What Frederick Douglass can teach contemporary college students
By Gary Pavela
Summary: College students looking for aspirational role models should consider Frederick Douglass’s purpose-driven life. His love of learning, orientation toward truth-telling, capacity for independent thinking, depth of compassion and power of persuasion have made him a towering figure in history.
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Contents below:
I. HISTORICAL BACKGROUND (slavery and anti-slavery activism)
II. TOPIC LIST (what Frederick Douglass can teach contemporary college students)
[1] Develop an orientation toward truth-seeking and truth-telling.
[2] Encourage independent thinking
[3] Travel widely, think broadly, and act locally
[4] Study and apply the art of persuasion
[5] Recognize the importance of the liberal arts in fostering understanding, enriching thinking, and defining purpose.
[6] Remain open to religious insight, including prophetic traditions that emphasize moral accountability and forgiveness.
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I. Historical background (slavery and antislavery activism)
Slavery and other forms of involuntary servitude have been ubiquitous throughout much of human history, particularly after the rise of agriculture. Princeton historian Bernard Lewis wrote that slavery is “attested from the very earliest written records, among the Sumerians, the Babylonians, the Egyptians, and other ancient peoples.” University of Pittsburgh history professor Seymour Drescher wrote in this regard that:
For thousands of years before the mid-fifteenth century, varieties of slavery existed throughout the world. It thrived in its economically and culturally developed regions. The institution was considered indispensable for the continued functioning of the highest forms of political or religious existence . . . Whatever moral scruples or rationalizations might be attached to one or another of its dimensions, slavery seemed to be part of the natural order. It was as deeply embedded in human relations as warfare and destitution.
In a remarkable development in human history, the same Western societies that produced one of the most deeply entrenched and exploitative form of slavery also generated antislavery movements leading to its abolition. Concurrent with the founding of the United States, for example, came the founding in 1775 of the Pennsylvania Society for Promoting the Abolition of Slavery (“the world’s first antislavery society”).
Drescher (supra) expanded upon this perspective in his 2009 book Abolition: A History of Slavery and Antislavery (p.461):
[T]he global achievements of antislavery a century ago left two indelible legacies. In the course of a century and a half (1770s–1920s), it destroyed or sharply restricted an institution, which had devastated and abbreviated the lives of tens of millions of human beings in two hemispheres. By the mid-twentieth century, it succeeded in reasserting slavery’s position at the top of the list of practices condemned in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. For more than sixty years, reviving slavery has remained beyond the bounds of any contemporary movement’s dreams or any state’s ambition. Slavery rhetorically remains the evil of choice for any movement or government that seeks to mobilize sentiment against exploitative practices and coercive domination anywhere in the world. And, the story of slavery’s reduction remains a model of comparative achievement for all who seek to expand the range of of human rights [emphasis added].
Antislavery activists in the United States (including many who were currently or formerly enslaved) faced seemingly insurmountable difficulties, not only in challenging deeply ingrained social and religious traditions, but in seeking to eliminate a form of “property in man” that may have “exceeded the invested value of all of the nation’s railroads, factories, and banks combined” (Benjamin T. Arrington, National Park Service). The mystery, in short, is not the existence or expansion of slavery worldwide. The mystery is how slavery ever came to be abolished.
If we are to better understand our history and aspirational future, any study of slavery should also include study of antislavery. Learning more about Frederick Douglass — and what Douglass can teach contemporary college students — provides an opening to this important topic.
[1] Develop an orientation toward truth-seeking and truth-telling.
The kind of truth-seeking that typically precedes truth-telling is a characteristic of Frederick Douglass’s life. Basically, he rebelled into education rather than out of it. Here’s a famous excerpt from his Narrative (1845) explaining how he evaded prohibitions against learning how to read:
The plan which I adopted, and the one by which I was most successful, was that of making friends of all the little white boys whom I met in the street. As many of these as I could, I converted into teachers. With their kindly aid, obtained at different times and in different places, I finally succeeded in learning to read. When I was sent of errands, I always took my book with me, and by going one part of my errand quickly, I found time to get a lesson before my return. I used also to carry bread with me, enough of which was always in the house, and to which I was always welcome; for I was much better off in this regard than many of the poor white children in our neighborhood. This bread I used to bestow upon the hungry little urchins, who, in return, would give me that more valuable bread of knowledge. I am strongly tempted to give the names of two or three of those little boys, as a testimonial of the gratitude and affection I bear them; but prudence forbids; — not that it would injure me, but it might embarrass them; for it is almost an unpardonable offence to teach slaves to read. . .
Another turning point in Douglass’s education was his exposure to a book titled The Columbian Orator.
I was now about twelve years old, and the thought of being a slave for life began to bear heavily upon my heart. Just about this time, I got hold of a book entitled “The Columbian Orator.” Every opportunity I got, I used to read this book. Among much of other interesting matter, I found in it a dialogue between a master and his slave. The slave was represented as having run away from his master three times. The dialogue represented the conversation which took place between them, when the slave was retaken the third time. In this dialogue, the whole argument in behalf of slavery was brought forward by the master, all of which was disposed of by the slave. The slave was made to say some very smart as well as impressive things in reply to his master — things which had the desired though unexpected effect; for the conversation resulted in the voluntary emancipation of the slave on the part of the master . . . The moral which I gained from the dialogue was the power of truth over the conscience of even a slaveholder.
