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Bridging
the Gap Between the Individual and the Community:
Subjectivity and Dialogical
Discourse in Hawthorne’s “My Kinsman, Major Molineux”
by Nicole Scoppettuolo
In the early nineteenth century, America
was undergoing profound changes in the political, economic, and social
realms. The rise of international commerce and the development of
industrialization displaced previous Republican ideologies that valued
the community (Matthews 5). Instead, the market became the principal
societal system. Significantly, the major agent driving this system
was the individual. Thus, a new philosophy of liberal individualism was
born that honored the rights and independence of the individual man.
It maintained that the individual’s “drive for success” would naturally
contribute to the overall good of the community (5). Indeed, “setting
free the creative energy of individuals would naturally produce a prosperous
order in which all would benefit” (5). These socio-economic changes
coincided with radical transformations in the political sphere as well.
Andrew’s Jackson’s election to the presidency
in 1830 was particularly significant. Mainly, it expanded the inclusiveness
of the political process. Class distinctions were nearly obliterated
when Jackson granted suffrage to all men that were white and over 21 (Mackey
64). With this increased participation in government, the common
man was elevated to a new and higher plane. This inclusiveness widened
the democratic community by including multiple voices and various perspectives,
instead of only the select few of the aristocracy.
At the fundamental level of all of these
changes was a shift in the relationship between society and the individual.
However, this also presented an interesting paradox in the developing democracy:
the individual man and the community were both celebrated.
As much as individual will and freedom were honored, there was a persistent
fear of the societal fragmentation and disorderliness it would bring.
The question was whether this community of different individuals could
be brought together as a unified and connected whole or whether they would
deteriorate into a disruptive and chaotic mob. Ultimately, the pressing
social problem was how to attach the individual back to the community without
restraining personal liberties. In its early formative years, America
struggled to solve this problem of effectively combining individual rights
with the overall good of the democratic community.
Nathaniel Hawthorne undoubtedly had these
issues in mind as he wrote “My Kinsman, Major Molineux” in the 1830’s.
By setting the tale during the tumultuous time of the American Revolution,
Hawthorne creates a parallel between that era and the new Jacksonian democracy.
With the American Revolution, the country broke away from an oppressive
and established order (Britain). Similarly, with Jacksonian democracy,
the country overthrew its own internal oppressive and established order
(a class divided system with a privileged aristocracy). However,
this also raised many important epistemological questions. With no
authority to dictate truth and meaning, how does one come to know anything?
When the new country was simply a conglomeration of various and equal perspectives,
and there was no existing hierarchy, it became increasingly problematic
to determine who was right or correct. These questions allowed the
revolution to transgress the boundaries of national politics by extending
it into the philosophical realm as well.
Thus, the struggles for political and national
independence also demanded an ideological revolution in the fields of culture
and literature. The Revolutionary poet Philip Freneau wrote:
“Can we never be thought/To have learning or grace/Unless it be brought/From
that damnable place?” (quoted in Cohen 19). Clearly, the ties had
to be broken between America and Britain in all respects, and not simply
those on a political level. Since the new nation didn’t want to be
culturally dependent on European traditions, it had to establish its own
unique literary and artistic voice. William Ellery Channing wrote
in “Remarks on National Literature” in 1830 that “Literature…is plainly
among the most powerful methods of exalting the character of a nation,
of forming a better race of men…A foreign literature will always…be foreign.
It has sprung from the soul of another people” (quoted in Budick, Nineteenth
Century 17). The creation of a national literature assumed utmost
importance, not only to form a distinct national identity, but to communicate
that identity to the rest of the world. Ultimately, these aims were accomplished
through the development of the genre of Romance.
The Romantic genre was characterized primarily
in opposition to the form and content of the novel (Martin 72). Whereas
the novel dwelled on the ordinary and the probably, the romance focused
on the unusual and the possible (73). The novel tried to create a
mirror of real life and everyday existence; the romance tried to distort
that view of reality. Typically, it focused on imagination, emotion,
and other things associated with individual consciousness. It also
employed dialogical discourse; instead of presenting one “truth” as correct,
it displayed multiple perspectives and paths to truth. Most importantly,
these elements worked together in harmony to define the new American nation.
Subjectivity related perfectly to the new liberal individualism.
