Thursday, July 11, 2013

Thoughts on Bernath's recent JSH article

It being a relatively mild, overcast, and dreary day in Durham, I woke up this morning and poured a cup of coffee and picked up the most recent edition of the Journal of Southern History. I went right for Michael Bernath's article, "The Confederacy as a Moment of Possibility," mostly because the title looked startlingly provocative. In the piece, Bernath revisits the argument that many powerful southerners, including Jefferson Davis, viewed formation of the Confederacy as a profoundly conservative revolution - the purging of the cancerous northern influences. It is well known that despite these conservative intentions, the necessities of war pushed the CSA to become more powerful and centralized. The ultimate defeat of the Confederacy led to radical changes that few southerners could have foreseen in the heady days of secession. But, as Bernath reminds us, many viewed the creation of a new southern nation and the resulting war as an opportunity to push new reforms that were, for a variety of reasons, unimaginable under the old Union. He uses the example of three reform initiatives: expansion of women's education, slavery reform, and reactionary antidemocratic activism. Bernath's article is thoughtful and convincing, and I want to take a moment to both add to his argument, but also to take issue with some of his assertions. 

First off, I'll say that I was largely unfamiliar by the antidemocratic forces in southern society in the 1860s, so I won't tread onto that subject. I am generally familiar with arguments in favor of women's education, but I'm much more comfortable with the discussions of slavery reform, so I'll focus on this part of Bernath's article. It needs to be said that slavery reform was a well-worn topic before long before most rational southerners seriously considered secession. Bernath, however, argues that many southerners felt that they couldn't speak out against the abuses of slavery so that the region could project a united front against the North. This is a valid argument, in as much as many southerners themselves made this very claim when advocating for reform. And while this is a critical and justified piece of Bernath's argument, he fails to remind the audience that by 1850 there was already a vast literature the need to reform the worst abuses of slavery. That southerners, willfully forgetting the voices of numerous antebellum reformers, pushed for reform using the newness of the nation and the pressures of war to push their agenda flows nicely with Bernath's argument. Readers should, however, be aware that many popular and quite outspoken southerners lambasted southern slavery in practice. Bernath correctly notes that some of the loudest proponents for reform after 1861 came from the clergy (including George F. Pierce, whom Bernath erroneously labeled as an Episcopalian; he was, in fact, a Methodist). He further makes the perceptive claim that the push to reform the worst abuses of slavery shows that southerners actually cared deeply about what the abolitionists thought. More correct Bernath could not be, but there many extended essays on this subject, dating back at least to the late 1840s, and perhaps earlier. In 1849, for example, the Southern Baptist Convention offered a $200 prize for the best essay on duties, both temporary and spritual, that masters had to their slaves. The Convention eventually published the top three essays in 1851. Methodist preacher and journalist Holland N. McTyeire took home first prize and claimed, as many of the advocates Bernath discusses, that it was patently sinful for masters to break up slave families, provide insufficient food, or overwork their slaves. McTyeire asserted that these abuses legitimately gave the abolitionists ammunition against the South and that southerners should go to their Bibles to properly understand their duties to their slaves. As Bernath also explains, these reformers felt that masters had a religious responsibility to their slaves. But again, the arguments that he places in this "moment of possibility" were nothing new. Again, McTyeire reserved harsh words for his fellow slave-holders, "Depend upon it, O Christian master, your servants will confront you before His bar with whom is known no respect of persons, and how can you be approved when they complain – No man cared for our souls?"  (McTyeire, Duties of Masters to Servants, 46). (John Patrick Daly's monograph, When Slavery was Called Freedom discusses these antebellum reformers at length, if you are interested.) To be fair, it is worth noting that many of the advocates in Bernath's article could have been patently ignoring this literature that existed because they felt that the time was right for reform once they had thrown off the shackles of the Federal Union, but I feel that Bernath should have, at the very least, noted that these arguments weren't as new as even the southerners who were making them believed them to be. This revelation complicates his argument and thus requires significant qualification of some of his more salient points.