Contemporary students quickly see and admire “the power of truth” in Douglass’s work. In his Oration in Memory of Abraham Lincoln, for example, Douglass could speak critically about Lincoln (as “preeminently the white man’s President”) yet provide a candid account of the unique challenges Lincoln faced:
I have said that President Lincoln was a white man, and shared the prejudices common to his countrymen towards the colored race. Looking back to his times and to the condition of his country, we are compelled to admit that this unfriendly feeling on his part may be safely set down as one element of his wonderful success in organizing the loyal American people for the tremendous conflict before them, and bringing them safely through that conflict. His great mission was to accomplish two things: first, to save his country from dismemberment and ruin; and, second, to free his country from the great crime of slavery. To do one or the other, or both, he must have the earnest sympathy and the powerful cooperation of his loyal fellow-countrymen. Without this primary and essential condition to success his efforts must have been vain and utterly fruitless. Had he put the abolition of slavery before the salvation of the Union, he would have inevitably driven from him a powerful class of the American people and rendered resistance to rebellion impossible. Viewed from the genuine abolition ground, Mr. Lincoln seemed tardy, cold, dull, and indifferent; but measuring him by the sentiment of his country, a sentiment he was bound as a statesman to consult, he was swift, zealous, radical, and determined.
Though Mr. Lincoln shared the prejudices of his white fellow-countrymen against the Negro, it is hardly necessary to say that in his heart of hearts he loathed and hated slavery.
Douglass’s criticism of Lincoln gains credibility because it’s both candid and balanced. This capacity to see people and circumstances “whole” (including what Barack Obama calls “ambiguities” in our lives) can strengthen and enrich contemporary social justice discourse.
Late in his life, Douglass told a story about Abraham Lincoln that reveals how truth-seeking can also became a vehicle for truth-telling. Douglass describes his first meeting with President Lincoln in the White House (1863)
“I said: ‘Mr. President, I have been recruiting colored troops, and if you want me to succeed I must be able to assure them that colored soldiers, while in the service shall have pay equal to that of white soldiers; secondly, that when they shall perform acts of bravery in battle, which would secure promotion to white soldiers, the like promotion shall be accorded colored soldiers: thirdly, that if the threat of Jefferson Davis [against black troops in the Union Army is] carried out, you, President Lincoln, will retaliate in kind.”
Feeling myself now perfectly free to say to Mr. Lincoln all that I thought on the subject, I supported my demands as best I could with arguments, to which he calmly and patiently listened, not once interrupting me, and when I had finished he made a careful reply, covering each proposition that I had submitted to him. He held . . . that in time the first two points I had insisted upon would be conceded: that colored soldiers would be equally paid and equally promoted.
But when it came to the matter of retaliation, the tender heart of the president appeared in the expression of his eyes, and in every line of his care worn countenance, as well as in the tones of his appealing voice. “Ah!” said he, “Douglass, I cannot retaliate. I cannot hang men in cold blood. I cannot hang men who have had nothing to do with murdering colored prisoners. Of course, if I could get hold of the actual murderers of colored prisoners I would deal with them as they deserve, but I cannot hang those who had no hand in such murders.” I was not convinced that Mr. Lincoln himself was right. I could, and did, answer [his] arguments; but was silenced by his over-mastering mercy and benevolence. I had found a president with a heart — one who could, even in war, love his enemies; and that was something. In parting he said: “Douglass, never come to Washington without calling upon me.” And I never did.
— Frederick Douglass in Brooklyn (Speeches by Frederick Douglass, edited by Theodore Hamm, 2017, pp 210–211).
The “truth-seeking” element in this story is the demonstrable capacity of both Lincoln and Douglass to consider both sides of an argument. The “truth-telling” component is Douglass’s generosity in describing Lincoln as “a president with a heart.”
[2] Encourage independent thinking in yourself and others
No one can define with certainty the origins of Frederick Douglass’s capacity for independent thought. High on the list of possibilities might be the contradictions he saw between Christian theory and practice; his early willingness to forcibly resist an abusive slaveholder; his experience as a fugitive slave; his early exposure to abolitionism (and internal debates among abolitionists); and his extended travel to non-slaveholding countries.
Whatever the origins, students are unlikely to find a better example of Douglass’s capacity for independent thinking than his famous 1852 Speech at the Rochester Ladies’ Anti-Slavery Society titled What to the Slave is the Fourth of July? Many abolitionists might have shared at least some of his views, but Douglass — who had multiple threatening and sometimes violent encounters with white supremacists — knew this speech would be a provocation to a much larger audience. He said, in part:
Fellow-citizens! I will not enlarge further on your national inconsistencies. The existence of slavery in this country brands your republicanism as a sham, your humanity as a base pretence, and your Christianity as a lie. It destroys your moral power abroad; it corrupts your politicians at home. It saps the foundation of religion; it makes your name a hissing, and a bye-word to a mocking earth. It is the antagonistic force in your government, the only thing that seriously disturbs and endangers your Union. It fetters your progress; it is the enemy of improvement, the deadly foe of education; it fosters pride; it breeds insolence; it promotes vice; it shelters crime; it is a curse to the earth that supports it; and yet, you cling to it, as if it were the sheet anchor of all your hopes.
These remarks, and a speech first published in 1881 praising the heroism of John Brown, are a profile in courage as much as a study in eloquence. No one reading them can deny Douglass’s lifelong radicalism, including advocacy of force against all manifestations of slavery.