Additionally, dialogical discourse coincided with the emergence of Jacksonian
democracy as it presented a picture of a diverse community. Hawthorne’s
“My Kinsman, Major Molineux” utilizes these Romantic elements of subjectivity
and dialogical discourse not only to illustrate a radical break from an
established order, but also to show how they align perfectly with democratic
principles. Finally, the Romance bridges the gap between the individual
and the community, effectively solving the paradox of democracy that had
emerged in the nineteenth century.
At the opening of the tale, Hawthorne illustrates
a dichotomy between historical discourse and fiction to show the inadequacy
of established roads to knowledge for the American nation. While
history is general, fiction dwells in the specific and narrows in on particular
places, times, and characters. Hawthorne makes this integral transition
from history to fiction through “a change in perspective and language”
(Cohen 23). The first paragraph relates to us the historical background
of the story, and the information given is very vague and general.
We are not told of specific places or people’s names and the scene is set
at an indeterminate “not far from a hundred years ago” (Hawthorne 2194).
This nebulous beginning, however, is a tactic purposely employed by Hawthorne
to show the “inefficacy of text-book history…the bare ‘facts’ of American
history are incommensurate with the intensity of the imaginative experience”
(Cohen 22). Truly, these “long and dry details of colonial affairs”
will not stir much emotion or national pride in the reader (Hawthorne 2195).
To create a strong national identity, the Romantic writers needed to speak
to the hearts and the souls of the people, and not to their minds.
The next paragraph immediately shifts us
into the realm of fiction as Hawthorne focuses on particulars rather than
generalities. The reader is drawn into another time and place as
the fictional tale begins, “it was near nine o’clock of a moonlight evening”
(2195). Most significantly, the story focuses on “a single passenger”
(2195). Thus, we have an entirely individual and specific perspective on
a significant historical event. This is exceedingly important, as the Romantics
strongly emphasized the individual self as the only being that was capable
of uncovering meaning. The genre’s philosophy involved a “secularized
vision of the relation between conscious and unconscious, signifier and
signified” (Steele 135). This vision is characterized by ambiguity
as there is “no final center of linguistic of semantic authority” (135).
There are no authorities to dictate or impose truth. In fact, there
is no truth outside of the individual. This bold idea has significant
implications for literature and textual analysis as well. Fellow
Romantic writer Herman Melville wrote that the Romantic perspective releases
us into “’a universe whose center of meaning seem[s] indeterminate’, a
voyage into ambiguity that leads both author and reader into a ‘labyrinth
of semantic madness’” (135). Meaning is not somewhere to be located
since it is completely relative to the individual. However, this
transforms the role of the author in profound ways – (s)he is no longer
an “authoritative” figure that presents truth to readers. Instead,
it is indeed the reader who gives the text any kind of meaning at all.
Thus, the author and reader create a constant interplay of ideological
conflict, each one struggling to maintain control of the “truth.”
They find themselves in a metaphorical “labyrinth,” trying to uncover a
meaning that isn’t there, a “truth” wound up in the complexities of language
and interpretation.
Finally, since there is no external truth,
Romantic theory explored the dark recesses of the human mind. Henry
T. Tuckerman wrote in 1851: “What the scientific use of lenses -
the telescope and the microscope - does for us in relation to the external
universe, the psychological writer achieves in regard to our own nature.
He reveals its wonder and beauty, unfolds its complex laws and makes us
suddenly aware of the mysteries within and around individual life” (55).
This focus on the mysteries of the human mind works in conjunction with
a focus on subjectivity. Ultimately, the Romantic writers realized
that it was through imagination and language that we perceived and interpreted
reality.
By employing this subjective perspective,
Hawthorne celebrates a fictional subjectivity as the ideal form of American
thought, since it is born out of a rejection of an established and hegemonic
order. Historical discourse, by nature, is founded on objectivity,
rationality, and the assumption of an authoritative “truth.” Conversely,
fiction is concerned with subjectivity, emotion, and the possibility of
multiple truths. Cohen writes:
History as experienced by individuals
in time has none of the ordered, categorized causality that is afforded
by the scientific recoding of facts and figures in the annals of
a nation. Instead it reveals a realm of unpredictable contingencies,
of confusion, ambiguity and uncertainty, of temporal and spatial disorientation.
In this world of pervasive plurality the historical experience begins to
take the shape of a mythic adventure into the eerie labyrinth of the mind.
