Duncan S. Jackson
English 1105
Charles Ellis
December 7, 2012
Analysis of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin”
How best should one approach a literary classic written at a time in our nation’s history when acceptance of said work would prove to be instrumental in changing the shape and course of the country, its inhabitants, and their future? Do we, as modern-day critics of pre-antebellum literature, dismiss altogether, or, at the very least, diminish in value the significance the work holds by simple virtue of the fact that it is dated, has served its purpose, thus no longer relevant? Santayana’s quote, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it” (284), reminds us of the reverence we must hold for our history, terrible as some aspects of it may be, and why, even today, Uncle Tom’s Cabin is a piece of not-so-much fiction that continues to enlighten as it entertains.
Prior to opening the book, I must confess, I had already developed preconceived notions of what Harriet Beecher Stowe’s classic would entail. This, no doubt, came about through years of listening to other’s opinions on the book without scarcely turning the first page, and while I left my prejudiced opinions on the doorstep, as it were, once I entered her “Cabin,” I found the décor to be both refreshing and unpleasant; prominent and inconspicuous; profound and shallow.
Ms. Stowe immediately ingratiates herself to the reader by way of placing herself on his or her own level, much the way Stephen King addresses his “constant reader” throughout the pages of his many books and stories; her colloquial solicitations of “dear reader” (129), “let us” (139), “our readers” (74), and “rise to our view” (149) solidify the solidarity she wishes to garner and ignite from a narrative that reads more like an essay, or even a personal letter from she to her audience, and she successfully moves from the office of friend to narrator to author and back again without leaving the reader behind. It is easily discernible, while reading the book, that Ms. Stowe is indeed personally telling us the story, a fact she acknowledges throughout the text with comments such as, “Many of my lady readers must…” (259) and “Perhaps some of my readers conjure up…” (300), as well as owning up to this fact, while speaking of herself in the third person, in the final chapter of her commentary.
Prevalent in the story, to the point of detraction and distraction, is the constant sermon Ms. Stowe wishes to minister to her audience. No doubt, this comes about as the result of the upbringing she received in her strict Christian home; her father, Lyman, a Calvinist minister, and her brother, Henry, who went on to forge a successful ministry in his own right, had a great spiritual impact on her life (lkwpdl.org). Even still, her arguments through narration—“the Man of Sorrows, the Lord of Glory […] bears the anguish of the world” (127-8), forces upon us the belief that we will have to answer for our transgressions “In the day of future Judgement” (129) —as well as those she reveals through the dialogue of her characters, suggest that the Judeo-Christian God equals Good, and political and social agendas should keep Him at the forefront of every decision, and failure to do so is “cruel and unchristian” (81).
Ms. Stowe sets the table for her view that the duty of the Abolitionist falls within the duty of the Christian, at least in regards to her Northern brethren, but she does give equal time for the Southern view as well, that being that Noah’s curse upon his son Ham’s descendants is what allows for slavery in the world in general, and the southern United States more specifically: “‘It is undoubtedly the intention of Providence that the African race should be servants—kept in a low condition’ said […] a clergyman. ‘Cursed be Canaan; a servant of servants shall he be,’ the Scripture [Gen. 9:25] says’” (121); sandwiched between the two, an historical representation of Abolitionist Quakers (gmu.edu) is depicted as well (129). Luckily for the reader, the voice of reason in the Southern argument comes from Augustine St. Clare, who poses to his wife, “Why don’t [preachers] carry it a little further, and show […] of a fellow’s taking a glass of wine too much, and sitting a little too late over his cards […]; we’d like to hear that those things are right and godly, too” (174). Augustine can best be described as an agnostic, and views himself as a savior of sorts within the dark practice of slave ownership, and he certainly will not hold any belief that “the Bible was on our side, and supported all our institutions so convincingly” (173), as his wife enthusiastically informs him.
Further exploring the Southern mentality towards blacks and religion, Marie St. Clare says of Africans, “I’m sure they can go to church when they like, though they don’t understand a word of the sermon, more than so many pigs—so it isn’t of any great use for them to go” (168). Servile animals who, upon their journey’s end to America, were forced to give up their Muslim and Obeahan beliefs and adopt the religion of their white masters (Guyana.org). This is seen never more prominently than in George Harris’ speech to Mr. Wilson (110-113), and George’s declaration that “There is a God for you, but is there any for us” (114)? Contritely, and tritely, George comes to believe in the God of his master and, more importantly, his wife, Eliza, once the two have been reunited. It is this, and nothing more, that allows for Ms. Stowe to continue her sermon that any positive thing is a direct “blessing” from her god, that “trust in [H]is Providence” lifted George’s “atheistic doubts” and imbued him “with a golden cloud of protection and confidence” (136), and can do the same for us all, if only we give him credit for every good thing in our lives.
Other than being a Christian and an Abolitionist—both of which, I must add, do not qualify anyone as an authority on African-American culture—there was absolutely nothing within the pages of the novel nor within Ms. Stowe’s biography to suggest she was thoroughly compliant with the proper representation of negroes: in short, I feel she, herself is guilty of racism to a degree. Even though she uses what must have been widespread Southern mentality of the period in the form of “these critters ain’t like white folks: they gets over things” (15), she describes the character of Chloe as “she might have been washed over with white of eggs” (29),
in a sense whitewashing this black character with the hope of endearing her to her audience. She is also deprecating in that she states “for the Negro mind, impassioned and imaginative, always attaches itself to hymns and expressions of a vivid and pictorial nature” (37); in short, “We’s all just happy folks.” Ms. Stowe goes on to say “They are not naturally daring or enterprising” (95), and even refers to them, with both her own voice and that of her characters, as “wooly headed” (29, 46, 50, 195).