However, often in tandem with his most provocative, piercing, and forceful pronouncements, Douglass rejected dualistic thinking. Independent thought, for him, encompassed nuance and complexity rather than simplistic division of the world into contending groups or races. Probably the best example of this trait can be seen in his Oration in Memory of Abraham Lincoln, but it’s also evident in his What to the Slave is the Fourth of July speech. The Constitution itself, he stated, is:
“a GLORIOUS LIBERTY DOCUMENT [capitalization in the original]. Read its preamble, consider its purposes. Is slavery among them? Is it at the gateway? or is it in the temple? It is neither.”
Likewise, in reference to the Declaration of Independence, Douglass stated:
I have said that the Declaration of Independence is the ring-bolt to the chain of your nation’s destiny; so, indeed, I regard it. The principles contained in that instrument are saving principles.
Stand by those principles, be true to them on all occasions, in all places, against all foes, and at whatever cost . . . I am not wanting in respect for the fathers of this republic. The signers of the Declaration of Independence were brave men. They were great men too — great enough to give fame to a great age. It does not often happen to a nation to raise, at one time, such a number of truly great men. The point from which I am compelled to view them is not, certainly, the most favorable; and yet I cannot contemplate their great deeds with less than admiration. They were statesmen, patriots and heroes, and for the good they did, and the principles they contended for, I will unite with you to honor their memory.
Another example of Douglass’s capacity for independent thought is his 1869 speech The Composite Nation . This speech (described by Harvard historian Jill Lepore as “strikingly original” ) would have been provocative to a broad spectrum of Americans, including those African Americans “sensitive to the issue of displacement by immigrants.” African-Americans then and now have been divided on this issue, thereby ensuring that Douglass would receive a mixed response within his own community. He said nonetheless:
I have said that the Chinese will come, and have given some reasons why we may expect them in very large numbers in no very distant future. Do you ask, if I favor such immigration, I answer I would. Would you have them naturalized, and have them invested with all the rights of American citizenship? I would. Would you allow them to vote? I would. Would you allow them to hold office? I would . . .
Those races of men which have maintained the most separate and distinct existence for the longest periods of time; which have had the least intercourse with other races of men, are a standing confirmation of the folly of isolation. The very soil of the national mind becomes, in such cases, barren . . .
Other Governments mainly depend for security upon the sword; our depends mainly upon the friendship of its people. In all matters — in time of peace, in time of war, and at all times, — it makes its appeal to all the people, and to all classes of the people. Its strength lies in their friendship and cheerful support in every time of need, and that policy is a mad one which would reduce the number of its friends by excluding those who would come, or by alienating those who are already here . . .
Our Republic is itself a strong argument in favor of composite nationality. It is no disparagement to Americans of English descent, to affirm that much of the wealth, leisure, culture, refinement and civilization of the country are due to the arm of the negro and the muscle of the Irishman . . .
I close these remarks as I began. If our action shall be in accordance with the principles of justice, liberty, and perfect human equality, no eloquence can adequately portray the greatness and grandeur of the future of the Republic.
We shall spread the network of our science and civilization over all who seek their shelter whether from Asia, Africa, or the Isles of the sea. We shall mold them all, each after his kind, into Americans; Indian and Celt; negro and Saxon; Latin and Teuton; Mongolian and Caucasian; Jew and Gentile; all shall here bow to the same law, speak the same language, support the same Government, enjoy the same liberty, vibrate with the same national enthusiasm, and seek the same national ends.
(1877)
[3] Travel widely, think broadly, and act locally
Douglass took his tireless advocacy of abolitionism and scathing criticism of American hypocrisy to hundreds of towns and cities in the United States — and was driven out of more than a few of them. Increasingly, however, he expressed views that were enriched by international travel, especially in Scotland and Ireland. The following description is provided by Yale Historian David Blight in his Pulitzer-Prize winning book Frederick Douglass, Prophet of Freedom:
In a public letter to [abolitionist William Lloyd] Garrison in February 1846 . . . Douglass took time to reflect on what he had seen of Ireland. As the American abroad, he felt compelled to expose ‘other evils’ than slavery. ‘I am not only an American slave,’ he wrote, ‘but a man, and as such, am bound to use my powers for the welfare of the whole human brotherhood. I am not going through this land with my eyes shut, ears stopped, or heart steeled.’ For the moment he put aside his disdain for the analogy between Irish misery and American slavery. Too many self-styled ‘philanthropists,’ maintained Douglass, ‘care no more about Irishmen . . . than they care about the whipped, gagged, and thumb-screwed slave. They would as willingly sell on the auction block an Irishman, if it were popular to do so, as an African.’ Now it was he making the equivalences between two kinds of suffering and evil. Although Douglass only glimpsed the famine’s beginnings, he did seem to comprehend what Christine Kinealy observes: ‘One of the most lethal subsistence crises in modern history occurred within the jurisdiction of, and in close proximity to, the epicenter of what was the richest empire in the world . . .’
Douglass had been deeply affected, even changed, by Ireland and her people. He had learned from and fought ideological and personal battles with them. He had found yet a new range of his powerful voice, and he relished the new throngs of admirers. In Bondage and Freedom, written nine years after he left Belfast, while remembering nostalgically the “almost constant singing” among slaves in the South as they worked, the “deep melancholy” of the “wild notes,” his memory quickly leaped back to Ireland. “I have never heard any songs like those anywhere since I left slavery, except when in Ireland. There I heard the same wailing notes, and was much affected by them.” It was during the famine of 1845–6.
