By
Wifred Reilly
Friday,
August 04, 2023
People alive
today can’t simply pretend that everyone who lived before us was evil.
This
point, and the ancient academic debate about how to avoid “presentism” when
engaging the past, attracted some unexpected mainstream attention last week. It
came to light that down in Florida (i.e., political DeSantisLand), a line in
the African-American-history teaching standards noted that some enslaved
Africans learned useful skills during their time in American bondage.
Verbatim, the standards
state: “Instruction
includes how slaves developed skills which, in some instances, could be applied
for their personal benefit.”
Objectively
speaking, this point is completely noncontroversial. Much of coastal west
Africa — from whence were shipped the slaves — was far more sophisticated than
most Americans probably think. Dahomey, Ashanti, and Benin, among others, were
civilized if often brutal nation-states. The United States of the 1800s,
however, was more developed still and — at some level — it is just clearly true
that many captured Africans learned skills such as cowboying, New World farming, and modern
blacksmithing and boatbuilding that they simply would not have in the
motherland.
As
Michael Johnson and James Roark explain in their book Black
Masters, many
slaves plied these trades on weekends or across long evenings to save the money
with which they eventually bought their freedom. In one of the dark ironies
that make the serious study of history so intriguing, perhaps the very first
slave master in America, Anthony Johnson, was a black man from Angola. After
learning a series of mercantile and agricultural skills during his tenure as a
bond servant (not quite a slave) in Virginia, he wrapped up
that indenture and promptly started buying other humans and not letting
them go.
The real
issue with teaching basically uncontested facts of this kind — that black
slaves were sold almost entirely by brutal same-race peers and that they did pick
up some things from equally abusive but more technologically advanced whites —
is that doing so is seen as rude. Virtually all modern Americans view slavery
as an evil, and an obvious moral question is: “Why teach anything about such an
evil other than the fact that it was evil, or ever qualify the
evil of those who practiced it?” Would we today, one might ask, discuss “the
upside of 9/11 for NATO” or write about how our terrorist attackers personally
felt on that fateful morning?
The
sincere force of the question is obvious, but — leaving aside the fact that any
good military-science journal would do exactly that concerning 9/11 — there is
a simple historical response to it. Morals change across eras, and countless
things that happened in the past were evil according to conventional moral
standards today. Some version of the right of conquest existed in “international
law” until after World War II, and aggressive war was the recognized norm
across human races and nations until roughly 1949.
With a
few scattered exceptions such as Christian and Buddhist saints, virtually any
male human hero from any era much before that — e.g., Caesar, Iskander, Shaka,
Mansa Musa, Charlemagne, Genghis, Sun Tzu, Hiawatha, Moctezuma, Cortés,
Achilles, and Hector — would have been among other things a brutal war-leader.
Slavery was a profitable sideline to the primary summertime occupation of
butchery: Everyone just mentioned would have taken the Peculiar Institution
wholly for granted, as did even famous ethicists such as Aristotle (who argued
for the existence of “natural slaves”). And, it should be noted, the
Western-run Atlantic slave trade was only one of many centuries-long historical
slave trades — including the Arab slave
trade in
Africans and Slavs, the “Barbary”
slave trade in
whites sold to Muslim and black masters, and the Roman slave trade made vivid
in Ridley Scott’s Gladiator.
The huge
majority of Americans today think of conquests and predatory wars, like
Caesar’s or Shaka’s, as generally bad — or at the very least politely pretend
to for the cameras. But they were an absolute human norm from the first Olduvai
Gorge flint-throwing fight against Australopithecus boisei until
roughly 1950, and each conflict of this kind has to be described in detail
rather than as “very bad” in order for us to speak coherently about history. A
textbook description of (say) the Crusades cannot just read “The bad white
people fought the bad brown and black people for bad reasons.” How, we have to
ask, did the Crusades affect the world (for example, beginning the early modern
spice trade) for ill . . . and for good? The same holds true for any analysis
of the conquest of the New World, the Vikings, the heyday of the sea pirates —
and the era of slavery.
Human
beings like to think of morality as being set and ultimate, and this may well
be true inside the mind of God. But, far south of that, normative rules are
obviously very much socially constructed. “Good,” church-going Aztec taxpayers
ate people, and their modern American equivalents don’t. When we moderns
discuss once-universal practices that we no longer engage in — clan feuds and
border raids, say — scholars and others need to describe the world in which
these occurred, why they began, and how they largely ended, and sometimes (yes)
the arguments of their defenders and any unintentional positive side effects
they may have had.
Two
final points here strike me as worth making. First, as to how serious people
should and do present them, I find that there is a legitimate difference
between truly aberrational events such as the Holocaust or Shaka Zulu’s Mfecane
genocide in the 19th century and (say) conquests or colonialist exploits. The
first were atrocities by the legal and ethical standards of their time, while
the latter, though disturbing to us today, were rule-regulated human normals
during earlier and harder eras.
In the
case of Jews taken from a ghetto in Poland and forced into a German
extermination camp, there is no doubt at all what the answer would be to the
most basic question of (good vs. evil) moral analysis: Did this make
the world, or their world, better or worse? The answer is clearly “worse.”
However, it can fairly be asked whether vaishya-class Indian craftsmen were
generally better off under the rule of British colonizers than under Moghul
conquerors — or even whether enslaved black battle captives were more abused by
American “masters” (not infrequently black ones) than by the Ashanti. It may,
and perhaps should, make us feel awkward to ask such things — but they are
valid questions for scholarly inquiry.
Second,
it would be wise for those alive today not to be too arrogant
and smirky about the denizens of the past. Contra the good Dr. Fukuyama,
history never ended: We Western democratic late capitalists will be judged in
turn by snarky descendants. And it does not take a Nostradamus to predict that
those fine folks will view many aspects of modern society — perhaps factory
farming, commercialized abortion, our casual approach to sun-bomb weapons that
could destroy the planet many times over, the current obsession with “gender”
surgeries for children, or the plain fact that roughly 10
percent of our internet consists of hard-core pornography — with the same jaundiced eye we
now turn toward faded daguerreotypes of chain gangs and Uncle Serpentine’s Down
Home Medicine Show.
But, to
say the unbelievably obvious, the fact that imperfections exist in this society
today — your iPhone was made by slaves — does not mean that we are
all evil. The things that I just outlined arose for understandable reasons (far
fewer humans starve, in our world of abundant meat and grains), are in fact
critiqued quite often by contemporary citizens of goodwill, and are frankly a
lot harder to get rid of than they will be in a hypothetical future world of
lab-grown meat and fusion power. Let us hope that the scholars of the future
recognize all of this and are a bit kinder to Mr. Reagan and Mr. Obama than
many of their peers today are to Honest Abe Lincoln.
We can
perhaps set them an example, by analyzing honestly and in context when we look
at the past.
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