(23)
This distinction between historical fact and
imaginative experience is apparent in Hawthorne’s fiction. In 1860,
Richard Holt Hutton wrote that Hawthorne “is often positively anxious to
suppress
all distinct account of the actual facts which have given rise to his ideal
situations. He wishes to save the mental impression from being swallowed
up, so to say, in the interest of the outward facts and events” (109).
Quite simply, Hawthorne believes that the mere facts offer an incomplete
picture.
The inability to see the complete picture
is a theme that appears continuously throughout the story. At the
philosophical heart of Robin’s journey lies a tireless struggle to understand
his own reality in the absence of clear-cut facts. He wavers continuously
between fantasy and reality. Hawthorne believed this ambiguity to
be necessary to the writing of Romantic fiction. In “The Custom House,”
the preface to The Scarlet Letter, he states that he was striving
to achieve a “neutral territory, somewhere between the real world and fairly-land,
where the Actual and the Imaginary may meet, and each imbue itself with
the nature of the other” (quoted in Hutton 94). In “Major Molinuex,”
Hawthorne merges these two planes of reality through the moon, as it creates,
“like the imaginative power, a beautiful strangeness in familiar objects”
(Hawthorne 2201). He adds that it “gave something of romance to a
scene that might not have possessed it in the light of day” (2201).
These dichotomies between day and night, light and dark, permeate a Hawthornean
metaphysics that holds that there are two sides to reality - a material
and a spiritual (Budick, Fiction 115). However, these two
realms can not remain completely separate. The hard facts of reality
and the nebulous nature of the imaginative experience are consistently
blurred as Robin’s mind “kept vibrating between fancy and reality…giving
the whole…a visionary air, as if a dream had broken forth from some feverish
brain” (Hawthorne 2203). Throughout his phantasmagoric journey, Robin
consistently wants to revert back to his old ideologies and the established
order. Budick states that “Robin is firmly outside the dream, resisting
it” (Fiction 114). He is absolutely determined to “demystify”
and make rational sense of the strange reality in which has found himself
(114). “For Robin, reality is a single homogeneous substance - call
it quotidian or fantastic - that he can turn inside out at will, with little
or no damage, like an expertly sewn coat” (114). Robin is the “shrewd”
country youth, out of touch with the new America and the ambiguities of
democracy. He desperately tries to categorize and quantify, but remains
unable to find a single authoritative meaning in his experiences.
Likewise, in the era of Jacksonian democracy, reality was not something
clear and defined. Rather, it showed the arbitrary nature of boundaries
when hierarchies collapse and orders fall. The new democracy was
beginning to form its own identity as a society that thrived on this blurring
of boundaries and categories.
These blurred meanings and the celebration
of the individual’s subjective voice is very closely tied to a democratic
heteroglossia - the celebration of many individual voices. This dialogical
discourse is integral to democratic culture; it refuses to recognize a
single “official” voice and instead focuses on a community of multiple
perspectives. At the start of his journey, Robin is perplexed by
his fantastic visions and confused by the words and actions directed towards
him. He valiantly attempts to understand this new world through his
monological (and thus inadequate) rural discourse (687). Undoubtedly,
where he comes from, things are simple and easy to categorize. Indeed,
the principal problem is that Robin cannot categorize all the things he
encounters. His travels throughout the city begin to take on the
appearance of a dark and winding labyrinth as he becomes “entangled in
a succession of crooked and narrow streets…which crossed each other” (Hawthorne
2196). He likens it to a story from his childhood in which “ a wizard
of his country had…kept three pursuers wandering a whole winter night…”
(Hawthorne 2200). The significance of this labyrinthine maze is that
one single meaning or path is impossible to determine, since all paths
lead to other paths. Lost and exasperated, Robin comes to a large
church and peers through the window. There, he finds that “one solitary
ray had dared to rest upon the opened page of the great Bible” (Hawthorne
2202). The sight immediately prompts “a sense of loneliness” in the
youth; his old authority is a comfortable discourse and he longs for the
bygone days when all the answers were known and everything was mapped out
for him (2202).