And yet I do agree with that overall thrust of his argument is quite accurate. Again, Holland McTyeire (you'll have to excuse my focus on him, he was the subject of my master's thesis) argued that the forming of a new southern nation presented Christians with a unique opportunity to create a more righteous nation than the one they were leaving. There were even more issues at stake than the ones Bernath outlines in his piece in the JSH. By 1861, McTyeire was the editor of the Christian Advocate, the denominational organ of the Methodist Episcopal Church, South - one of the largest religious organizations in the region. He most assuredly had a wide audience. The stakes could not be higher, McTyeire argued, because if the South turned towards sin, God would destroy it as surely as he did Sodom and Gomorrah. The Confederacy should start by strictly adhering to the Sabbath. This is one of the great faults of the North, who allowed their mail trains to run and their army to work on Sundays. McTyeire, who was the editor of several Methodist newspapers in the decade prior to the Civil War, never wrote editorials concerning post office and army policy before secession. Even if it was a matter of religious prerogative, such speech would not have been considered appropriate in most southern religious newspapers because of it was already established as an overwhelmingly political issue in the early days of American Wesleyanism, a time when most Methodists were decidedly apolitical. But the dawning of the Confederacy, with all its newness, gave McTyeire and other religious editors a great opportunity to try to influence national policy and political culture because lines demarcating political and religious boundaries in the new country were still fluid. Anything was fair game because men like McTyeire could claim that God would damn wicked nations and they needed to build their nation on a firm foundation of righteousness.


So, while I do take serious issue with Bernath's lack of a robust context surrounding some of these issues, I think his article is an excellent starting point for exploring this issue more fully. I am confident that further research on this topic will reveal that southerners did view the formation of the Confederate nation as a unique moment in their history, one with unlimited possibilities to create what they felt was the correct kind of nationalism. 

6 comments:

  1. Nice post, Chris. As to the idea of "the correct kind of nationalism," I'm hoping to address some of that in my own dissertation, as part of a broader discussion on Southern Methodist identity through the CW period. With a couple notable exceptions (Chris Owen and Beth Schweiger come to mind), I think many scholars still fail to give credence to the idea that southern Christians' religious identity went beyond the ideology of slavery. True, they supported and defended the institution, and sought to be "good southerners," but they equally sought to be "good Methodists," or Presbyterians, Baptists, etc. Their devotion to both their regional and their religious identity led to a lot of tensions/struggles both within their denominations and between their denomination and society/government. Sometimes these tensions led to contradictory or hypocritical actions, certainly, but far more often I believe it was a careful balancing act between a faith and a nationalism that pushed at each other's boundaries and expectations.
    Coincidentally, I think a lot of that same tension was present in Pierce and McTyeire's fights over Vanderbilt University, which I know you've done work on. Anyway, the above is a shotgun soapbox version of my dissertation thesis, and not terribly relevant to the post at hand, but I thought I"d share a few abstract thoughts.

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  2. Thanks for the post, Corey.
    If you're in Auburn any this fall, we should definitely have lunch or coffee.

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  3. Like Corey, I’m intrigued by this notion of the “correct kind of nationalism,” albeit for different reasons. I think it bears mentioning that Confederate nationalism – and its crude forerunner, southern nationalism – is a murky concept for a number of reasons, and attempting to come to grips with the concept’s ambiguity is one of the questions at the heart of Bernath’s article. In the last forty year, Emory Thomas, George Rable, Drew Gilpin Faust, Paul Escott, and the authors of Why the South Lost the Civil War – to name but a few – have given historians a variety of renderings of Confederate nationalism; specifically, its roots, development, evolution, and limits. While these definitions have certainly provided us with variety, I don’t know that the field is anywhere close to reaching a consensus on the issue after over forty years of fruitful debate, nor am I sure that a consensus is possible.
    By inviting us to consider how antidemocratic thinkers, women’s education advocates, and those who wanted to reform the institution of slavery provided “competing visions of the purposes and possibilities of southern nationhood,” Bernath complicates historians’ understanding of how Confederate nationalism functioned. I appreciate what he’s trying to accomplish here, and I think this might serve to reconcile some of the competing definitions and characterizations that historians have posited concerning Confederate nationalism, and furthermore, to dispel the notion that it was an “either-or proposition, a set program that all had to march in lockstep toward to be counted as nationalists.” After all, if these three groups, among myriad others (industrialists, foreign expansionists, soldiers, or European immigrants who adopted the Confederate cause), were able to take part in this nationalist discourse, we have to concede that the Confederacy’s nationalism was in fact somewhat cacophonous and, ultimately, negotiable (which, in turn, might go a long way toward explaining why historians have produced so many competing interpretations).
    With that in mind, to suggest that Bernath’s piece represents a step in the direction of studying how white Confederates attempted to pursue “the correct kind of nationalism” misses the larger the point that he is trying to make. Bernath is arguing (or perhaps reiterating) that Confederate nationalism was negotiable, albeit within certain limits. Or, to use his own words, “Confederate nationalism was a bigger tent than is sometimes assumed, encompassing a surprising variety of views and ideas, but a tent with definite sides. Confederate advocates for change touched those sides and tested those limits, but they never crossed them, and in so doing they demonstrated both the flexibility and the restrictions of the Confederate national project.” Thus, Bernath is a raising an issue that is much more complex than how Confederates attempted to create the “correct” kind of nationalism. Instead, they were testing the possibilities and limits of a kind of nationalism that they were creating on the fly and in the middle of a war. True, the Confederacy’s existing power structures – which revolved around the familiar lines of race, class, and gender – might have served to circumscribe the possibilities of how far one might stretch this particular brand of nationalism. Yet, to what extent they were the arbiter of deciding correct or incorrect variants of Confederate nationalism seems less certain.