Prevalent also is the liberal use of the word “nigger” that the slaves use in reference to one another, whether it is Aunt Chloe speaking to/of her own children—“get out de way, you niggers” (30)—or Sam speaking of himself—“this nigger ain’t so green” (50)—or Andy referring to Sam as “you black nigger” (50). This sentiment abounds due to what can only be described as brainwashing, of a sort. The slaves were taught by their white masters that they were filthy niggers who were not even worth the pity and grace that their forced-to-worship god promised them, and this continuous cycle of negative reinforcement ultimately became their belief. Another form of this brainwashing, perhaps even more barbaric than that which the Southern slaves endured, can be seen in the case of Phillis Wheatley, who viewed her capture, sale, and servitude as a mercy God had bestowed upon her. One has only to read Ms. Wheatley’s poem On Being Brought from Africa to America to see that hers was not a voice of reason, but more the result of years of psychological abuse, the end result of which being a complete brainwashing that she in turn embraced as divine truth.
In its entirety the poem reads:
‘Twas mercy brought me from my pagan land,
Taught my benighted soul to understand
That there’s a God, that there’s a Saviour too:
Once I redemption never sought nor knew.
Some view our sable race with a scornful eye,
“Their color is a diabolical dye.”
Remember, Christians, Negroes, black as Cain,
May be refin’d, and join the Angelic train.
Privileged, refined, and a member of polite New England society—as much as any slave
could be accepted, that is—Phillis Wheatley learned Latin and Greek, wrote poetry in honor of
and personally met with President George Washington, and was hailed in England as one of the
finest poet laureates ever to emerge from our fledgling country. She was spared the horrors that
her kinspeople were made to endure in the South, those that Frederick Douglass intimated with
such articulation and Harriet Beecher Stowe hints at in her novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin. In many
ways Wheatley was the worst kind of slave in that she represented the trophy, the “they can be
civilized” model that applied to so very few; slaves were bought, sold, and meant for hard labor;
so very few would ever enjoy the life Wheatley had been exposed to.
To her credit, Ms. Stowe examines the truest feelings of some Northerners when she explores the all-too real intent of shipping freemen and escaped slaves back to Africa—Liberia, to be exact. Augustine St. Clare states, “You loathe [slaves] as you would a snake or a toad […] you don’t want to have anything to do with them yourselves. You would send them to Africa, out of your sight and smell,” to which Miss Ophelia retorts, “There may be some truth to this” (169). True also is the fact that “Most free African-Americans wanted to stay in the land they had helped to build. They planned to continue the struggle for equality and justice in the new nation,” (loc.gov). Ms. Stowe seems to push the idea of repatriating blacks back to Africa, and this can be seen in the form of George Harris enthusiastically sojourning to this new country, a place he finally feels he can call home; a place he can help shape, both politically and economically; “a republic, formed of picked men” (397), only those who reside there were picked not because of their intelligence, or trustworthiness, or even because of their theological affiliations, but because of the color of their skin. Even Topsy—Miss Ophelia’s slave set free—upon reaching adulthood, travels to Liberia as a missionary, but Ms. Stowe points out that Topsy “[returned to] her own country” (399), as opposed to claiming America as her own.
Finally, I come to Tom. What is it about this remarkable man that makes him so endearing to the reader? Is it his morals and ethics? Is it his understanding that things happen for a reason—“natur”—as well as his unwavering belief that “I’m in the Lord’s hands” (94), thus all will work out as it should? As I came to the conclusion of this book I began to realize that Uncle Tom’s cabin was not a dwelling on the Shelby farm, not on St. Clare Plantation, nor even on Simon Legree’s place; Uncle Tom’s cabin was his heart, his fine spirit. He was a man who could win over young and old alike, whether in the form of Eva St. Clare, or Legree’s henchmen, Sambo and Quimbo. Uncle Tom’s Cabin, as well as Uncle Tom’s cabin, are masterworks that will live forever in the hearts of all who decide to make the journey.
2000 words
Hewitt, Nancy A. “Reform and Reformers in the Antebellum Era.”
http://chnm.gmu.edu/lostmuseum/lm/274/ Web. 9 DEC 2012.
Bisnauth, Dale. http://www.guyana.org/features/guyanastory/chapter28.html
Web. 9 DEC 2012.
No Known Author. “History of Liberia: A Timeline.” 12 MAR 1998.
http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/gmdhtml/libhtml/liberia.html Web. 10 DEC 2012.
Santayana, George. “Life of Reason: Reason in Common Sense.” Scribner’s. New York. 1905.
Stowe, Harriet Beecher. “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” Bantam Books. New York. 1981.
Wheatley, Phillis. 1768. http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-being-brought-from-africa-to
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Women in History. Harriet Beecher Stowe biography. Last Updated: 12/8/2012. Lakewood
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