Douglass later summarized how extended travel and expanded thinking shaped his view of life. The insights he expressed — similar to those later articulated by Malcolm X — might be an educational model for us and our students:
Gentlemen, let me be somewhat confidential and autobiographical. I have sometimes been held up as a man without friends or associates, but really I have been a very fortunate man during most of my life. Few men have had a chance to get more that is desirable and valuable out of this life than I. I have seen both sides of this great world. I have seen men of all conditions, I have seen men high and low, rich and poor, slave and free, white and black, and hence I ought to be a broader if not a better man, than most other men. I certainly have no excuse for narrowness or for race prejudice. I feel it more to be a man and a member of the great human family than to be a member of any one of the many varieties of the human race, whether Anglo-Saxon, Anglo-African, or any other.
— From Frederick Douglass in Brooklyn (collected speeches and writings), supra, p. 203.
[4] Study and apply the art of persuasion
We previously referenced the impact of Frederick Douglass on President Obama. The topic was explored in a July 30, 2008 New York Times article: Teaching Law, Testing Ideas, Obama Stood Slightly Apart:
Byron Rodriguez [one of Obama's former law students] recalls his professor's admiration for the soaring but plainspoken speeches of Frederick Douglass. "No one speaks this way anymore," Mr. Obama told his class, wondering aloud what had happened to the art of political oratory. In particular, Mr. Obama admired Douglass's use of a collective voice that embraced black and white concerns, one that Mr. Obama has now adopted himself [emphasis added].
Here's an example of Obama's use of "a collective voice" in his 2017 Farewell Address. You'll see echoes of Douglass's "Composite Nation" speech and his frequent favorable references in multiple settings to the Declaration of Independence and the Preamble to the United States Constitution ("We the people . . .").
President Obama said:
I learned that change only happens when ordinary people get involved and they get engaged, and they come together to demand it. After eight years as your President, I still believe that. And it's not just my belief. It's the beating heart of our American idea — our bold experiment in self-government. It's the conviction that we are all created equal, endowed by our Creator with certain unalienable rights, among them life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It's the insistence that these rights, while self-evident, have never been self-executing; that We, the People, through the instrument of our democracy, can form a more perfect union.
What a radical idea. A great gift that our Founders gave to us: The freedom to chase our individual dreams through our sweat and toil and imagination, and the imperative to strive together, as well, to achieve a common good, a greater good.
For 240 years, our nation's call to citizenship has given work and purpose to each new generation. It's what led patriots to choose republic over tyranny, pioneers to trek west, slaves to brave that makeshift railroad to freedom. It's what pulled immigrants and refugees across oceans and the Rio Grande. (Applause.) It's what pushed women to reach for the ballot. It's what powered workers to organize. It's why GIs gave their lives at Omaha Beach and Iwo Jima, Iraq and Afghanistan. And why men and women from Selma to Stonewall were prepared to give theirs, as well. (Applause.)
So that's what we mean when we say America is exceptional — not that our nation has been flawless from the start, but that we have shown the capacity to change and make life better for those who follow. Yes, our progress has been uneven. The work of democracy has always been hard. It's always been contentious. Sometimes it's been bloody. For every two steps forward, it often feels we take one step back. But the long sweep of America has been defined by forward motion, a constant widening of our founding creed to embrace all and not just some. (Applause.)
Frederick Douglass developed an analogous theme in The Composite Nation (supra), grounded on a "common aspiration for rational liberty" among all Americans:
In whatever else other nations may have been great and grand, our greatness and grandeur will be found in the faithful application of the principle of perfect civil equality to the people of all races and of all creeds, and to men of no creeds. We are not only bound to this position by our organic structure and by our revolutionary antecedents, but by the genius of our people. Gathered here, from all quarters of the globe by a common aspiration for rational liberty as against caste, divine right Governments and privileged classes, it would be unwise to be found fighting against ourselves and among ourselves; it would be madness to set up any one race above another, or one religion above another, or proscribe any on account of race color or creed.
Douglass's reference to "rational liberty" has deep roots in his own self-directed education, starting at age twelve or thirteen, when he purchased The Columbian Orator, edited by Caleb Bingham. That book contains multiple examples of closely reasoned moral argumentation grounded on universalist religious and republican principles (see the previously cited "Dialogue between a master and his slave"). Equally important, the young Frederick Douglass (like a young Abraham Lincoln) would have seen the following language in the Orator highlighting a connection between reason, speech, and eloquence:
Speech and reason are the characteristics, the glory, and happiness of man. These are the pillars which support the fabric of eloquence; the foundation, upon which is erected the most magnificent edifice, that genius could design, or art construct. To cultivate eloquence, then, is to improve the noblest faculties of our nature, the richest talents with which we are entrusted. A more convincing proof of the dignity and importance of our subject, need not, cannot be advanced [p. 27]
Reason, however, could be effectively combined with emotion ("passions") to produce persuasion:
The orator does not succeed, as some would insinuate, by dazzling the eye of reason with the elusive glare of his rhetorical art, nor, by silencing her still small voice in the thunder of his declamation; for to her impartial tribunal he refers the truth and propriety of whatever he asserts or proposes. After fairly convincing the understanding, he may, without the imputation of disingenuousness, proceed to address the fancy and the passions. In this way he will more effectually transfuse into his hearers, his own sentiments, and make every spring in the human machine co-operate in the production of the desired effect [p.28]
In the same reading Douglass would have seen a statement about the social power eloquence could provide:
The astonishing powers of eloquence are well known, at least to those who are conversant in ancient history. Like a resistless torrent, it bears down every obstacle, and turns even the current of opposing ignorance and prejudice into the desired channel of activity and zealous compliance. It is indisputably the most potent art within the compass of human acquirement. An Alexander and Caesar could conquer a world: but to overcome the passions, to subdue the wills, and to command at pleasure the inclinations of men, can be effected only by the all-powerful charms of enrapturing eloquence [p. 28].
