberty 74).

Thus, Martín Fierro takes on a different role in “The End,” specifically by becoming representative of the law, rather than one outside the law, as a visceral response to Peronism. Specifically, the transmutation of Martín Fierro’s role marks the symmetry between Martín Fierro and Perón, or the gauchos and

Peronismo, in Borges’s version of the epic, as Perón shared Lugones’s views regarding nationalism and even characterized himself as a figure like Martín

Fierro.251 Whereas Fierro represents rebellion in Sarmiento’s Argentina, he represents conformity in Perón’s Argentina. Since Martín Fierro had now become synonymous with Peronist Argentina, or the authoritarian state, he is no longer symbolic of the rugged individualism and political nonconformity that attracted

Borges’s initial admiration. As a result, Borges “refuses to perpetuate one convention of the gaucho genre” by “speaking in or through the voice of the gaucho, a popular voice, to instruct the masses,” and he subsequently

“dismantles … Lugones’s essentialist interpretation by delinking the gaucho and the genre from the nation-state” (Bartles 140). Williamson also concurs with

Bartles’s assessment of Martín Fierro’s subversion in terms of Argentina’s national identity, but he also points out that Borges likely has an additional objective in “The End” in terms of challenging national identity: Borges “would

251 In spite of his critics, Perón ensured that he was portrayed as favorably as possible to Argentinians, including Argentina’s youth, and he even likened himself to Martín Fierro to further enhance Argentinians’ trust in him: “In the forties and fifties, that conception inhabits the Peronist textbooks for primary schools where the figure of Perón is continuously compared to that of San Martín or the literary character of Martín Fierro” (Medina 61). 252

also attempt the more difficult feat of endowing this theme with a positive, transcendent significance in order to imbue it with whatever ‘magic’ he … might be able to draw upon in order to counter a seemingly ‘infinite king’ like Perón”

(“Borges” 288).

Through analogizing Martín Fierro to Juan Perón, or by aligning Martín

Fierro with state power, Borges clears the way for another rebellious outsider to emerge: the Negro guitarist who successfully avenges the death of his older brother, who was killed by Martín Fierro in Hernández’s epic poem. The guitarist appears prompted by his own predetermined destiny, as he “continued to haunt the general store, as if waiting for someone” (159). Upon seeing “the wide- brimmed hat, the long dark poncho, the dappled horse, but not the man’s face,” the guitarist states, he’s “waited seven years” for him (160). Both men converse briefly and casually, though it is clear they both anticipate an imminent duel.

Martín Fierro notes, “autumn is making the days grow shorter” (161), and the guitarist retorts, “the light that’s left is enough for me” (161). Given the labyrinthine complexity of this particular short story, it is likely that “autumn” and

“light” also serve as metaphors in the story; if the seasons in a year can be analogous to life, with winter symbolizing death, then autumn’s emergence and light’s decline could certainly foreshadow the upcoming death of one of the men.

In addition, since the guitarist spends multiple years awaiting Martín Fierro’s return, the remaining light may be “enough” for him to achieve his unilateral objective: to avenge his brother’s death by killing Martín Fierro.

253

Shortly after the men allude to autumn and its declining light, they begin to prepare for a duel, leaving the tavern and walking out into the pampas. By the time they arrive at an arbitrary point to fight, the light has disappeared entirely, though “the moon was shining” (161). Once night has fallen, the story takes a suddenly violent turn, which begins with the guitarist’s dictum to Martín Fierro: “I want to ask you a favor before we tangle. I want you to put all your guts into this meeting, just as you did seven years ago, when you killed my brother” (161-62).

This statement marks a sudden turn from the guitarist’s more benign opening comments, which Martín Fierro instantly recognizes: “Perhaps for the first time in the dialogue, Martín Fierro heard the sound of hate. He felt his blood like a goad”

(162). Unsurprisingly, physical violence breaks out immediately after hatred makes an external, palpable appearance, culminating in the bloody death of

Martín Fierro:

A charge, and the Negro fell back; he lost his footing, feinted toward the

other’s fact, and reached out in a great stab, which penetrated the

stranger’s chest. Then there was another stab, … and Fierro did not get

up. Immobile, the Negro seemed to watch over his enemy’s laboring death

agony. He wiped his bloodstained knife on the turf and walked back

toward the knot of houses slowly, without looking back. (162)

The fictional death of Martín Fierro is a fairly shocking subversive development, representing “to Argentine readers something as inconceivable as, say, a defeated Lone Ranger or a rich and aged Huckleberry Finn to Americans, of a destroyed Sherlock Holmes to Baker Street cultists” (Bell-Villada 85). In short,

254

Martín Fierro’s fictional death calls for the death of the nacionalismo promulgated by the Peronists, and “by blurring the identities of Fierro and El Moreno, Borges was suggesting that it was pointless to see in Fierro a quintessential symbol of ‘el alma de la raza’252 much less ‘el secreto de su destino,’253 as Lugones had proposed” (Williamson, “Borges” 289). At the same time, through blurring the identities of Martín Fierro and the guitarist, “Borges thus contrived an ending to the Martín Fierro which exemplified his familiar motif—one man is equivalent to any man” (Williamson, “Borges” 289), thus positing a more diverse, inclusive national identity. “The End” does not concern itself exclusively with Argentina’s fascism, as Borges also continues nuancing his position in the epic, universal struggle between barbarism and civilization.

The myriad references to destiny throughout the short story bring to mind the divine laws Borges alludes to in “Deutsches Requiem,” and “The End” alludes to the predestined inevitability of barbarism’s violent outcomes. In the case of

Martín Fierro and the guitarist, both men’s destinies are prefigured by violence.

Just as the guitarist is compelled to wait for Martín Fierro for at least seven years,

Martín Fierro appears compelled to seek out the guitarist, as he remarks that he cannot escape his violent destiny: “Destiny has made me kill, and now, once more, it has put a knife in my hand” (161). In other words, “revenge is imposed onto Fierro as an obligation, as his destiny” (Böhmer 105), as he recognizes he should permit the guitarist a chance to avenge his slain brother. The guitarist also intuitively recognizes that Martín Fierro would eventually return to duel,

252 (“the soul of a race”; my trans; 289). 253 (“the secret of one’s destiny”; my trans; 289). 255

commenting, “I was sure, señor, that I could count on you” (160), to which Martín

Fierro replies, “I made you wait a pack of days, but here I am” (160). This dialogue illustrates how “nobody, neither Martín Fierro nor the Negro, escapes the logic of the inevitable sequence of revenge” (Böhmer 105). Even though several years have passed, vengeful violence can easily transcend both spatial and temporal boundaries. Since “The End” portrays both Martín Fierro and the guitarist as adherents to a life governed by barbarism, it is unsurprising that bloodshed will eventually permeate their future.

Thus, given the predestined violence in “The End,” the duel itself is also representative of barbarism’s infinite repeatability, particularly when considered in the context of the nineteenth-century Martín Fierro. In the epic poem, after killing a gaucho in a duel, Martín Fierro “displays no remorse for that murder and goes so far as to insult the memory of the dead man” (Williamson, “Borges” 283), a psychopathic response that represents the ultimate embodiment of barbarism.

However, Martín Fierro manages to avoid an ensuing knife-fight and ultimately evades justice for the murder in the nineteenth-century epic by embarking on a new way of life that “signals the gaucho’s acceptance of the new social order”

(Bartles 139).254 At the same time, Hernández leaves Martín Fierro’s destiny fairly ambiguous in the nineteenth-century version of the epic, specifically in its

254 As Böhmer notes, the second part of the epic Martín Fierro reveals “a tamed José Hernández, who tries to return to politics by moving away from violent disobedience and changing his characters destiny … After avoiding a quarrel and thus preventing both his enemy from seeking vengeance and the tragedy from repeating, he reunites with his children and advises them to work and respect the law, not kill and steal” (104). 256

second part, which subsequently permits Borges the power to reimagine the gaucho’s ultimate destiny:255

Yo no sé lo que vendrá,

tampoco soy adivino;

pero firme en mi camino,

hasta el fin he de seguir:

todos tienen que cumplir

con la ley de su destino.256 (4481-4486)

In Borges’s reimagining of the epic, Martín Fierro does not evade the vengeance of slain man’s brother and “separates himself from the words of the law, from his own advice, and takes on the ancient justice” (Böhmer 195). He actively seeks the guitarist, which “perpetuates a cycle of revenge that could continue well beyond the closing sentence of Borges’s short story” (Bartles 140), as Martín