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  4. Jake, I will concede any points regarding my hastily constructed last sentence because I agree with what you said. I am eager to agree that the Confederate nationalism was a cacophonous affair, as my post suggests when discussing McTyeire's insistence that the Confederacy more strenuously observe the Sabbath - many people wanted many different things at a time of fluidity.

    And yet I still want to reiterate that all of the arguments Bernath brings forward on the issues of slavery reform (and indeed in regards to women's education) were nothing new in 1861 - in the religious presses they were well-worn topics, almost banal, by the time of secession. This makes me question how much these clergymen who trotted out decades old arguments that any literate person would be aware of were really pushing any limits under what was really acceptable under the big tent of Confederate nationalism. The issues brought up in the article have a long history antedating the Civil War that do not receive proper attention. I'm not sure, what, if anything, this would really mean for Bernath's argument, but some southerners clearly pushed ahead for similar reforms in slavery and education well before most allowed themselves to seriously consider the notion of secession.

    I think the religious angle of Bernath's piece is among the most important, because clergy often took the lead not only slavery discussions but all kinds of educational reform as well. I think one it's worth noting that some scholars of southern religion (most notably Beth Schweiger) see the Civil War as a time when the clergy expanded the vision of their authority from the congregation and the denomination toward society at-large. Religion's role in negotiating a vision or testing the limits of Confederate nationalism is a rich subject of inquiry, as Cory can no doubt attest.

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  5. I think Bernath's point is less about the supposed novelty of the issues and more about novelty of secession, the process of nation-building, and how their vision fit within the Confederacy's ever-changing discourse concerning nationalism. So, on that point, I don't think that we disagree on these issues having some sort of antebellum precedent, but we might be disagreeing about whether or not 1861 actually represented a moment of possibility, as Bernath suggests.

    Now, perhaps the clergy thought their arguments might hold up better within the context of Confederate nationalism as opposed to pre-war southern nationalism? I'm not sure that Bernath explicitly mentions the difference (you or Corey are more well versed on that than I am; I won't pretend to be a religious historian), but I do think that it is important to draw a distinction between southern and Confederate nationalism and how each operated, especially if one is going to make the argument that Bernath is making.

    Also, I apologize for any typos; I'm writing this as I get ready for work.

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  6. I'll offer a couple more thoughts, with the massive disclaimer that I've not actually read Bernath's piece yet (my JSH issue arrived at my TN office after I was in FL for dissertation work). But I think the direction these comments have gone--toward the role/activity of clergy relative to Bernath's argument--begs a more fundamental question of whether those clergy represent the "southerners" Bernath has in mind. In other words, though the attempts for reform predate secession, perhaps it is the case that 1861 was "a moment of possibility" because it was the first time those attempts received a practical, feasible chance of fruition.

    Regarding the religious reformers themselves, I argue for continuity: that denominations in an ecclesiastical sense strived for and/or struggled with the same purposes whether secession and war existed or not. A couple examples come to mind. I assume Bernath's example of George Foster Pierce is drawn from his speech before Congress (or the GA legislature, it escapes me for the moment) in the middle of the war. It's a potent source, but in my own research, I don't find Methodists arguing reform of slavery any more or less during the war than they were prior to the war. Similarly with education: though many denominational schools shut down during the war, it was often fought against by the educational/denominational leadership (notwithstanding the couple examples of headmasters leading their students to the enlistment office). Wesleyan Female College in Macon even successfully refused to be used as a Confederate hospital, despite severe threats by the military. Confederate nationalism was real, just as southern nationalism (I like Jake's "crude predecessor" descriptor), but like Union nationalism or antebellum American nationalism, it was tempered and limited ("negotiated" perhaps most of all) by many Confederates. Nor is that a radical statement: no one would flinch at the comment that race tempered nationalism for many northern blacks, or that regionalism tempered nationalism (either direction) for border-state residents. Similarly, denominationalism and religious identity tempered southern Christians' nationalism.

    Even as I write that, though, I realize the converse is true as well. Certainly many blacks tolerated injustice and racism for the sake of their nationalism, nationalist convictions often trumped regional identity, and nationalism altered religious faith and action. A messy negotiation, indeed. But I'm all the more interested to read the article in question, now.

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