A reference in the Orator "to those who are conversant in ancient history" highlights the role of historical knowledge--including historical depictions in religious literature--in contributing to eloquence. So, in his The Composite Nation speech, Douglass sought to persuade his audience by providing an anthropological overview of human intolerance:
Repugnance to the presence and influence of foreigners is an ancient feeling among men. It is peculiar to no particular race or nation. It is met with not only in the conduct of one nation toward another, but in the conduct of the inhabitants of different parts of the same country, some times of the same city, and even of the same village. “Lands intersected by a narrow frith, abhor each other. Mountains interposed, make enemies of nation.” [William Cowper - 1731-1800]. To the Hindoo, every man not twice born, is Mleeka. To the Greek, every man not speaking Greek, is a barbarian. To the Jew, every one not circumcised, is a gentile. To the Mahometan, every man not believing in the prophet, is a kaffe. I need not repeat here the multitude of reproachful epithets expressive of the same sentiment among ourselves. All who are not to the manor born, have been made to feel the lash and sting of these reproachful names.
This useful display of knowledge was then followed by Douglass's broader perspective about why the acquisition of knowledge is important:
Nature has two voices, the one is high, the other low; one is in sweet accord with reason and justice, and the other apparently at war with both. The more men really know of the essential nature of things, and on of the true relation of mankind, the freer they are from prejudices of every kind. The child is afraid of the giant form of his own shadow. This is natural, but he will part with his fears when he is older and wiser. So ignorance is full of prejudice, but it will disappear with enlightenment.
Douglass's blend of reason, passion, and knowledge was on display in an August 2, 1847 speech he delivered in Canandaigua, New York. The description below was provided by Blight, supra:
After local bands and choirs performed, Douglass was the first orator of the day; he delivered an extraordinary lecture on the ancient history of slavery, on the Atlantic slave trade, and especially on the British antislavery movement. For an outdoor festival with thousands seeking shade on a hot summer day, the speech was quite a learned effort. He named at least twenty-three British abolitionists and paid warm tributes especially to William Wilberforce and Thomas Clarkson. He reminded auditors that all civilizations had enslaved other peoples throughout history. Using Revelation 13:10, he cautioned, “He that leadeth into captivity, shall go into captivity.” Douglass offered a compelling narration of the capture of African slaves by European traders, the complicity of the African “Prince” in the sale, and the “grim death and desolation” of the slave ships. He gave instruction on the meaning of the Somerset case of 1772, which made Britain free soil for slaves arriving from abroad, and ended with a prolonged argument for human progress marked by British emancipation, for God as the ultimate arbiter of history, and for the eternal need for “fanatical dreamers” to push history to higher moral ground [p.183].
When President Obama referred to Douglass's style ("No one speaks this way anymore"), he may also have been referring to the overall artfulness of Douglass's performance. Rhetoric in this sense--as taught by The Columbian Orator--seems to be lacking in instruction provided to contemporary college students. John Searle (Slusser Professor of Philosophy at the University of California, Berkeley) wrote in this regard that:
[S]peech is not just one among many natural inclinations that I have, in the way that I have an inclination to scratch my nose or fidget nervously, for example. Speaking is more fundamental to me than these other natural inclinations because—and we do not really have a vocabulary to say this—we attain our full dignity, our full stature as speech act performing animals, when we exercise our capacities for expression. As people who can talk and express ideas to each other, we are just one step below the angels. We can only attain our full capacity, our full potentiality as human beings, if we are able to express ourselves.
I do not know why we have so much trouble seeing this as a part of our biological makeup. The need for dignity, self-esteem, and autonomy come with the genetic territory, and a healthy society has to recognize these needs and recognize that verbal self- expression is an essential component in their satisfaction.
This is why it is so lamentable when we neglect to teach our students how to express themselves clearly, and even grammatically. They are losing out on the full development of an absolutely fundamental human capacity. If you read the letters written home by the Civil War soldiers, by even the ordinary enlisted men—you do not have to read the letters of colonels and generals—you are struck by the fact that they are capable of writing grammatical English in a way that my incoming freshmen are often unable to do. I want to say that we lose more than just good term papers if we lose the capacity for careful self-expression. We lose the ability that human beings have to attain their full intellectual and rational potential. ("Social Ontology and Free Speech" Hedgehog Review, Fall 2004).
[5] Recognize the importance of the liberal arts in fostering understanding, enriching thinking, and defining purpose
In a March 8, 1853 letter to Harriet Beecher Stowe, Frederick Douglass wrote:
I desire to express, dear Madam, my deep sense of the value of the services which you have already rendered my afflicted and persecuted people, by the publication of your inimitable book on the subject of slavery. That contribution to our bleeding cause, alone, involves us in a debt of gratitude which cannot be measured . . .
Douglass’s letter to Stowe helps address a topic we identified at the beginning of this essay:
Antislavery activists — including many African-Americans currently or formerly enslaved — faced seemingly insurmountable difficulties . . . seeking to eliminate a form of “property in man” that may have “exceeded the invested value of all of the nation’s railroads, factories, and banks combined.” The mystery, in short, is not the existence or expansion of slavery worldwide. The mystery is how slavery ever came to be abolished.