Fierro is now dead, and in theory, someone else may feel compelled to avenge

Martín Fierro’s death, just as the guitarist had been to avenge his brother’s.257

255 As Bartles sagely points out, Martín Fierro elects to take a different course of action at the end of the second part of the nineteenth-century epic, namely by backing down from the impending knife fight and “ultimately renouncing the violence of the gaucho’s moral code” and preparing to give his children “numerous pieces of advice about how to be good citizens of the state” (139). However, Hernández permits enough ambiguity in the epic’s conclusion, to allow Borges to reimagine Martín Fierro for the twentieth-century, “As Pedro Luis Barcia has shown, this ambiguous moment in the text, the gaucho’s unwritten destiny, permits Borges to reopen the classic and imagine a future encounter between Fierro and Moreno” (Bartles 140). 256 (“No more than you can I tell you true / What’s now about to be; / But I’m not getting off the trail I choose; / Till I get to the end, I’ll win or lose / There’s never a man since the world began / That escapes his destiny”; Owen trans; 4481-4486). 257 As Bartles also notes, the conclusion of “The End” “could be the end. But it is equally possible, now that El Moreno has become Fierro, the other, the man who has killed another, that Fierro’s two sons and even Cruz’s son will seek revenge for his death by challenging El Moreno. They may win or lose in those fights, and any of El Moreno’s eight living brothers could also retaliate. Just as the gaps in Martín Fierro inspired Borges’s redux, ‘El Fin’ tempts Borges’s readers to imagine and write the stories of this potential feud” (141). 257

Furthermore, similar to the nineteenth-century Martín Fierro’s externally dispassionate response to the man he kills in the epic poem, the guitarist also appears indifferent to the slaying of Martín Fierro, as he walks away from his bloodied body without a backwards glance. However, the guitarist does not walk away without a new burden, which is why “in this sequence of events, both end up losing in the end” (Böhmer 105).

Both men internally realize the preordained futility of their intentionally violent paths, which is why both men ironically acknowledge that they desire for their own children to avoid barbarism, illustrating Borges’s ongoing advocacy for civilization as a means to combat barbarism. As Böhmer notes, violent revenge, or predestined barbarism, ultimately strips away an individual’s free will, including

Martín Fierro’s: “It takes away his identity, his decision-making capacity, and

(once again) his destiny” (105). While Martín Fierro physically dies, the guitarist does not escape his own punishment, which is predestined by his murderous victory. The guitarist kills Martín Fierro to avenge his brother, but in doing so, he also has become like Martín Fierro himself: “Having killed Fierro, El Moreno has inherited the condition of his victim: he is now a murderer and an , and he has nowhere to go; to all intents and purposes, therefore, he has assumed his rival’s identity” (Williamson, “Borges” 289). The guitarist’s permanently desultory existence is encapsulated in the closing lines of “The End”: “His righteous task accomplished, he was nobody. More accurately, he became the stranger: he had no further mission on earth, but he had killed a man” (162). In other words, the guitarist has now become the wandering murderer that Martín Fierro was.

258

Despite the morbid conclusion, Borges clearly advocates civilization over barbarism, which is clear in the men’s brief dialogue. Martín Fierro remarks that he “didn’t want to seem like a man always fighting” (160) to his children, and he

“told them, among other things, that one man should not shed another man’s blood” (161). The guitarist concurs with this statement, commenting, “you did well. That way they won’t be like us” (162).

In some ways, the duel between Martín Fierro and the guitarist is also reminiscent of the opening chess scene in “The Secret Miracle,” which serves as a portent for violent rivalry. The chess game had been played so infinitely and repetitively that the current chess players not only have forgotten the rules and objectives, but also the ultimate prize, which had been rumored to be an understanding of the secrets underlying the universe. Nevertheless, the eternal chess game continues, and while the individual players or collective entities who oppose each other may change, the game remains unchanged. In that same vein, “The End” also features a similar interminable conflict, which is symbolized the duel between Martín Fierro and the guitarist. In the nineteenth-century version, Martín Fierro kills a man, and the slain man’s brother subsequently vows to avenge his death, thus initiating an interminable duel in which no one wins and no solution exists. Thus, the men are driven to continue dueling just as the chess players are compelled to keep playing, thereby symbolizing the directionless, albeit eternal, conflict that characterizes barbarism. At the same time, Martín

Fierro and the guitarist are acutely aware of the futility of violence, which is the most explicit when they briefly detail the advice they passed down to their

259

children. Furthermore, contrasting the combative men with the silent, yet reflective, tavern owner, Recabarren, amplifies the bleak, hollow future associated with barbarism.

Borges’s inclusion of Recabarren,258 the silent, paralyzed observer is perhaps one of the story’s most compelling aspects, as well as “wholly an invention of Borges’s” (Williamson, “Borges” 289) in contrast to Martín Fierro and the guitarist, who originate from the nineteenth-century epic. Critics have interpreted Recabarren in a number of different ways, and no general critical consensus regarding Recabarren appears to exist. Some scholarship has focused on the etymology of the name itself, as “recabar” is a Spanish verb that carries a variety of meanings depending on the sentence’s context; these meanings include “to raise,” “to collect,” “to demand,” and “to seek.” Williamson points out that Recabarren could be a fusion of the Spanish “recabar” and

English “barren,” which could “signal that all our efforts to master our destiny or discover a final purpose to our lives are futile” (“Borges” 290). On the other hand,

Bell-Villada believes Recabarren is significant due to the prefix “re-” and Spanish verb “acabar,” which means “to finish,” which could mean that “his very name … suggests something that ends twice, perhaps definitively” (85). Ludmer takes a completely different approach, suggesting that Recabarren’s seeming

258 Interestingly, Luis Emilio Recabarren was a labor leader in Chile in the early twentieth century, and in 1912 he “founded the Socialist Workers’ Party, which in 1921 became the Communist Party of Chile” (Sigmund 132). Recabarren has become increasingly of interest to scholars; for instance, a recent publication contrasts and compares and Recabarren’s views towards the working class and education: “Another important difference between them is Gramsci’s more significant inclusion of the ‘peasant question.’ For Recabarren, the peasant class was part of the working class, undifferentiated from the industrial working class … It was the education of the working class that both Gramsci and Recabarren considered essential for any advancement in the struggle to attain power” (Vetter and Holst 104). 260

omniscience suggests deity-like powers and that his name is inspired by God:

“Or, because he gave the bodies in struggle a voice and justice, he had to make the representation of God mute … And to represent him in name—with many r’s—of the English Bible of the Jewish God” (196). Needless to say, no general critical consensus exists yet in scholarship regarding the significance of

Recabarren’s name itself.

Aside from analyzing Recabarren’s name, “a number of critics have suggested that Recabarren could be regarded as a symbol of an author who invents the duel between Fierro and El Moreno … however, Recabarren-as- author has tended to be portrayed in very negative terms” (Williamson, “Borges”

290).259 On the other hand, Williamson argues “that the role played by

Recabarren is more positive than that generally ascribed to him” (“Borges,” 290), and Bell-Villada points out that Recabarren “serves as a link with the past and is witness to a history that repeats and this time reverses itself” (85). The reversal of history indicates a manipulation, or a transmutation, of time that neither Martín

Fierro nor the guitarist experience. Recalling that the manipulation of time is a significant element of lo fantástico in Borges’s short stories, Recabarren can certainly be the beneficiary of Borges’s gift of transmutable time, much in the same way Hladík was in “The Secret Miracle.” In short, Recabarren presents a glimmer of optimism that is completely absent in the barbarism depicted by the bloody, anticlimactic duel, namely by symbolizing civilization.

259 Williamson cites some specific examples of critics who take this viewpoint; for instance, “George M. McMurray sees ‘a possible identity’ with Borges himself in so far as Recabarren is a ‘detached creator of fictions’ who will trap Hernández’s hero in an ‘eternal labyrinth of fiction’” (“Borges” 290). 261

In several ways, Recabarren represents the civilization that starkly contrasts with the barbarism that unfolds before his eyes. In fact, his paralysis underscores the distinction between mental and physical strength, which is perhaps why he gazed “without sorrow at his great useless body, at the poncho of coarse wool wrapped around his legs” (159). Given his physical incapacity, he is unable to duel physically as Martín Fierro and the guitarist are. At the same time, he is also devoid of the consequences of barbarism, given that Martín

Fierro dies and the guitarist is haunted by his murder of Martín Fierro by the story’s end. Whereas both Martín Fierro and the guitarist ultimately suffer,

Recabarren merely “saw the end … from his cot” (162), and he is impervious to the fight’s outcome. Thus, Recabarren’s “inability to move suggests a static, timeless, changeless, situation” (Bell-Villada 85), and by the story’s end, “Borges sets the infinite in motion” (Bartles 140).

