African-American
Religion: A Documentary History Project |
Note: Presented at the Race, Religion, and Nationalism: Three Books Symposium, Amherst College, October 26, 2001. Copyright © 2001 by the author and the Trustees of Amherst College. All rights reserved.
Let me thank Will [Gravely] and Bob [Gooding-Williams] for their extraordinary engagement with my work. Both have suggested new paths for me to pursue in my scholarship and I am truly grateful. I am bit humbled by it all. This is pretty heavy stuff. Nevertheless, I want to try to respond to their gentle and not-so gentle nudging in the short period of time allotted to me.
Will suggests three lines of historical inquiry that Exodus! failed to examine at a sufficient level of detail.
1) is my general characterization of the ecclesiastical exodus that marked the emergence of the independent black church movement. On Wills view, a closer examination of that movementover and beyond the gallery incidentwould have only strengthened my account of this earlier form of exodus politics with that of the national black conventions.
2) is that the narrative description I offer fails, at some level, to incorporate the pre1830 black abolitionist movement in my consideration of an effort to make a distinctive form of racial solidarity.
3) although I gesture to the black state convention in the book, I do not examine how exodus politics might have animated African American involvement in electoral politics (the antislavery political parties beginning in the 1840s).
I want
to address each of these concerns individually, but I should frame
my remarks, first, with a kind of general characterization of
what I took myself to be doing when I sat down and wrote the book.
I wanted to offer a plausible historical account of a form of
racial politics that did not presuppose an essentialist conception
of race. My general intuition was this: contemporary discussions
of racial politics run aground precisely because those discussions
assume a narrow field of meanings as to what race signifies. When
I remember my great-grandmother, Mymy, admonishing me for obsessin
over white folks, and her saying in the end in response
to what she took to be my crude nationalist musings, You
know white folks aint gon change, so you need to stop
worrin about them, cause dwellin on em will
eat you up. I could not easily fit this into a set of deliberations
about racial essentialism and elimitivism.
As
I wrote in Exodus!,
My great-grandmother understood that no matter how you slice it America was and is fundamentally a racial ideology. She understood in her own way that notions of white supremacy saturate the nations principles, or as a Ralph Ellison put, that racism is like a boil bursting forth from the impurities in the bloodstream of democracy. But, she was thoroughly American, and she often reminded me that I was too. As she faced the potential terror of domestic service in the houses of white folk on the coast of Mississippi, her humiliation, continued insult and, more important, her endurance translated into a cultural logic passed onto her children and their childrens children. Her words echoed the voice of Toni Morrisons Baby Suggs as she spoke to Denver: Know it, but go on out of the yard.1
Again, in my view, contemporary discussions
of race simply fail to capture what this view involves.
Bad
stories usually make available a set of bad options, and often
lead us to care about things that perhaps we ought not be so preoccupied
with. On one level, we have told a bad story about racial politics
in America, and Exodus! is my attempt to offer a different
narrativea historically inflected account of a different
way of thinking about race-based politics. So, a presentist preoccupation
drives the organization of the plot of this story. Synecdoche
and gesture alongside philosophical argument, juxtaposition, and
archival work were my principal tools in writing what I hoped
would be a plausible story.
Now,
what does all of this have to do with brother Wills three
lines of historical inquiry? First, my description of the gallery
incident and the subsequent formation of the African Methodist
Episcopal Church as paradigmatic was, however clumsily
stated, a use of synecdoche: a way of referring to a broader set
of processes that Will rightfully points out by focusing on the
particular. So, I concede the need, as he puts it, to reiterate
the church-specific terms of this form of exodus politics and
of the repetitive nature of the process of independence.
I also agree that some clarification needs to be given as to how
the gallery incident in Philadelphia was paradigmatic
for the emergence of independent churches. But, in some ways,
I am left asking the simple question: yes, yes, but is the historical
narrative still plausible? And if so, there is work to be done
by some historian out there!
This
takes me to the second and third points. Will questions the absence
of any sustained attention to the pre1830s black abolitionist
movement and its impact on the form of politics I lay out in the
book. He also wonders what would exodus politics look like in
the context of the state conventions when a specific set of electoral
concerns (as well as other considerations) had the attention of
the conferees. I gesture to the former in my general discussion
of publics and the black church. I think I offer a conceptual
framework for understanding the pre1830s black abolitionist movement,
and in some ways, I take it that my invocation of Walkers
distinctive public rhetorical engagement presupposes the work
of these black abolitionists. But, again, I concede the point.
A thicker historical narrative needs to be told. The story, however,
remains plausible.
As
for the last point, I mention briefly in the book the black state
convention movement. My own preoccupation, for good or ill, is
with what I take to be a national formation. But Wills point
is well taken, and it in some ways leads us to the more philosophical
dimensions of the argument. That is, how might we think about
the changing contexts of the period and its effects on race-based
politics as Ive conceived it? What are the implications
of my view for thinking about racial politics at the local level
and after significant historical events like the Civil War? Well,
I commend a view of race-based politics that begins with the idea
of problem solving. My use of John Dewey throughout the book is
to highlight this particular pragmatic dimension in order to hold
off the idea that racial politics have necessarily involved a
biological understanding of race. But, we need to be aware of
how the setting changes the kinds of problems confronted and the
sorts of publics formed in response to them. We need to be aware
of the shifts in the meanings of words that inform our deliberations.