One helpful perspective on this mystery emphasizes the invention of printing and the democratization of reading. By the 18th century more people were reading books that allowed them to imagine the emotional experience of others, especially the poor and exploited: Harvard psychologist Steven Pinker has written in this regard that:
Reading is a technology for perspective-taking. When someone else’s thoughts are in your head, you are observing the world from that person’s vantage point. Not only are you taking in sights and sounds that you could not experience firsthand, but you have stepped inside that person’s mind and are temporarily sharing his or her attitudes and reactions. As we shall see, “empathy” in the sense of adopting someone’s viewpoint is not the same as “empathy” in the sense of feeling compassion toward the person, but the first can lead to the second by a natural route . . . Slipping even for a moment into the perspective of someone who is turning black in a pillory or desperately pushing burning faggots away from her body or convulsing under the two hundredth stroke of the lash may give a person second thoughts as to whether these cruelties should ever be visited upon anyone . . . technological advances in publishing, the mass production of books, the expansion of literacy, and the popularity of the novel all preceded the major humanitarian reforms of the 18th century. And in some cases a bestselling novel or memoir demonstrably exposed a wide range of readers to the suffering of a forgotten class of victims and led to a change in policy. Around the same time that Uncle Tom’s Cabin mobilized abolitionist sentiment in the United States, Charles Dickens’s Oliver Twist (1838) and Nicholas Nickleby (1839) opened people’s eyes to the mistreatment of children in British workhouses and orphanages, and Richard Henry Dana’s Two Years Before the Mast: A Personal Narrative of Life at Sea (1840) and Herman Melville’s White Jacket helped end the flogging of sailors.
When our students question the value of the liberal arts, we might suggest that literature — as one part of the liberal arts tradition — has helped shape and energize the social commitment many of them now exhibit.
Whatever their content, the liberal arts also foster certain ways of thinking, typically grounded on attributes like curiosity, truth-seeking and truth-telling, reason, respect for intellectual freedom, religious tolerance, empiricism, self-criticism, and scientific inquiry. Listing these characteristics and associated intellectual virtues in the early 21st century highlights both their immense influence and increasing vulnerability. No one can be sure they will define human social life in the 22nd century.
The liberal arts — specifically including the sciences — start with curiosity and imagination. Douglass learned early in life that those traits could be a form of rebellion in themselves. Here’s one aspect of Douglass’s early childhood described in his “Life and Times of Frederick Douglass”:
I never met with a slave in that part of the country [on the eastern shore of Maryland] who could tell me with any certainty how old he was. Few at that time knew anything of the months of the year or of the days of the month. They measured the ages of their children by spring-time, winter-time, harvest-time, planting-time, and the like. Masters allowed no questions concerning their ages to be put to them by slaves. Such questions were regarded by the masters as evidence of an impudent curiosity.
“Impudent curiosity” is a memorable description of independent thinking. From that foundation came Douglass’s love of learning and sustained commitment to human rights, civil liberties, and human equality.
An example of Douglass’s commitment to civil liberties is his Plea for Freedom of Speech in Boston (December 9, 1860). The context of these remarks was the violent disruption of another speech he had been prevented from delivering a few days before:
The world knows that last Monday a meeting assembled to discuss the question: “How Shall Slavery Be Abolished?” The world also knows that that meeting was invaded, insulted, captured by a mob of gentlemen, and thereafter broken up and dispersed by the order of the mayor, who refused to protect it, though called upon to do so . . .
No right was deemed by the fathers of the Government more sacred than the right of speech. It was in their eyes, as in the eyes of all thoughtful men, the great moral renovator of society and government. Daniel Webster called it a homebred right, a fireside privilege. Liberty is meaningless where the right to utter one’s thoughts and opinions has ceased to exist. That, of all rights, is the dread of tyrants. It is the right which they first of all strike down. They know its power. Thrones, dominions, principalities, and powers, founded in injustice and wrong, are sure to tremble, if men are allowed to reason of righteousness, temperance, and of a judgment to come in their presence. Slavery cannot tolerate free speech. Five years of its exercise would banish the auction block and break every chain in the South. They will have none of it there, for they have the power. But shall it be so here?
Even here in Boston, and among the friends of freedom, we hear two voices: one denouncing the mob that broke up our meeting on Monday as a base and cowardly outrage; and another, deprecating and regretting the holding of such a meeting, by such men, at such a time. We are told that the meeting was ill-timed, and the parties to it unwise.
Why, what is the matter with us? Are we going to palliate and excuse a palpable and flagrant outrage on the right of speech, by implying that only a particular description of persons should exercise that right? Are we, at such a time, when a great principle has been struck down, to quench the moral indignation which the deed excites, by casting reflections upon those on whose persons the outrage has been committed?
Douglass edited newspapers in which he practiced what he proclaimed in Boston. He would, on occasion, engage in published debates with opponents, knowingly providing a forum for their views (see e.g. Blight, supra p. 304 and this related excerpt concerning an ongoing debate between Douglass and Henry Highland Garnet about colonization of African-Americans to Africa).