However, despite his physical incapacity, Recabarren also experiences a freedom that neither Martín Fierro nor the guitarist do, as what he lacks physically increases the ability he has mentally, particularly in his perception of time’s infinite repeatability260 and music’s cryptographic elements. As Williamson notes, “the paralysed Recabarren may be powerless to make a direct impact on the physical world, but, paradoxically, he is possessed of a certain power to pluck a dream out of the featureless void of the pampas” (Williamson, “Borges” 290).

260 Time’s infinite repeatability is particularly clear to Recabarren in the following lines:“The thrumming of the a guitar reached him from the other room; the invisible instrument was a kind of meager labyrinth infinitely winding and unwinding” (159). Bartles also notes this correlation: “Instead of assuming that the Pampa’s silence is evidence of what it lacks, the narrator postulates a sublime language or music that exceeds human understanding” (140). 262

An excellent example of Recabarren’s ability to pluck such a dream occurs when he can read the message of the Pampas: “There is an hour of the afternoon when the plain is on the verge of saying something. It never says it, or perhaps it says it infinitely, or perhaps we do not understand it, or perhaps we do not understand it, or we understand it and it is as untranslatable as music” (162).261

In other words, some realizations are beyond the grasp of a human’s conscious functioning, particularly if one permits one’s conscious to be impacted ceaselessly by the external noise and violence characteristic of barbarism.

Interestingly, Recabbaren’s mentality ability to perceive music’s connotations appears to correlate to his physical paralysis, as he recalls that he will “never forget the songs of the guitar contest” since they coincided with the day “his right side had suddenly died and he lost his power of speech” (159).

Given the strong association between music and lo fantástico,262 it is clear that

Borges equips Recabarren, the representative of civilization, with similar surreal powers that Hladík receives in “The Secret Miracle,” though Recabarren does not die by the end of “The End.” Furthermore, Recabarren’s mental fortitude is underscored when Borges likens it to the endless pampas: “By dint of taking pity

261 As Ludmer notes, Recabarren “also constructed his utopia, which is untranslatable language, the plain’s music without code” (196). 262 Various critics have recently noted the correlation between music and lo fantástico. For instance, “critical literature on the fantastic has not adequately exploited the frequent use of music and its structural relation to the genre. However, when looking for a model of the fantastic tale, most critics are quick to refer to E.T.A. Hoffmann, a master of the musical fantastic. It is evident from even a cursory study of Hoffmann’s writings that many elements of music enhance and embellish elements of the fantastic” (Powell 190). In addition, “Fantastic literature has a close relationship with music … As with sexual passion, the psychological effects of music are often represented as a quasi-magical phenomenon … Music is routinely used in fantastic fiction as a magical agent” (Stableford 295).

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on the misfortunes of heroes of novels we come to take too much pity on our own misfortunes; not so the enduring Recabarren, who accepted his paralysis as he had previously accepted the rude solitude of America” (159-60). Thus, “no longer devoid of life and civilization, the Pampa remains immense, yet filled with the unknown that inspires future fictions and symphonies to partially translate it without end” (Bartles 140-41).

Overall, “The End” remains one of Borges’s most enigmatic short stories, not only given its brevity, but also its intertextual and sociopolitical complexity.

However, a careful analysis of “The End,” in conjunction with diverse, albeit scant, critical commentary reveals a strong anti-fascist sentiment. Borges clearly challenges Lugones’s position on the epic Martín Fierro in “The End,” yet he does not entirely oppose the value of the gaucho; instead, he just does not believe that the gaucho should entirely define Argentine culture. Furthermore,

“The End” also portrays the infinite conflict between barbarism and civilization, with both Martín Fierro and the guitarist symbolizing the physical violence of barbarism, whereas Recabarren embodies the mental fortitude of civilization.

Similar to his treatment of Hladík in “The Secret Miracle,” Borges equips

Recabarren with the ability to discern what no one else can discern, including the infinite repeatability of time and the subconscious music of the pampas, which long outlasts immediately temporal, individual conflicts. Thus, in the same way that “The Secret Miracle” illuminates a glimmer of optimism relative to

“Deutsches Requiem” through the use of elements of lo fantástico, so does “The

End” in contrast to “The Feast of the Monster.”

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A Plea for Civilization in the Face of Rising Global Hatred

A thorough analysis of “Deutsches Requiem,” “The Secret Miracle,” “The

Feast of the Monster,” and “The End” reveals that Borges’s ficciones have significantly more sociopolitical significance than most scholars generally acknowledge, particularly when examining them within the context of his nonfiction political commentaries from the 1930s and 1940s. In addition, this significance is further magnified when considering these ficciones not only within the context of several of his other short stories, but also within Latin American and world letters and history as a whole. All four of these ficciones have a strong anti-fascist sentiment, though this perspective is more immediately overt in

“Deutsches Requiem” and “The Feast of the Monster.” In these two stories, lo fantástico is also absent, underscoring the brutal reality in which Borges lived.

However, out the intricacies and implications of “The Secret Miracle” and

“The End,” in particular “The End” given its enigmatic nature, also reveals

Borges’s strong opposition to an authoritarian state. Moreover, through incorporating the use of lo fantástico in these two stories, Borges illuminates the infinite repeatability of the eternal conflict of barbarism versus civilization, which has plagued humanity since its inception. Borges not only reveals the world as he presently sees it, but also paints a vivid picture of what existence could and should be.

In several ways, “Deutsches Requiem” and “The Secret Miracle” form a pair in which they are corollaries to one another in the same way that “The Feast of the Monster” and “The End” do, illustrating consistent symmetry and

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fascinating, multidirectional intersections between these two paired ficciones.

The principal distinction between these pairings is that the first is set in the context of Nazi Germany whereas the second occurs in Peronist Argentina.

However, as Borges demonstrates, since the respective German and Argentine dictatorships both embody the eternality of the conflict between barbarism and civilization, the geographical distinction between them is ultimately inconsequential. For instance, in “Deutsches Requiem” and “The Feast of the

Monster,” Borges utilizes first-person narration to explore the mental anatomy of a Nazi and a Peronist, respectively, illuminating both men’s propensity for extreme violence. In addition, these stories also underscore the deadly, deleterious effects of mob rule, which inevitably accompany any authoritarian state. Despite these stories’ bleak nature, a glimmer of optimism is revealed in their respective corollaries: “The Secret Miracle” and “The End” offer an alternative, favorable world as a counterpoint to the brutal reality depicted in

“Deutsches Requiem” and “The Feast of the Monster.” Furthermore, both of these stories stress the importance of mental fortitude over physical destruction, brilliantly illuminating the oft-quoted phrase: “The pen is mightier than the sword.”

Ultimately, through depicting the horrors of state authoritarianism in any form, Borges makes a strong case for the urgency of civilization’s development through independent thought and intellectual development, coupled with the abolition of barriers and prejudices. The increase of barbarism is inversely related to the development of civilization, and Borges skillfully depicts this inverse correlation as a zero-sum game. Moreover, this zero-sum game transcends all

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spatial and temporal boundaries. Barbaric forces will never be satisfied with having a mere majority of the population succumb to their dictums, even if they retain complete control of a given state and its institutions. Nothing short of absolute, permanent, uncontested domination will satisfy barbarism’s insatiable objectives, which is precisely why a significant percentage of Borges’s works concentrate on the exigency of civilization for the sake not only of progress, but also humanity’s future.

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CHAPTER 5: EMERSON AND BORGES—HARBINGERS OF HUMAN RIGHTS

A comparative analysis of Emerson and Borges’s politically and socially conscious works illuminates both writers’ conscious concern with natural laws and their corresponding rights, notably liberty and egalitarianism. This concern enables them to ruminate upon how the eternal conflict between barbarism and civilization has plagued humanity since its inception, even after significant intellectual progress had been made. History has been marked with a series of progressive advancements, only to be followed by degenerative declines, recalling Simon’s reference to an “everlasting opposition to natural law” (4), which manifests itself through various forms of barbarism barbarism. This historical repetition seemingly afflicts all of humanity, regardless of race, religion, or other distinguishing characteristics. Furthermore, aside from its immunity to the confines of time and space, the interminable clash between barbarism and civilization is often defined by conflict between authoritarian regimes, which commit myriad heinous actions, and individual scholars, who pursue truth, liberty, and knowledge. This conflict is often politicized, as human history has long been characterized by the complete domination of a miniscule minority of the population over virtually everyone else.