How the language of race and nation, for example, change and how
those changes affect the tone and timbre of our politics. My approach
would caution against any a priori assumptions about the nature
of that racial politics. I suspect then that there would be some
differences (major and minor) and some overlap. The point, and
I take this to be Wills point as well, is that we need to
tell a thicker story about the differences and similarities. And
perhaps my preoccupations in Exodus! might be good point
of entry to tell that story. In any case, a thicker story would
benefit immensely our contemporary deliberations about race.
This
serves as a good transition to the essay by my good friend, Bob
Gooding-Williams. Although I am not quite sure I agree with his
reading of Du Bois and Douglass (I simply need more argument in
this regard), I find the form of the argument (particularly his
efforts to pursue some of the implications of my notion of a soul-craft
politics) quite provocative. And I hope we spend a lot of time
getting Bob to flesh some of this out for us. As for his specific
reading of Exodus!, I must admit that I was a bit shocked
that Robert Gooding-Williams accused me of not being pragmatist
enough. Aint that the pot callin the kettle black.
Bob
writes, We can begin to see the limits of his articulation
[of Exodus politics] by recalling his contention that the common
problems sustaining racial solidarity in Exodus politics are palpably
shared. On Bobs view, my appeal to the obvious
is not plausible, precisely because for many African Americans
what is seen as a racial problem by some isnt
a problem at all. As he says, my point here is that, especially
in our post-Jim Crow or post-Civil Rights era, we should not take
for granted, and will find it ever more dubious to take for granted,
that there are problems that an overwhelming majority of (let
alone all) blacks see as palpably present and that an overwhelming
majority (let alone all) see as palpably demanding political mobilization.
Instead, Bob rightfully suggests that the idea of racial solidarity
has to result from collective action and democratic
debates about needsdebates that involve efforts to persuade
others that certain matters are in fact problems. Racial
solidarity, as he says quite eloquently, will have to be forged
in the crucible of politics.
But
I take this to be a consequence of the position I lay out in Exodus!
Lets return to the actual passage in which I invoke the
notion of palpably shared problems. The passage comes on the heels
of my efforts to hold off an essentialist reading of black identity
based on some notion of common condition and common interest.
I write:
The idea of a common condition and by extension a common interest, however, is another concern. A problem may be a shared one for black individuals. We may all agree that slavery is wrong or that lynching is evil. But that fact does not lead to the conclusion that we have identical interest or that we will agree on a course of action. Some may pursue a moral or a legal means to end both practices: they may appeal to a broader moral law or simply to the stated principles of American democracy. Others may pursue a more violent course of action: they may call for insurrection or even outright revolution. In either case, the desired aims could very well be different. . . . The issue is not common interests or an agreed-on course of action. Rather it is the common problem that necessitates conjoint action, actions that may vary, given the different conceptions of the good that animate them, but are nevertheless connected by their efforts to respond to a palpably shared problem.2
The point in the passage is to recognize
that there are a variety of political positions that constitute
African American politics. And, in some ways, because my concern
lies here I assume that the problem is seen as shared (thats
why I used the easy case of slavery and lynching, but I also recognized
that this is not necessarily the case under all circumstances:
notice the use of the auxilariy verb may). I go on to say that
the aim is to allow for a plurality of action and to build
forms of overlapping consensus with an eye toward problem-solving
and not with the view that there is but one conception of the
good to be recognized by all black people precisely because they
are black. Bobs insistence about the importance of
politics is embedded in this effort to hold off a certain conception
of black politics.
In
a recent essay I try to make this pragmatic conception of racial
solidarity and black identity more explicit. I argue that there
are at least two ways to think about black identity.3 First is what I call the archeological
approach. Here black identity is about discovery, an archeological
project in which we uncover our true selves and infer from that
discovery what we must do. Racial identity is interpreted in terms
of reality and appearance. There is a real way of being
black and a false way. On this view, something out there
is essentially black and when we lose our way, as some of us have
as result of white supremacy, we need only find it
and all will be well. It so happens that the conception of the
self informing these projects is fixed and unchanging as a reference
for deliberation. With this in mind, it is not really possible
to have genuine conflict or uncertainty about how one should act
as a black person. The distinction is made before hand. Either
one acts like a true black personone who understands who
she isor one doesnt. The conflict is only apparent.
The
problem arises when folks postulate one single factorthe
racial selfas an explanation of the moral lives of black
people. The moral complexity and uncertainty that is often a part
of political decision-making in particular is reduced to a simple
conflict between showing fidelity to ones cultural inheritance
or not or, better, being authentically black or an Uncle Tom.
Such a way of rendering complex moral situations in which race
is actually involved only indicates the loss of the capacity
of discrimination, of an ability to make delicate distinctions.