Douglass’s newspaper debates were not rhetorical exercises. He grappled with difficult issues and sometimes changed his mind. Perhaps the best example was his protracted dialogue with fellow abolitionist Gerrit Smith about whether the Constitution was “pro-slavery.” Douglass initially contended it was, but eventually argued a contrary position in 1860 — after telling Smith in 1851 he was “so much impressed” by his reasoning and was “sick and tired of arguing on the slaveholders’ side of this question.”
and My Freedom
In 1849, when framing his newspaper debate about the Constitution and slavery, Douglass told his readers that “[w]e are prepared to hear all sides, and to give the arguments of our opponents a candid consideration. Where an honest expression of views is allowed, Truth has nothing to fear.” He also observed:
[O]ur only aim is to know what is truth and what is duty in respect to the matter in dispute, holding ourselves perfectly free to change our opinion in any direction, and at any time which may be indicated by our immediate apprehension of truth, unbiased by the smiles or frowns of any class or party of abolitionists. The only truly consistent man is he who will, for the sake of being right today, contradict what he said wrong yesterday. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” True stability consists not in being of the same opinion now as formerly, but in a fixed principle of honesty, even urging us to the adoption or rejection of that which may seem to us true or false at the ever-present now.
How can educators convey both the theory and practice of Douglass’s foundational commitment to truth-seeking, truth-telling, and freedom of expression? One starting point is to engage with students on Douglass’s legacy in this regard and highlight a powerful contemporary variation argued by President Obama in his 2016 commencement address at Rutgers University:
If you disagree with somebody, bring them in — (applause) — and ask them tough questions. Hold their feet to the fire. Make them defend their positions. (Applause.) If somebody has got a bad or offensive idea, prove it wrong. Engage it. Debate it. Stand up for what you believe in. (Applause.) Don’t be scared to take somebody on. Don’t feel like you got to shut your ears off because you’re too fragile and somebody might offend your sensibilities. Go at them if they’re not making any sense. Use your logic and reason and words. And by doing so, you’ll strengthen your own position, and you’ll hone your arguments. And maybe you’ll learn something and realize you don’t know everything. And you may have a new understanding not only about what your opponents believe but maybe what you believe. Either way, you win.”
[6] Remain open to religious insight, including prophetic traditions that emphasize moral accountability and forgiveness
We wrote earlier in this essay that no one familiar with Douglass’s legacy can deny his “lifelong radicalism” in seeking to eradicate slavery. It’s equally important for contemporary students to appreciate Douglass’s deep religiosity. Ignoring or diminishing this characteristic — which might be anticipated in the current cultural divide between rural/urban; more educated/ less-educated; and religious/secular — denies access both to a defining trait in Douglass’s character and an avenue to forming broadly-based coalitions in a democratic society. In the current abortion debate, for example, those defending abortion rights might better understand their evangelical opponents if they appreciated that comparable evangelical intensity also supported much of the Abolitionist tradition in Great Britain and the United States. With that historical foundation, one can strongly disagree with the conclusion of an argument (e.g. banning all abortion) while respecting the underlying moral commitment and its source. Also, like Douglass, engaging with religious teaching allows critics to highlight contradictions between doctrine and practice — perhaps enhancing their own appreciation of religious perspectives in the process.
Understanding Frederick Douglass is best facilitated by allowing him to speak for himself. We don’t have to look far for a concise summary of his views. He stated them on the masthead of his newspaper (the link leads to an archive image):
“RIGHT IS OF NO SEX — TRUTH IS OF NO COLOR — GOD IS THE FATHER OF ALL, AND ALL WE ARE BRETHREN”
Douglass’s newspaper masthead was an affirmation of an early religious experience he described in the “Life and Times of Frederick Douglass” (1892):
I was not more than thirteen years old, when, in my loneliness and destitution, I longed for some one to whom I could go, as to a father and protector. The preaching of a white Methodist minister, named Hanson, was the means of causing me to feel that in God I had such a friend. He thought that all men, great and small, bond and free, were sinners in the sight of God: that they were by nature rebels against his government; and that they must repent of their sins, and be reconciled to God through Christ. I cannot say that I had a very distinct notion of what was required of me, but one thing I did know well: that I was wretched and had no means of making myself otherwise. I consulted a good colored man named Charles Lawson, and in tones of holy affection he told me to pray, and to “cast all my care upon God.” This I sought to do; and though for weeks I was a poor, broken-hearted mourner, traveling through doubts and fears, I finally found my burden lightened, and my heart relieved. I loved all mankind, slaveholders not excepted, though I abhorred slavery more than ever. I saw the world in a new light, and my great concern was to have everybody converted. My desire to learn increased, and especially did I want a thorough acquaintance with the contents of the Bible. I have gathered scattered pages of the Bible from the filthy street-gutters, and washed and dried them, that in moments of leisure I might get a word or two of wisdom from them.
There’s no period in Douglass’s life where a religious perspective can’t be found. Here’s an example from his famous “What to the Slave Is the Fourth of July?” speech in 1852.
Standing with God and the crushed and bleeding slave on this occasion, I will, in the name of humanity which is outraged, in the name of liberty which is fettered, in the name of the constitution and the Bible, which are disregarded and trampled upon, dare to call in question and to denounce, with all the emphasis I can command, everything that serves to perpetuate slavery — the great sin and shame of America! . . . I can to-day take up the plaintive lament of a . . . woe-smitten people!
“By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down. Yea! we wept when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon the willows in the midst thereof. For there, they that carried us away captive, required of us a song; and they who wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion. How can we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land? If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning. If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth.”
[Editor’s note: Psalms 137:1–4]
Douglass’s citation of Psalms highlights by this observation by historian David Blight (supra):
Douglass loved the language of the King James Bible, especially the Psalms and the Old Testament prophets. Their warnings about God’s retribution for sin and evil, their poetry and storytelling, seemed to ring in his head like the lyrics of favorite old songs and hymns. Early in his career he mastered the oratorical art of the jeremiad, the rhetorical device made famous in America by the Puritans, but appropriated effectively by African Americans and many others. The jeremiad was the sermon that called the flock back from their declension, from their waning zeal to a renewed faith and activism. Douglass mastered the jeremiadic tradition, and Isaiah, Jeremiah, and other prophets provided an infinite storehouse of wisdom and argument. As Douglass began to seize their words and their stories, he found in the prophets his inspiration, a sense of wrath, mystery, pathos, history, and justice.