Relative to the span of human history, significant changes in political governance have occurred relatively recently, with the most formidable advancements occurring during the Age of Enlightenment. For several centuries

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in Europe, the interdependent fusion of religious and political institutions further exacerbated this dominion, ensuring servility and poverty amongst the vast majority of a population within a given regime. This mode of governance also contributed to widespread warfare and violence, as varying political and religious factions vied for military and economic dominance.263 Fortunately, new developments in political thought during the Age of the Enlightenment,264 notably theory,265 reinvigorated the focus on natural law and natural rights. 266 These new ideas strongly influenced the evolution of governments throughout Europe, particularly France, and the inception of the newly formed government of the United States.267 A few decades later, these ideas also formed

263 As John McCormick notes, “the causes of Europe’s conflicts have shifted from wars over land to wars of religion in the Middle Ages as first the Latin and Orthodox churches struggled with each other, then Catholics and Protestants fought for influence, then monarchs challenged the authority of the papacy. Through the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries much of Europe was in a state of almost constant religious warfare” (58). 264 McCormick also notes, “as Enlightenment ideas led to the rejection of claims by monarchs that their powers were based on God’s authority, and growing support for the idea that sovereignty lay with the people, so the struggles for national self-determination grew” (58). 265 Though they differed in their exact views, , , and Jean-Jacques Rousseau arguably represent the most notable contributors to this theory, which is based “on the idea that humans are, by nature, free and equal” and “denied that the powers and privileges of monarchs and aristocrats are natural”; thus, “all social distinctions and political hierarchies are conventional and in need of justification” (Morris ix). Rousseau’s The Social Contract, Locke’s Two Treatises of Government, and Hobbes’s Leviathan represent seminal works from this period. 266 For instance, in Rousseau’s The Social Contract, the first chapter opens by declaring, “man is born free; and everywhere he is chains” (5). He also references liberty throughout this work, noting, “no man has a natural authority over his fellow … to renounce liberty is to renounce being a man, to surrender the rights of humanity and even its duties. For him who renounces everything no indemnity is possible. Such a renunciation is incompatible with man’s nature” (8-9). 267 As Howard P. Kainz notes, “The modern notion of natural/human rights came into the limelight with the French Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen (1789), which asserted that liberty, property, security, and resistance to oppression were the ‘imprescriptible natural rights’ of all human beings. They are ‘imprescriptible because no political power or legislature could grant them or take them away. Earlier, American founders like Jefferson, worked in the context of Lockean natural law theory, grappled with the problem of coordinating natural law with the rights of . Spelling out these rights, the American Declaration of Independence (1776), thirteen years before the French Declaration, opens by emphasizing the basic rights of ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’” (“Natural” 20). 269

the basis for contentious political debate in the newly liberated Argentina,268 as

“the civilized, enlightened few provided to be deeply divided over the political models they wished to impose ... most felt that the republican system was the most progressive of all, using the United States as their role model” (Fowler 39).

Thus, the times in which Emerson and Borges lived were particularly seminal in terms of their respective nations’ political development, and both men’s prime scholarly activity coincided with especially uncertain, turbulent times. The early leaders of the United States and Argentina were generally focused on progressive ideals grounded in natural law and natural rights; for instance, the United States’ founding fathers were strongly influenced by several

Enlightenment thinkers while Argentina’s early leaders emphasized the importance of developing high culture, including literature. In short, the inception of each nation is characterized, at least in part, by efforts towards progress and civilization, including the implementation of a revolutionary government that defied past tradition. However, not long after receiving political independence, the tenets of civilization in each nation would be challenged by significant social ills: slavery in the nineteenth-century United States and fascism in twentieth- century Argentina. These evils illuminate an abject violation of natural rights, notably liberty and egalitarianism. Furthermore, both ills posed a grave risk to each nation’s future civilization, particularly since both were vulnerable to

268 Argentina’s early years were marked by conflict between the traditional Federalists and progressive Unitarians, and the Buenos Aires-based Unitarians “espoused liberal programs rooted in the ideals of the European Enlightenment” (Ching et al. 189). 270

external foreign influence, coupled with internal division from deeply partisan politics and extreme intellectual polarization.

Given that both Emerson and Borges served as public scholars, they arguably experienced even greater tension, and certainly more pressure, than most citizens in terms of their respective stances on the day’s most polemical issues. This stress was likely compounded by each man’s generally introverted nature and avoidance of absolutist tendencies. Despite both writers’ belief in a divine order that underlies human experience, they also recognized that this order was only partially observable by others. For this reason, the careers of both

Emerson and Borges are characterized by a constant refining of their political views, in conjunction with the corresponding evolution of their social activism.

Since their perspectives changed over time, a casual reader might certainly see some merit behind early biographers’ initial arguments that neither Emerson nor

Borges should be considered particularly civic-minded and politically engaged, particularly if a significant swath of each writer’s works is minimized in scholarship. However, a close analysis of their lesser-known publications within the context of their famous writings reveals the their long-term concern with progress and civilization, the antithesis to the contagion of the rampant violations of natural rights that they witnessed.

Furthermore, this analysis also leads to a number of remarkable intersections between Emerson and Borges on an individual, national, and global level, which will constitute the primary focus of this chapter. These intersections illuminate both men’s long-term intellectual reflection on natural laws, which

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ultimately head both to fight for liberty and egalitarianism. From an individual standpoint, Both intellectuals embody the essence of individualism through their open advocacy of natural rights for all, and such bravery remains a rarer attribute to this day. Both scholars are exceptionally prescient, and they place a premium on original thought and independent action. At first, this fierce individualism may seem to work against any organized potential social activism, especially since both Emerson and Borges demonstrated distrust of various institutions and organizations. However, they also shared a marked concern for the “Other” and marginalized groups suffering from an egregious violation of their natural rights, which was reinforced by their extensive erudition, respective travel experiences, and purposely open minds. Thus, their staunch individualism and character enabled them to evolve as social activists during the apex of their respective careers, catalyzing awareness and demanding change on a national stage, in spite of the clear danger both faced for their positions.

Interestingly, Emerson and Borges took seemingly opposite approaches over the course of their respective evolutions on a national scale, though their distinct paths ultimately leave an equally indelible influence on global civilization.

Utilizing an inductive approach, Emerson began his initial activism with broader recommendations for complete self-reformation, though he eventually embraced

“single issue” reform in his public speeches, focusing specifically on slavery in the United States.269 Borges, on the other hand, followed an deductive approach

269 Emerson was also reluctant to directly engage in politics, at least initially: “Even after Emerson moved closer to the abolitionist position and won the high regard of many of their leaders, he still carefully guarded the separate self and held back from becoming actively involved in political 272

and commenced his respective activism with “single issue” reform, publishing several critiques on Nazi Germany; however, the arrival of fascism to Argentina during the final years of the Second World War underscored the universality of the social ill, prompting Borges to address natural rights more broadly in his ficciones. Ultimately, both Emerson and Borges are internationally renowned scholars who left behind a prolific trove of writings that not only encapsulate their social activism, but also demonstrate consistent concern with the natural laws and corresponding rights that are now embodied in The Universal Declaration of

Human Rights (1948).270 Their copious writings tirelessly challenge the constant threat of barbarism, simultaneously warning future generations about liberty’s inherent fragility and expressing hope that civilization will ultimately triumph over barbarism. These works address specific social ills, but within a universal context grounded in natural laws, which renders them relatable to virtually any individual.

Thus, Emerson and Borges arguably serve as harbingers of human rights on a global scale.

Individual Intersections

On an individual level, the most immediate intersection one could draw between Emerson and Borges pertains to each scholar’s seminal standing in his respective nation’s culture and history, achieved through their prolific writings, which drew substantive attention to the preeminence of natural laws.

forays” (Neufeldt 504). However, as noted by Richardson: “Over the years Emerson gave the most emotional speeches of his career in the crusade against slavery” (499). 270 As Gabriel Moran notes, “the decade of the 1940s is the period in which human rights took on definition” (98), and “the authors of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights began their reflection on rights from their understanding of the eighteenth-century meaning of natural rights” (95). 273

Interestingly, despite the thematic commonalities shared by their works, it should be noted that Borges utilized fictional writing far more often than Emerson. The vast majority of Emerson’s writings are non-fiction, consisting of essays, speeches, and journal entries; while he wrote some poetry, he generally focused on a more philosophical writing style, which often resulted in quite lengthy essays. On the other hand, Borges wrote numerous ficciones and poems, along with copious commentaries, translations, and other non-fiction writings. Relative to Emerson’s works, Borges’s tend to be much shorter in length, though certainly comparable in philosophical complexity. However, the difference between the writers’ preferred genres is largely immaterial from a political standpoint, given the core philosophy underlying their works: liberty and egalitarianism for all.