Sometime later, however, Robin hears a
shout break through the stillness, but proclaims to hear “at least a thousand
voices” in it (2204). This reinforces the idea that America thrives
on the interconnectedness of individual and community; they cannot exist
separately. Hawthorne develops this further in the story when Robin’s
patient guide questions him, “May not a man have several voices, Robin,
as well as two complexions?” (2202). Man is not defined by himself
only, by a single voice; rather, he is inextricably tied to and defined
by the voices that surround him. As the procession advances toward
Robin, the music becomes increasingly louder and the “instruments of discord”
are sounding in the distance; eventually, Robin is drawn into the wild,
chaotic procession (2204). The significance of such an event is that
Robin begins to move away from an old order that is strict and oppressive.
His monological rural discourse is transformed into the dialogical world
of the carnival. He “temporarily joins the polyphonic world of the
city with ‘a shout of laughter that echoed through the street.’ He
awakens as if from a nightmare; he awakes into critical consciousness”
(Eldred 687). Robin’s sudden laugh in the middle of this pandemonium
completes the subversion of his familiar logic. His response to the
nearby gentleman is particularly telling as he gives thanks “to you, and
to my other friends” (Hawthorne 2207). He then asks his way to the
ferry. The use of the word “friends” here is clearly filled with
irony and sarcasm; Robin has made the transition from “a monologic language
to one consciously double-edged” (Eldred 687). Eldred calls it “a fiction
that dramatizes the collision between competing discourse communities,
their language conventions, and their inherent social logics, a fiction
that invites us to analyze constructed characters as they negotiate and
appropriate various discourses and world views” (686). Although
Robin realizes that can’t return home, he does not enthusiastically embrace
the chaotic life of the city either. Perhaps most importantly, he
has realized that he must adopt “a new subject of inquiry” and establish
his own unique, individual discourse (Hawthorne 2207).
Interestingly, the author creates his own
dialogical discourse within the tale by refusing to present one view or
perspective as correct. The traditional view of the Revolution is
one of courage and bravery - something to inspire pride among the nation’s
citizens. However, this view is subverted with his unlikely presentation
of this “glorious” revolution. It is described as a “senseless uproar,”
composed of “a mass of people, inactive, except as applauding spectators”
(2205). At the time that the story was written, during the presidency
of Jackson, this deterioration of democracy into a discordant anarchy was
a substantial fear. An incident that occurred on the day of Jackson’s
inauguration gives a literal and metaphorical significance to this fear.
At his White House party, hordes of common people trampled through the
reception, stomping on furniture with their muddy boots and creating a
general disruption (Mackey 63). This near riot only encouraged a
suspicion that was already forming in people’s minds - that the reality
of a democratic nation based on liberal individualism would not be a stable
and rational order, but an indecipherable and noisy crowd of people.
One commentator even wrote that it was “King Mob,” and not Jackson, who
was the true leader of the American nation (63).
Contrasted with this, we have the patriotic
view of Revolution at the introduction with the description of the colonial
governors. The citizens despised any “exercise of power, which did
not emanate from themselves” (Hawthorne 2194). This view of revolution,
as a noble overthrow of an oppressive system, is firmly rooted within American
mythologies. Hawthorne, though, exposes this revolution as something
entirely different. Robin’s participation in the procession is not
voluntary or deliberate; rather, he has been swept up in the chaotic exhilaration
of the moment. He despotic tyrant that they overthrow is alternately
described as a “large and majestic person” with a “steady soul” (2205).
The courageous revolutionaries are merely “trampling all on an old man’s
heart” (2206). It is clear that this “victory of the young over the
old, the present over the past, democracy over monarchy, cannot be achieved
without a radical ‘sacrifice of relations,’ nor without the shameful degradation
of victor and victim alike…” (Cohen 27). Hawthorne refuses to give
the reader a one-sided view of revolution. Instead, he shows that
progress means different things to different people; some gain independence
while others gain “foul disgrace” (28). Instead of being a “realization
of reason and freedom,” the procession acts as a metaphor for the country
in which all “order breaks down” (Bunge 9). The nation which extols
the virtues of independence, rationality and freedom achieves this through
the “irrational, discordant actions of the rebellious mob” (28).
Most importantly, however, Hawthorne leaves the reader with no single answer.
Since there is no objective meaning, a
third dialogical discourse is created between Hawthorne and the reader.
The text does not dictate or impose a truth on the readers, but forces
them to create and form their own interpretation (Cagidimetrio 28).
