[Originally posted 25 January 2010]
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’ve been amusing myself by leafing through some of John L.
O’Sullivan’s editorials on things like westward expansion, our Indian policy,
and the future of America. This is supposed to be for a section on my (still
very hypothetical) Modoc War book, and has been brought to me through the
courtesy of the good folk at Cornell University.
I’ve been looking for a gateway to enter into the world view
of nineteenth century America as it were, and I’m thinking of using O’Sullivan
for that purpose. This guy was the editor and publisher of a literary magazine
called The United States Magazine and
Democratic Review, which was sort of a Democratic counterpart to the
Whiggish North American Review. (The
latter is also available at the Cornell University site.)
The book section hasn’t exactly jelled yet, but I’m getting a
better picture of my quarry, at any rate. I transcribed “Annexation” and stuck
it up at Wikisource, and I’ve transcribed “Territorial Aggrandizement” and “Our
Indian Policy” as well, though so far they’re just sitting on my computer.
O’Sullivan, by the way, was born on a ship off the coast of
Gibraltar during the war of 1812; his mother had taken refuge there from fear
of a plague on shore. (What she was doing in Gibraltar my internet sources don’t
say.) He was elected to the New York legislature in his twenties, where he made
himself unpopular by campaigning against the death penalty. He was a Van Buren
supporter during the election of 1844—this was the free-for-all where the
sitting president had been drummed out of his party and the White House really
was up for grabs—and the Whigs were running Henry Clay. (One of the ironies of
history is that neither Daniel Webster nor Henry Clay were ever president,
though their names are remembered now much better than many of those who
actually succeeded in getting the prize.) O’Sullivan ended up disappointed, of
course, when James K. Polk, the first “dark horse” candidate (supposedly),
somehow emerged from the melee the victor, in spite of his often-expressed lack
of interest in the position. He stood behind Polk even so, but without the
enthusiasm he’d shown for Van Buren.
O’Sullivan was a visionary. While his United States was
bounded by the Rocky Mountains, he looked forward to a nation united by ties of
wire and rail that spanned the continent from Atlantic to Pacific. “[T]he day
cannot be distant,” he wrote, “which shall witness the conveyance of the
representatives from Oregon and California to Washington within less time than
a few years ago was devoted to a similar journey by those from Ohio; while the
magnetic telegraph will enable the editors of the ‘San Francisco Union,’ the ‘Astoria
Evening Post,’ or the ‘Nootka Morning News’ to set up in type the first half of
the President’s Inaugural, before the echoes of the latter half shall have died
away beneath the lofty porch of the Capitol, as spoken from his lips.” Yes, not
only Texas, but California, Oregon, New Mexico, Chihuahua, Yucatan, Cuba, and
the British provinces to the north were all to dissolve their allegiances and
clamor for annexation by the United States. There would be no need for a
war—indeed, nothing was less likely—rather, the natural strength of the Saxon
peoples would draw settlers like magnets to these uninhabited lands. What was
more natural than that, once there, they would want to join with the United
States? It was practically inevitable.
Slavery was an awkward problem, true, but so was the
alternative. O’Sullivan was appalled by the conditions workers in the free
north faced, and felt that there might be some features of the slave system
that were superior to the wage system that produced such grinding poverty.
Might not slavery, if purged of such objectionable features as “the separation
of families, excessive severities, subjection to the licentiousness of mastership
… contain some dim undeveloped germ of that very principle of reform thus aimed
at [by reformers like Charles Fourier], out of which proceeds some compensation
at least for its other evils, making it the duty of true reform to cultivate
and develope [sic] the good, and remove the evils?”
If slavery goes, O’Sullivan looks forward to
the ultimate disappearance of the negro race from our borders. The
Spanish Indian-American populations of Mexico, Central America and South
America, afford the only receptacle capable of absorbing that race whenever we
shall be prepared to slough it off—to emancipate it from slavery, and
(simultaneously necessary) to remove it from the midst of our own. Themselves
already of mixed and confused blood, and free from the “the prejudices” which
among us so insuperably forbid the social amalgamation which can alone elevate
the Negro race out of a virtually servile degradation even though legally free,
the regions occupied by those populations must strongly attract the black race in
that direction; and as soon as the destined hour of emancipation shall arrive,
will relieve the question of one of its worst difficulties, if not absolutely
the greatest.
The native Americans too pose a problem.
It [i]s impossible that two systems of governments, so diverse as
the Indian and American, should coexist on the same territory. All history
proved this. The most rational hope of success for this race, the only one
which indeed appear[s] practical on a scale commensurate with the object, [i]s
to remove them, with their own consent, to a position entirely without the
boundaries of the state jurisdictions, where they might assert their political
sovereignty, and live and develope their true national character, under their
own laws.
And their ultimate fate? O’Sullivan is optimistic, given the
abilities shown by the more progressive members to survive and thrive under the
new circumstances. But
Our greatest apprehensions, we must confess, before closing this
paper, arise from the peculiar geographical position of the Indian territory
with relation to our own. … Our population is on the broad move West. Nothing,
it is evident, will now repress them this side of the Pacific. The snowy
heights of the Rocky Mountains are already scaled; and we but apply the results
of the past to the future, in saying that the path which has been trod by a
few, will be trod by many. Now, the removed tribes are precisely in the centre
of this path. From the mouth of the Platte, or the Konza, the great highway to the
Oregon must run west. Whether this new tide of emigration be successful or
unsuccessful, will those who compose it spare to trample on the red man? Will
they suddenly become kind to him, to whom they have been unkind? Will they
cease to desire the lands which their children want? Will they consent to see
the nation separated by an Indian state? Will they award honors, nay, justice,
to that state? Twenty years will answer these questions.
In spite of O’Sullivan’s comments on race, he doesn’t seem to
have believed in it. In a very interesting piece entitled “Do the Various Races
of Man Constitute a Single Species?” he suggests that race is an imaginary
construct, and that racial types are simply the extremes in the continuum of
human variability. He considers it quite possible that some groups are superior
to others in particular abilities, but argues that the variability within a
group is greater than the difference between groups.
He’s an odd character, and one I’m glad to have encountered,
in spite of his curious limitations. There’s a biography out on him that I want
to read, if I can get a copy. Unfortunately my local library doesn’t have it;
I’ll have to resort to buying it or getting it through interlibrary loan. It
does seem to me a trifle unfair that he is remembered now only for two
things—his invention of the phrase “manifest destiny,” and his magazine’s
motto: “The best government is that which governs least.”
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