Furthermore, both men’s writings are arguably national treasures for their respective countries. Emerson is widely considered one of the most important contributors to nineteenth-century American culture, whereas Borges is roundly acknowledged as one of the most significant influences on twentieth-century

Argentinian culture.

Aside from the general consensus regarding these characterizations,

Emerson and Borges also share several other characteristics that shed light into each scholar’s unique, yet consistent, dedication to addressing the most pressing social ills in their writings. Both men demonstrate a remarkable propensity for voracious intellectual development: Not only did each scholar receive an exceptional formal education, but they often spent independent time in libraries, relentlessly pursuing diversified knowledge through a wide variety of extensive

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readings, including literature associated with the “Other.” However, Emerson and

Borges did not restrict themselves to reading and thinking alone; both men also travelled, and their extended exposure to diverse cultures and distinct intellectual developments further heightened their sensitivity towards social ills, particularly those that violated liberty and egalitarianism, which is reflected in their writings.

Furthermore, both Emerson and Borges are truly innovative writers, and both men’s literary production is suffused with references to a divine, underlying order, which is underpinned by natural, unchangeable laws and impervious to artificial, manmade constructions and prejudices.271 Thus, the amalgamation of these varied intersections on an individual level provides strong insight into the social activism both scholars ultimately engage with on a national level.

Emerson’s courses at Harvard and Borges’s studies in Switzerland were complemented by their extensive, independent readings and reflections, which often occurred in libraries, the embodiment of civilization and the antithesis of barbarism. The central mission of a library is to provide a communal source of education through its diverse collection of books, and libraries have historically served as centers of education, from ancient to modern times. Thus, libraries also embody the intellectual breadth and progress that comprises civilization, making them a natural enemy of barbarism. As noted in Books on Fire: The

Destruction of Libraries Throughout History, libraries are fragile entities, not only subject to “destruction by fire and water, worms and wars and earthquakes,” but

271 It is worth noting that scholarship has recognized the intersections between divine order and human rights, as “human rights find their source in people’s fundamental identity with each other and with the divine soul” (Adisasmito-Smith 152). 275

also particularly vulnerable to the “primary threat, which comes into play much more often than we would like to imagine” (Polastron x). This threat is barbarism, often encapsulated in an authoritarian power that seeks total domination of a given population because “an educated people cannot be governed … because the nature of a great collection of books is a threat to the new power, like Taoism in the eyes of the Mongols, or Shiism to the Sunnis, or the Reformation to traditional Catholicism” (Polastron x). In other words, dynamic new philosophies virtually always represent a direct threat to regressive barbarism, which thrives on widespread illiteracy and ignorant acquiescence.

Fortunately, Emerson and Borges had the ability to spend significant time in libraries, which arguably fomented their intellectual curiosity and development and heightened their appreciation of philosophical developments, particularly natural laws. Emerson initially derived many of his original ideas through his extensive readings. While Emerson was in college, he “he gained a reputation for his fund of general knowledge, much of it gathered from the

Library” (McMullen 152). After college, Emerson also spent substantive time at

“the best library in Boston,” the Athenaeum (McMullen 152). Emerson not only used the library for withdrawing books, but he “often made the Library his headquarters while in the city,” by reading, writing, and occasionally visiting friends in the Athenaeum; once he achieved fame, “he was considered one of the chief ornaments of the place” (McMullen 154). His long-term devotion to critical, reflective reading not only influenced the development of his early essays, such as “The American Scholar,” but also his antislavery speeches. Furthermore,

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Emerson’s self-directed studies allowed for a self-immersion in readings outside of the traditional . For instance, he read horrific accounts about slavery, notably Thomas Clarkson’s History of the Abolition of the African Slave

Trade and James Thome and J. H. Kimball’s Emancipation in the British West

Indies, which strongly influenced his 1844 address: “Perhaps the vividness of these last two books jarred Emerson from observer to activist” (Richardson 396).

In addition, he also “deliberately turned to the world outside of Europe and

America, to the writings of the Chinese, Persians, and Indians for confirmation and aspiration” (Adisasmito-Smith 133), reinforcing his recognition of humanity’s inherent similarities and subsequent concern for egalitarianism. He was especially intrigued by ,272 pursuing “the ‘flying force’ of Indian thought for over fifty years of his productive life” (Adisasmito-Smith 131).273 Thus, through his extensive experience with libraries, Emerson acquired impressive erudition and intense appreciation for Western and Eastern philosophical contributions, which pervade his most celebrated writings, as well as his lesser- known antislavery speeches.

Similar to Emerson, Borges also enhanced his innovative thinking and interpersonal sensitivity through spending significant time at libraries, where he also immersed himself in extensive philosophical studies, including those that examine natural law. In an interview, Borges declared that he couldn’t remember

272 As Phillip Goldberg notes, “Emerson was born in 1803, at a time when America had no Sanskrit scholars, nor any classes or textbooks in comparative religion … But in Emerson’s Boston, a bustling seaport, travelogues about India and commentaries on its ancient scriptures and stories trickled in from abroad” (26). 273 Goldberg also notes this immense influence, and he makes the following compelling assertion: “If Ralph Waldo Emerson had been the only American ever to read the sacred texts of India, the Vedic impact on the nation would still have been huge” (26). 277

a time in his life when he “didn’t know how to read or write,” and he also stated he “was educated by [his] father’s library” (Suárez-Aráuz and Barnstone 501). As

Borges grew older, he developed “an almost religious reverence for books and writing” (Piper 56), and he worked at a Buenos Aires Municipal Library, often reading while his coworkers were gossiping. Despite his professional demotion during the Perón regime, he was eventually promoted to the Director of the

Argentine National Library in 1955, after dealing with the trials and tribulations associated with the Perón government (Piper 56-57). Like Emerson, Borges also read an enormous array of texts; aside from his clear passion for Jewish scholarship and nineteenth-century German philosophy, he also demonstrated a remarkable interest in Arabian and Islamic culture, which influenced the development of his ficciones: “Islam plays no small role in the stories of Borges”

(Almond 436). Borges’s long-term passion for reading, underscored by the time he spent in the library, is evident throughout his ficciones and non-fiction works, which are suffuse with rich intertextuality and diverse perspectives.

Aside from their formal studies and diverse readings, both men’s travel experiences also greatly heightened their sensitivity towards social ills and subsequently influenced their writings. For instance, Emerson first came into contact with the practice of slavery when he witnessed a slave auction during his time in St. Augustine, Florida, which he wrote about in his journal. In addition,

Emerson also travelled abroad to Europe in the late 1840s, just after he delivered his first significant antislavery address. While abroad, he “came into contact with beggars and prostitutes, factory owners, ambassadors, proletarians,

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parliamentarians, students, and critics,” and he “recorded his observations of

British society and of revolutionary Paris in his journals, notebooks, and letters”

(Koch, Ralph 1-2). Similar to Borges’s experience, Emerson’s time in Europe

“impacted his life and writing profoundly in the years and decades that followed”

(Koch, Ralph 2). The impacted writings included his antislavery speeches, which

“cannot be understood without reference to his experience of Great Britain and the European revolutions of 1848” (Koch, Ralph 3). Furthermore, Emerson also travelled throughout the United States on various lecture tours, where “he addressed the public issues of his day, especially the injustice of slavery”

(Pennell 32). Thus, the combination of Emerson’s erudition and experience, which heightened his sensitivity towards the downtrodden and marginalized, presaged the contributions he would make to the abolitionist movement.

In the twentieth century, travel also had a powerful impact on Borges’s life and work from an early age up through his final years of life. The European experience “proved crucial to young Borges’s development” (Piper 56), as the adolescent Borges forged lifelong friendships with Jewish classmates and began developing his universal view. In addition, Borges learned three more languages.

He had learned English and Spanish as a child in Buenos Aires, and he became fluent in French, Latin, and German when he lived in Switzerland (Zlotchew 170).