Just as Robin produced his own discourse, so must the readers produce theirs,
without relying on traditional ideologies. Thus, the reader also
enters the world of the carnival, “to play a role [and] to wear a mask”
(Steele 183). The problem of the correct answer is apt to be a futile
and irrelevant search for something that just isn’t there. Instead,
a wide variety of interpretations are incorporated and accepted.
This community of ideologies is crucial to the workings of democracy, and
thus an important part of romance fiction:
This mode of storytelling could
not (in the manner of realistic, sentimental, or epistolary fiction) thematize
values or ideas - as if there were a social or moral or even psychological
“truth” out there that was the writer’s responsibility to encode.
Instead, like democracy itself, it would have to permit the play of conflict
and controversy. It would have to accommodate multiple and even contradictory
systems of belief, to produce a text that, poised on a question, would
demand the interpretive skills and active involvement of the reader.
Only such a text, in the views of the romance writers, could contribute
to creating a culture hospitable to, supportive of, and capable of realizing
the values of democracy and pluralism (Budick, Nineteenth 20).
By requiring the reader to interact directly
with the text, the dialogical discourse extends into the larger community,
forming a multitude of perspectives and opinions. It is for this
reason that it was so important for Romantic writers to have their works
read. The text, by itself, was useless and contained no inherent
truth. Only a relationship between the text and the reader could
produce meaning and, thus, contribute to the ideology of democracy.
Although it appears that Hawthorne undermines
democracy and revolution, he does precisely the opposite. If Hawthorne
were to simply support and idealize the revolutionaries, he would be also
be negating the politics of revolution. A single truth would be exalted
as correct, and a new authority and a new order would be in place.
Overthrowing one monological discourse only to replace it with another
is a fruitless endeavor. Instead, romantic literary theories utilize
subjectivity and dialogical discourse - both concepts that deny the existence
of objective and unchanging truth. As these concepts focus respectively
on the individual and the community, that problematic gap in democratic
culture is bridged. Hawthorne asserts with “My Kinsman, Major Molinuex”
that it is necessary to have a constant interchange of ideas which creates
a persistent dialectical tension. Otherwise, society will grow stagnant
and complacent. The poetics of romance perfectly suit the realities of
a democratic society. Assuredly, the Romantic genre performed the critical
function of establishing a unique cultural identity for the newly forming
American nation.
Works Cited
Budick, Emily Miller. Fiction and
Historical Consciousness: The American Romance Tradition. New
Haven: Yale UP, 1989.
--------. Nineteenth-Century American
Romance: Genre and the Construction of Democratic Culture.
New York: Twayne, 1996.
Bunge, Nancy. Nathaniel Hawthorne:
A Study of the Short Fiction. New York: Twayne, 1993.
Cagidemetrio, Alide. Fictions
of the Past: Hawthorne and Melville. Amherst: U of Massachusetts
P, 1992.
Cohen, Hazel. “The Rupture of Relations:
Revolution and Romance in Hawthorne’s 'My Kinsman, Major Molineux.'” English
Studies in Africa 29.1 (1986): 19-30.
Eldred, Janet Carey. “Narratives
of Socialization: Literacy of the Short Story.” College of English
53 (1991): 686-699.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel. “My Kinsman,
Major Molineux.” The Heath Anthology of American Literature.
Ed. Paul Lauter, et. al. 3rd ed. Vol. 2. Boston: Houghton Mifflin,
1998. 2194-2207.
Hutton, Richard Holt. “Nathaniel
Hawthorne.” The Recognition of Nathaniel Hawthorne: Selected Criticism
Since 1828. Ed. B. Bernard Cohen. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P,
1969.
Mackey, Thomas C. “Jacksonian Democracy.”
Events that Changed America in the Nineteenth Century.
Ed. John E. Findling and Frank W. Thackeray. Westport: Greenwood,
1997. 57-75.
Martin, Terence. “The Romance.” The
Columbia History of the American Novel. Ed. Emory Elliott. New
York: Columbia UP, 1991. 72-88.
Matthews, Jean V. Toward a New
Society: American Thought and Culture. Boston: Twayne, 1991.
Steele, Jeffrey. The Representation
of the Self in the American Renaissance. Chapel Hill: U of North Carolina
P, 1987.
Tuckerman, Henry T. “Nathaniel Hawthorne.”
The
Recognition of Nathaniel Hawthorne: Selected Criticism Since 1828.
Ed. B. Bernard Cohen. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 1969.
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