Most of the prophetic qualities Blight described — especially a sense of history and justice — can be found in an 1867 speech by Douglass, addressing the failure of Confederate armies to nurture “the good in their own souls”:
The rebel armies fought well, fought bravely, fought desperately, but they fought in fetters. Invisible chains were about them. Deep down in their own consciences there was an accusing voice reminding them that they were fighting for chains and slavery, and not for freedom. They were in chains — entangled with the chains of their own slaves. They not only struggled with our gigantic armies, and with the skill of our veteran generals, but they fought against the moral sense of the nineteenth century. They fought against their own better selves — they fought against the good in their own souls. They were weakened thereby; their weakness was our strength, hence our success.
Slaveholders, from Douglass’s perspective, are sinners engaging in evil, but are not uniquely evil based on some inherent characteristic of “whiteness.” Basically, Douglass hates the sin, but loves “the better self” within every sinner. A moving example is Douglass’s 1848 letter to his former slaveholder, Thomas Auld. This document — one of the most compelling and unrelenting criticisms of slavery imaginable — ends with a remarkable statement:
I intend to make use of you as a weapon with which to assail the system of slavery — as a means of concentrating public attention on the system, and deepening their horror of trafficking in the souls and bodies of men. I shall make use of you as a means of exposing the character of the American church and clergy — and as a means of bringing this guilty nation with yourself to repentance. In doing this I entertain no malice towards you personally. There is no roof under which you would be more safe than mine, and there is nothing in my house which you might need for your comfort, which I would not readily grant. Indeed, I should esteem it a privilege, to set you an example as to how mankind ought to treat each other. I am your fellow man, but not your slave, Frederick Douglass.
The Academic Integrity Seminar frequently uses this assignment. Response has been positive (i.e. students identify truth-seeking and truth-telling as core qualities in Douglass’s life). Students also describe Douglass’s capacity to be angry and assertive without being hateful. Here are three examples:
Student #1 “Douglass wanted to put aside negativity and say that “All great qualities are never found in any one man or in any one race. The whole of humanity, like the whole of everything else, is ever greater than a part.”
Student #2 “One of his qualities that intrigues me most is not to reciprocate hate, but to educate.”
Student #3 “Douglass comes across as someone who is both open-minded and passionate. He discusses problems as well as solutions and compares the pros and cons before presenting his opinion, which makes his speeches stronger and more persuasive.”
We can’t transport Frederick Douglass to our own time, but neither should we ignore the fact that he shares universalist religious and philosophical perspectives that help explain the transformative power of the civil rights movement. Barack Obama understood that reality and borrowed many of Douglass’s inspirational themes — especially those in “The Composite Nation.” Contemporary academic theory that sidelines Douglass’s religiosity, or diminishes his repeatedly stated admiration for principles in the Declaration of Independence and the Preamble to the Constitution, would deprive the current generation of students with two of the most proven tools for social change in American history.
Most students will acquire some basic knowledge of foundational documents in American history. They can judge for themselves how those documents may advance or constrain social justice. Hopefully they will be reminded that the Constitution contains a remarkable provision (an attribute of intellectual humility in Article V) that allows for amendments. We do not live in a perfect or static society and the Founders never contemplated we would.
What’s less certain is that contemporary students will learn much about religion or religious history, beyond multiple failings past and present. Most contemporary evangelicals share blame in this regard, since they seem to have lost their prophetic voice (again) on critical issues like immigration, gender and racial subordination, income inequality, and climate change. The question isn’t entirely hopeless if students can find teachers who will introduce them to theological perspectives from thinkers like Reinhold Niebuhr, Martin Luther King Jr., and Letty Russell. Some college teachers — equally conversant with the sciences and humanities — may also invite students to remain open to mystery, wonder, “radical amazement,” and humility about our individual and collective capacity to superintend the world and ourselves. Those qualities tend to inhibit the authoritarian self-righteousness heard on both left and right in contemporary discourse.
Perhaps the best way to end this essay is to include a defining observation from Frederick Douglass late in his life (Address by Hon. Frederick Douglass, delivered in the Metropolitan A.M.E. Church, Washington, D.C., Tuesday, January 9th, 1894):
[M]y friends, I must stop. Time and strength are not equal to the task before me. But could I be heard by this great nation, I would call to mind the sublime and glorious truths with which, at its birth, it saluted a listening world. Its voice then, was as the trump of an archangel, summoning hoary forms of oppression and time honored tyranny, to judgment. Crowned heads heard it and shrieked. Toiling millions heard it and clapped their hands for joy. It announced the advent of a nation, based upon human brotherhood and the self-evident truths of liberty and equality. Its mission was the redemption of the world from the bondage of ages. Apply these sublime and glorious truths to the situation now before you. Put away your race prejudice. Banish the idea that one class must rule over another. Recognize the fact that the rights of the humblest citizen are as worthy of protection as are those of the highest, and your problem will be solved; and, whatever may be in store for it in the future, whether prosperity, or adversity; whether it shall have foes without, or foes within, whether there shall be peace, or war; based upon the eternal principles of truth, justice and humanity, and with no class having any cause of complaint or grievance, your Republic will stand and flourish forever.