In addition, “as a member of the ultraists, a group of modernist writers, he became convinced that he needn’t be tied to any tradition or movement” (Piper

56). Once Borges’s family returned to Argentina in 1924, he did not travel abroad again until 1961, and he took “cosmopolitan journeys in his later years—to the

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United States, to Europe, and to Japan” (J. Lawrence 96). Borges also travelled to Israel twice: “in 1969, when he lectured in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, and in

1971, to receive the ” (Stavans, Resurrecting 156). After Perón returned to power in Argentina in 1973, Borges promptly resigned from his position as the director of the National Library, and he then “traveled, wrote, and lectured” (Piper 57) for the remainder of his years. Upon his passing, he was buried in Geneva, Switzerland “because those who were to live among him, were, he said, better travelers” (Axelrod 156). Thus, Borges’s diverse experiences abroad also left an indelible impact on his writings and philosophy, as well as his strong aversion to fascism and absolutist authoritarianism.

The combination of education and experience led both Emerson and

Borges to develop strong appreciation for natural rights, which underpin the divine, underlying order that binds all of humanity, regardless of a given individual’s race, gender, religion, or other defining characteristic, as this order defies both time and space. In terms of time, Emerson’s belief in the continuous perfectibility of mankind, which is based upon natural laws, was certainly influenced by his study of history, wherein he traced the intellectual progress and development of humanity. This belief was undoubtedly reinforced by his time in

England in the late 1840s, as his direct observations of social change, which correlate to the notion of perfectibility, influenced the development of

Representative Men and other major works. Furthermore, Emerson’s intense exposure to Oriental readings, particularly Indic texts, also reveals how diverse spaces contributed to his pursuit of the divine. For instance, in a letter dated to a

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friend on July 18, 1840, Emerson recalls how his study of the Indic Vedas provided him with insight into this universal order:

In the sleep of the great heats there was nothing for me but to read the

Vedas, the bible of the tropics, which I find I come back upon every three

or four years. It is sublime as heat and night and a breathless . It

contains every religious sentiment, all the grand ethics which visit in turn

each noble and poetic mind … It is of no use to put away the book: if I

trust myself in the woods or in a boat upon the pond, nature makes a

Bramin of me presently: eternal necessity, eternal ,

unfathomable power, unbroken silence, —this is her creed. (28-29)

Emerson’s return to the Vedas “every three or four years” underscores the degree to which Oriental philosophy influenced his world view, as well as complemented his fervent belief in nature, a significant commonality of human experience. In short, Emerson recognizes that individuals in the “heat” of the

Orient feel the same spiritually transformative power of nature that he himself does in New England, whether he is “in the woods or in a boat upon the pond.”

Such a broad, thoughtful perspective arguably lends credence to Emerson’s universal worldview, which recognizes the barbarism of artificial barriers and futile hatred and stresses the importance of liberty and egalitarianism.

Borges is similar to Emerson in that he strongly believes in a universal order grounded in natural laws, which will eventually supersede any efforts to upset it. However, Borges’s notion of this order is influenced to a greater degree by mathematical and metaphysical images, which pervade countless ficciones

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and other writings. It is probable that even a casual reader of Borges’s well- known ficciones would notice pervasive references to infinity, labyrinths, relativity, and mathematics, all of which point towards a consistent order. The

Kabbalah likely exerted an especially strong influence on Borges’s conception of an underlying order, as Borges himself remarks: “It is the idea that the whole world is merely a system of symbols, that the whole world, including the stars, stood for God’s secret writing. That idea is to be found in the Kabbalah, and I think that may be my chief attraction to it” (qtd in Alazraki 7).274 Out of Borges’s ficciones, “The Library of Babel” provides an especially compelling image of an order that is synonymously divine and mathematical:

The universe (which others call the Library) is composed of an indefinite,

perhaps an infinite, number of hexagonal galleries, with enormous

ventilation shafts in the middle, encircled by very low railings … The

Library exists ab aeterno. No reasonable mind can doubt this truth, whose

immediate corollary is the future eternity of the world. Man, the imperfect

librarian, may be the work of chance of malevolent demiurges; the

universe, with its elegant of shelves, of enigmatic volumes …

can only be the work of a god. (79-81)

In this passage, Borges underscores his idea of a universal, underlying order by likening the Library to the universe, one that “can only be the work of a god.”

274 Tellingly, the title of one of Borges’s most famous ficciones, “El Aleph,” is derived from the work of nineteenth-century German mathematician Georg Cantor, who “decided to name his .(Aczel 142) ”א ,infinities—his transfinite cardinal numbers—using the Hebrew letter aleph Furthermore, Benjamin Peirce, a nineteenth-century American mathematician, “forcefully argued that mathematics was like Cabala” and “agreed with Plato and Galileo that God wrote the universe in the language of mathematics” (Cohen 54-55). 282

Given that the Library has an “indefinite, perhaps infinite, number of hexagonal galleries,” its knowledge is only partially discoverable by mankind, which dwells within the constraints of time. Borges’s phrase “no reasonable mind” is also important, highlighting the importance of rationality and pursuit of “truth,” particularly in a violent, irrational world that has drifted from a natural foundation.

Despite the short story’s brevity, like virtually all of Borges’s ficciones, its mathematical references was large enough to inspire William Goldbloom Bloch to write an entire book: The Unimaginable Mathematics of Borges’s Library of

Babel, which describes “how a maximally disordered and chaotic distribution of books in the Library can be seen as a Grand pattern” (107). Thus, through mathematics and metaphysics, Borges clearly argues for the existence of an underlying, divine order, though it is only partially perceived, if at all, by a given individual. Nevertheless, since partial access is equally available to all individuals, regardless of background, Borges’s notion of a universal order, like

Emerson’s, is simultaneously nondiscriminatory and omnipotent, stressing liberty and egalitarianism.

Despite the aesthetic differences between Borges’s and Emerson’s portrayal of a divine, universal order, their depictions share a vital thematic element in common: the union of the self to the divine manifested in natural laws, which allows for constant self-discovery, self-development, and self-realization.

In The Quest for God in the Work of Borges, Annette U. Flynn details Borges’s notion of “the living relationship between man and the divine”: “The nature of that union of self and divine is the realization that there is the possibility of entering

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into a relationship with God, possibly day by day, by making a continuing choice of openness and discovery, as opposed to a once-and-for-all resolution or panacea” (15). Similarly, in Emerson’s Life in Science: The Culture of Truth,

Laura Dassow Walls remarks that by the time Emerson turned twenty-one, he

“had already woven a tight-knit theory of the universe in which moral law was activated in every decision, every moment of living, every thought,” and his universe “was acutely alive to the possibilities of the mind” (71). Thus, not only does this divine, underlying order reveal the fallacy of unnatural hatred and prejudice, but it also serves as a constant reminder of possibility, which is correlated to idealism and perfectibility.

Ultimately, Emerson and Borges’s recognition of this union likely influenced each writer’s generally consistent hope and optimism, despite living during extraordinarily difficult times and subsequently experiencing temporary lapses into and . Fortunately, these lapses were never indefinite, and optimism virtually always returned. This hope enabled both writers to take a stance for civilization against barbarism, in spite of their general introversion and all the known and unknown risks they faced. During these times, it was likely far easier to be cynical, particularly when unrelenting hatred and violence seemed to reach unimaginably high levels. However, Emerson and

Borges, empowered by their strong individualism, wrote incendiary texts to challenge the barbarism that prevailed throughout their respective eras, leaving behind a written record to serve and inspire future scholars with a conscience.

National Intersections

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Ironically, despite Emerson and Borges’s formidable presence in nineteenth-century America and twentieth-century Argentina, respectively, both men were generally inclined towards introversion and quiet reflection. This inclination, coupled with their staunch individualism, initially makes each scholar appear to be an unlikely candidate for social activism on a national level. Indeed, as some of the earliest biographies of Emerson and Borges reveal, it is not uncommon for both men to be perceived as intense writers who are undoubtedly brilliant, yet socially isolated and largely distant from controversies that embroil daily existence. Furthermore, both men’s general preference for self-reliance and distrust of organized institutions would seem to further compound the case against either scholar as a social activist.

However, Emerson and Borges’s individualism entailed remarkable dedication to independent self-study and diverse travels, which in turn influenced their persistent belief in a divine, universal order that defies time and space, excluding no one and including everyone, or the embodiment of egalitarianism.