Under such conditions, no matter what the problems may involve
(they may involve issues of gender, class, sexuality, religious
preference, geographic difference, etc.), all problematic situations
can be resolved by an appeal to the good and to the notions of
obligation that flow from an authentic way of being black in the
world. The moral choices of African Americans are narrowed in
such a way that the actual uncertainty and conflict that is characteristic
of any situation properly called moral is obscured. The fact that
we are often ignorant of the end and of good consequences, of
the right and just approach, of the direction of virtuous conduct
when we address the complicated issues of race and racism in this
country is lost.
The
second view does not hold that identity is about discovery. Rather,
identities are seen as consequences of human activity.
More specifically, identities are, in part, the products of our
actions as we struggle to resolve problematic situations, dispose
of meddlesome circumstances, and surmount obstacles. Identity
is not about discovery. It is not an archeological project in
which we uncover our true selves and infer from that what we must
do. Instead, taken together, our problem-solving activity turns
out to be our lives. I call this view the pragmatic historicist
approach where character and conduct are interrelated and
mutually dependent as we act in particular situations. The self,
on this view, is not some stable, unchanging and continuous frame
of reference. Rather, it is thought of as an organization of habits
that is relatively stable and enduring. These habits (that
are always subject to modification when we act) constitute our
character as it was formed, at least in part, from previous experiences.4 Our understanding of the beliefs, choices,
and actions that rely on these habitual tendencies arises in the
context of bringing these experiences to consciousness in narrative
(the history of the self). So, what we have done and are doing,
and the stories we weave about these experiences are absolutely
critical for a pragmatic view of black identity.
I
say a lot more in the essay to develop this argument, but I end
with something that speaks directly to Bobs concern. That
is, the particular view of black identity and racial solidarity
I offer requires something else: that, for me, these ideas
are live options. That is, they appeal to me as real possibilities.
For example, if I ask you to believe that, under certain circumstances,
racial solidarity is absolutely essential to the flourishing of
black individuals and that notion makes no electric connection,
as William James puts it, and it refuses to scintillate
with any credibility at all then the idea is completely
dead for you. And I cant persuade you otherwise. The fact
that the idea can be live for some and dead for others, however,
shows that its deadness or liveness are not intrinsic properties,
but rather issues of our individual temperaments.5 They are measured by our willingness to act
and, in some cases, to act irrevocably. This view holds off, I
believe, the complaint that race talk ends up as a form of conscription,
drafting reluctant individuals into its fold or labeling those
who refuse to join or those who choose to leave as either race-dodgers
or AWOL.
This
way of thinking about black identity shifts the discussion in
at least two ways: (1) we move from the idea that notions of obligation
and good are based in a conception of a fixed racial self to the
idea of solidarity in the face of particular problems (a solidarity
that is constantly remade giving the shifting nature of problems)
and (2) it evades the rather narrow debates about whether races
are real or not. For those of us who struggle to imagine a race-based
politics in the aftermath of the sixties revolution because race
and the idea of black identity remain live hypotheses, it is necessary
that we think about these issues more clearly (taking our cue
from those early nineteenth-century debates about the role of
race in our politics). Once we do this perhaps we can get on with
the business of finding better ways of talking about the complexities
of black lives and of responding intelligently to the actual problems
we face.
II. As for the contradiction or confusion around my use of the politics of respectability. I think youre basically right. The problem may be a bit overstated, however. I identify the inside approach of the convention movement with the politics of respectability. I describe the inside approach as a focus on the development of group solidarity and sustained self-critique and improvement. I define the politics of respectability as a strategy of reform directed at the members of the black community and an effort to sustain conversation among themselves about the problems facing them. I then distinguish two different inflections within the politics of respectability: 1) the privatization of the discrimination and 2) an immanent conversation that principally involves a call for solidaristic efforts to reject white paternalism and to alleviate the condition of black people in general. So, the politics of respectability generally involves an effort to sustain a conversation about matters facing black folk: that conversation takes two forms (1) and (2). I make the mistake on page 158 of describing the politics of respectability as an immanent conversation instead of simply as a conversation.
1. Eddie S. Glaude, Jr., Exodus!: Religion, Race, and Nation in Early Nineteenth-Century Black America (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000), 18. Ralph Ellison, What America Would Be Like without Blacks, in The Collected Essays of Ralph Ellison, ed. John F. Callahan (New York: Modern Library, 1995), 577. Toni Morrison, Beloved (New York: Penguin, 1987), 244. [return to text]
2. Glaude, Exodus!, 1112, emphasis added. [return to text]
3. Eddie S. Glaude, Jr., Pragmatism and Black Identity: An Alternative Approach, Nepantla: Views from South 2, no. 2 (2001): 295316. [return to text]
4. Gregory Pappas, Deweys Ethics: Morality as Experience, in Reading Dewey: Interpretation for a Post-Modern Generation, ed. Larry A. Hickman (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1998), 11011. [return to text]
5. William
James, The Will to Behave (New York: Dover, 1956), 23.
[return to text]