This belief renders artificial, deliberately constructed barriers between people both ethically wrong and irrationally futile, as such barriers generally work towards promoting barbarism and undermining civilization. Furthermore,

Emerson and Borges’s appreciation for the natural laws that underpin their philosophical beliefs allows them to recognize mankind’s inherent equality and natural rights, particularly considering the following:

A key precept of natural law theory is the individual as an indivisible and

indispensable component. In natural law theory at every level, there is a

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place for the individual as a bearer or rights and duties beyond the power

of the state. The individual human is an absolute, who should be accorded

universal equality, respect, and dignity. (Nagan et al. 86)

For Emerson, the recognition of natural laws would undoubtedly reveal the unnatural cruelty of the Fugitive Slave Law and other horrific legislation, not to mention the barbarism of slavery itself. For Borges, a consistent focus on natural law would illuminate the frightening irrationality of a fascist regime, including its suffocation of progress and aversion to independent intellectual development, along with its violent outcome, which includes the indiscriminate killing of anyone who does not conform entirely to an authoritarian regime’s dictums.

Thus, natural law would render both men opposed to the artificial barriers and debilitating prejudices that characterize barbarism, which would ultimately lead them to take a stand against significant social ills and for the preservation of progress and civilization. Barriers and prejudices underpin barbarism, including the presumably organized barbarism underneath an authoritarian ruler, as

“barbaric society is tribal society of the highest form,” with its organization based on “kinship, actual or artificial” (J. Powell 108). “Actual” kinship brings to mind the endless corruption of royal families throughout history, whereas “artificial” can entail any number of fascist creations, such as the German Nazis’ opposition to the Jews, the Argentinian Peronists’ ostracization of the intellectuals, and seemingly countless instances of artificially created and violently enforced manifestations of a given autocrat and his mindless, moblike followers.

Throughout the duration of their respective careers, Emerson and Borges

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focused significant effort on speaking out against the most pressing social ills of their respective days, with the key difference being their approaches: Emerson followed an inductive path towards social activism, whereas Borges followed a deductive trail. Nevertheless, both shared the most important similarity: they left an indelible impact on the study of human rights through a literary lens.

Emerson was initially resistant to direct alignment with the abolitionists for several reasons, though he would eventually change his mind. An earnest young man, Emerson fervently believed in the possibility of mankind’s perfectibility, embodied in general recommendation for holistic self-reform: “Reform, via the promotion of personal responsibility and ethical-aesthetic cultivation, is required to realign the inner conscience and political legislation” (Adisasmito-Smith 151).

Such reform, Emerson thought, would naturally lead to the complete spiritual renewal of society and eliminate a host of social ills, including slavery, women’s voting restrictions, Native American abuse, and other serious issues, as his

“political conception of the self motivates individuals to realize their potential to become centers of action” (Adisasmito-Smith 153). However, as the years progressed, Emerson realized that his speeches were too impractical for the current political climate, and the ramifications of this realization were accelerated after Texas’s annexation to the Union. Thus, he moved from a broad approach regarding holistic reform to delivering a series of speeches that took an unequivocal stance against slavery; for roughly two decades, Emerson dedicated immense effort to helping eradicate the most virulent social ill of his time. Though it took him time to travel from general to specific recommendations for reform, the

287

efforts he did make once he took a public stand demonstrate that Emerson practiced what he preached and acted upon his thoughts, despite the difficulty in doing so.

On the other hand, Borges followed a deductive path towards social activism. His initial political commentaries centered on the specific social ills pertaining to anti-Semitism and Hitler’s regime, but they expanded to include direct criticism of “germanophiles” and the Peronist government, culminating in a general stance against fascism. Borges realized that fascism was hardly restricted to Nazi Germany, which is why, in a sense, Hitler did partially win the

Second World War, due to the hatred and violence that continues to plague the world today. Thus, “Borges turns to the Semitic in order to posit an idea of the universal that can only be accessed through the particular, as well as to articulate the paradoxical position of the Latin American intellectual on the margins of modernity” (Zivin 121). Borges realized the universality of the specific Semitic experience, including the sense of constant exile and wandering, as well as the imminent threat of barbaric violence and persecution. Through this connection, he infused his ficciones with political significance and consistently posited the hope for a utopian future.

Emerson and Borges were profound influences on their respective nations, helping define the nation’s culture post-independence and serving as public intellectuals who encouraged literacy, awareness, and adherence to natural laws amongst the population. Despite their introversion, these men were able to achieve this impressive feat through their fierce individualism, which

288

catalyzed within them a strong sense of duty within society. Emerson and Borges took different approaches in terms of their respective social activism efforts.

Emerson began by focusing on broad, holistic self-reform, but he eventually narrowed his focus specifically to antislavery, which favorably influenced the abolitionist movement. Borges started by emphasizing the ill effects of anti-

Semitism and Hitler’s regime, though he ultimately developed a strong opposition to all forms of fascism, regardless of their peculiarities. Overall, both Emerson and Borges’s writings illuminate the deleterious effects of social ills on all, regardless of time or place, which render their works deservedly ripened for intersections with human rights on a global scale.

Global Intersections

To this day, Emerson and Borges represent global titans of civilization.

Individuals living in the twenty-first century are remarkably fortunate to have access to their writings. This written record enables the scholars’ literary influence and social activism to continue influencing future thinkers, writers, scholars, and activists, just as the thoughts and actions of Emerson and Borges themselves were once profoundly influenced by other writers.275 Emerson and

Borges grappled with serious social ills, yet they also did not lose hope in the continuous triumph of civilization over barbarism, or the victory of natural laws in

275 For instance, scholars have noted Emerson’s influence on Ralph Waldo Ellison, a renowned twentieth-century African-American author who wrote Invisible Man, a novel that “evinces a deep philosophical indebtedness to Emerson” (Deutsch 160), as it “represents [Ellison’s] attempt to return to that mood of personal responsibility and moral idealism” (Deutsch 159) that characterized the nineteenth century. Indeed, Ellison himself states in Shadow and Act that 19th century writers “took a much greater responsibility for the condition of democracy” (103). Similar to Emerson, Borges’s influence will likely last well into the future. After all, his concerns “extend beyond the physical and social problems of Argentina and Latin America to the more universal metaphysical relationships of humanity with deity, time, and death” (Lyon 76). 289

the face of opposition to them, which is evident from the optimism and possibility that pervades their literary production. Emerson and Borges’s writings forge bridges between different times and distinct places, underscoring the commonalities that bind humanity and encouraging persistent intellectual development. When examining their marked concern with the rights available to all individuals within natural law, particularly within the context of The Universal

Declaration of Human Rights, it becomes clear that Emerson and Borges deserve to be remembered as harbingers of human rights.

While human rights have been directly and indirectly alluded to since the dawn of written history, the formalized study of human rights is extremely recent, with the publication of the United Nations’ The Universal Declaration of Human

Rights on December 10, 1948 marking its formal inception. The horrors of the

Second World War demonstrated the omnipresent threat of barbarism, which can occur even after significant advancements in human progress and civilization.

This threat was also clearly recognized by Emerson, who contrasts eighteenth- and nineteenth-century America, and Borges, who distinguished between nineteenth- and twentieth-century Germany. Given the rights enumerated in this declaration, it is unsurprising that the architects of this declaration initially looked towards philosophy regarding natural law. One of natural law’s most appealing aspects is its transcendence over national law, which played a significant role in the Nuremburg Trials: “What was clearly the lasting effect of the Nuremberg

Trials is that it highlighted the question of a law beyond national laws” (Moran

95). Such a law invalidates the authority of legislation passed in Nazi Germany,

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slaveholding America, and other laws that may masquerade as entities that promote orderly society, yet are in reality thinly veiled, grotesque violations of human rights.276

Given Emerson and Borges’s dynamic writings, which always seek new possibilities and avoid static interpretations, it is worthwhile to provide insight into their seeming aversion to an exceptionally strong government, leading some to perceive both men as anarchists. Prior to the Age of Enlightenment, the idea of a representative government seemed fairly illusory, and even during the Age of

Enlightenment, it seemed far easier to theorize about representative governments than enact them. Barbarism has persisted since humanity’s inception, thought it has taken different forms: For centuries, the fusion of politics and religion in Europe justified numerous violent wars, undoubtedly spurring several British and European citizens to leave for the perceived liberties of the newly formed United States. This barbarism clearly influenced the concept of social contract theory, which argues that citizens should consent to be governed, and in return, the government should protect all its citizens, including their natural rights. While the aforementioned Hobbes, Locke, and Rousseau shared this view to a degree, Hobbes was perhaps the largest proponent for a strong, centralized government, as demonstrated in various points throughout Leviathan.277

276 As Nagan et al. note, “natural law provides an added value to international law. Under international law, sovereign states must subordinate and articulate their claims to absolute sovereignty. Natural law constrains the claims of the absolutist state” (86). 277 For instance, Hobbes cites a strong government as the best deterrent against war, directly associating war with barbarism: “Hereby it is manifest, that during the time men live without a common Power to keep them all in awe, they are in that condition with his Warre; and such a warre, as is of every man, against every man … In such a condition, there is no place for Industry; because the fruit thereof is uncertain: and consequently no Culture of the Earth; … no Knowledge of the face of the Earth; no account of Time; no Arts; no Letters; no Society; and 291

Thus, the consideration of an areligious nation-state’s secular government as an agent of terror and violence is a relatively recent, yet undeniable, phenomenon in human history, illuminating and frankly justifying Emerson and

Borges’s leeriness regarding certain forms of nationalism. After all, the United

States was founded upon the principle of liberty, and its government featured elected representatives, who theoretically had to earn their power, rather than simply be born into it. Yet it took an incredibly violent, unconscionably deadly

Civil War to ultimately realize the rights of all individuals, regardless of background, and formally abolish slavery with the addition of the thirteenth amendment to the Constitution. Even after the Civil War, racism has persisted in the nation, as evidenced by myriad events that culminated with the landmark

Civil Rights Act of 1965, as well as other occurrences that continue to influence politics today.

Likewise, in secular, twentieth-century Germany, Hitler did not become the

Führer as a result of his background, but of his sheer determination to acquire and consolidate absolute power. Perón also was elected in twentieth-century

Argentina, and he did not assume the presidency by force, which is particularly evident by Argentinians’ warm welcome of him in 1973 after he returned from exile in Spain. One could certainly argue that Hitler and Perón obtained power through masterful manipulation of the masses. However, given the commonplace, non-royal background of both fascists, it is highly probable that neither would have ever acquired such power in virtually any nation just a few

which is worst of all, continuall feare, and danger of violent death; And the life of man, solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, short” (185-86). 292

centuries earlier, an ironic, yet troubling, realization. Nevertheless, this realization does not mean that representative government is a failure or a poorly executed concept; instead, it simply brings acute attention to the need for widespread literacy, education, and morality, coupled with a consistent focus on natural laws, amongst a nation’s population. In short, a nation’s population should comprise independent thinkers and courageous actors, who can help check, and ideally influence, an administration’s power when it veers dangerously near a path of human rights violations.

Emerson and Borges were firsthand observers of the new troubles that would plague civilization, and these observations were magnified by the fact that each lived in a country with very limited history relative to others. They certainly appear to be critical of the government on a number of levels, yet a close analysis of their writings reveals that it is not so much the inherent concept of government that disturbs them; it is the reality of unethical people assuming representative positions, exhibiting remorseless deception, and passing legislation that aligns with barbarism and stagnation, rather than civilization and progress. However, recalling their seemingly eternal optimism, Emerson and

Borges challenged their governmental institutions, though they did not advocate complete destruction of the government. Their natural dynamism simply guided them to contemplate a mode of governance that simultaneously moderates human relationships and ensures protection of natural rights for all.278 This mode

278 The nineteenth-century American anthropologist J. Powell alludes to the necessity of such dynamism in the face of barbarism: “Old institutions decay as new institutions take their place. Old languages decay and are forgotten because new and higher languages are learned. When 293

would improve upon the precepts set forth in social contract theory, which has become increasingly popular in twentieth century.

Perhaps one of the most visible scholarly examples of this popularity is R.

G. Collingwood’s The New Leviathan, which is an updated response to Hobbes’

Leviathan. This work also brings to mind Emerson and Borges, as Emerson believes that scholars should use history to guide the development of new ideas and Borges believes that virtually any work can be rewritten and reinterpreted by someone else. Fulfilling both of these beliefs, The New Leviathan recognized

“that the state, the very instrument created for our security and protection, had become the perpetrator of the horrors from which we created it to escape”

(Boucher 45). Peter Johnson remarks that The New Leviathan builds on the original Leviathan in that “it emphasizes the need for political education as much as the presence of agreement in the construction of a civil order” (15).279 Within this context, it is clear that Emerson and Borges are not static anarchists opposed to any form of authority; instead, they share the same concern as the

United Nations and other scholars: An organized nation-state does not

civilization meets with savagery or barbarism it always teaches it a new language. Old opinion, to, decay as wiser opinions take their place” (101). 279 Boucher also concurs with Johnson, stating, “It took the Second World War and the renewed threat to civilization for the significance of Hobbes to be appreciated. Leviathan was Hobbes’s answer to barbarism in that the authority of the sovereign provided the protection against the constant threat of regression from civilization into barbarism. The new barbarism, of which Collingwood wrote, was new in the sense that the very institution authorized to protect us against barbarism had become the instrument of barbarism itself, the very perpetrator of the revolt against civilization” (49). 294

automatically denote civilization; its adherence to natural laws and respect for human rights does.280

Today, varying viewpoints exist regarding the theory of human rights, and even more diverse perspectives contemplate the best way to implement human rights into all aspects of life. Recalling that the formalized field of human rights was conceived less than a century ago, which is why “it is possible the world is still at an early stage of finding the proper nature of and effective means for achieving human rights” (Moran 95). Aside from the influence The Universal

Declaration of Human Rights has had on the development of legislation in different nations, studies in the field of human rights have evolved by diversifying their focus. Once, purely legal interpretations prevailed in scholarship, followed by gradual incorporation of the social sciences, to the present study of intersections between literature and human rights.281 Given Emerson and

Borges’s broad concern for natural laws, personal liberties, and social reform, their literature represents a natural connection between human rights and literature.

280 Rhodes also seconds this assertion: “Human nature had an objective quality that could be understood by reason. The state needed to be a creation of reason, a contract that would work for individuals of diverse outlooks and capacities living together in mutual respect” (164). 281 As renowned human rights scholar Todd Landman notes, “Alongside the long history of the commitment of the law to study and advance the struggle for human rights, disciplines within the social sciences have overcome their own tendency to marginalize human rights and have grappled with a large variety of human rights problems, puzzles, and contradictions that have characterized the modern struggle for greater protection of human rights” (1). On a similar note, scholar Promad K. Nayar argues that discourse on Human Rights should extend well beyond the discipline of law, and he asserts the importance of literature in achieving this broadened discourse: “Political commentaries and legal discourses do not provide, in my view, the adequately robust scaffolding to construct the subject, the person, of human rights. Literature which, as Geoffrey Harpham reminded us years ago, has always been concerned with the Other, offers a key route into the very idea of the human and insights into those excluded from this idea” (v). 295

Ultimately, Emerson and Borges not only serve as harbingers of human rights within their respective nations due to their independent thought, philosophical consistency, and courageous action, but they also continue to influence other scholars’ intellectual development well into the twenty-first century. Both Emerson and Borges’s influences are bound by neither spatial nor temporal constraints, and both are considered significant contributors to world letters.282 Relative to the course of human history, a global conversation regarding human rights is in an embryonic stage, and this conversation is partially indebted to the transformative power of Emerson and Borges’s works.

For instance, the Indian activist, , had “great admiration for

Emerson,” and in his “preface to Indian Home Rule, we find Emerson to be one of those masters whom ‘he endeavored firmly to follow’” (Rai 68).283 Even more interestingly, Gandhi appears to have only read Emerson’s famous transcendental works in Essays (Adisasmito-Smith 131), illustrating that he understood Emerson’s preliminary message for reform. Furthermore, Borges also commands impressive influence, as he “was to become a milestone in the

Hispanic language, from which open crossroads would be seen in every contemporary language” (Villar 21). Lastly, “only what we can read as deliberate, fated, and profound, only what merits our re-reading and rewriting, attains mortality” (Aizenberg, “Introduction” 1). Given the immense breadth of scholarly

282 In terms of Emerson, Jan Stievermann notes, “he aimed at what might be called an American world literature, which he conceptualized as a mode of intercultural translation in of mankind’s spiritual education and moral self-conquest” (166). 283 Furthermore, “Thoreau’s influence upon Gandhi was far greater, but Emerson directly influenced the Mahatma. Thoreau’s influence upon Gandhi may also be credited to Emerson’s teachings indirectly. After reading Emerson, Gandhi established that education means character building, it means a knowledge of duty, and not a knowledge of letters” (Rai 68). 296

discussion and international influence of Emerson and Borges, their works are likely ascending into the immortal realm, always siding with civilization against barbarism throughout the interminable chess game that has influenced the future course of human rights.

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