Thoughts on James Baldwin

Brilliant Writer, Cynical Heart - Day 7

As with last week, half the class departed before the mid-point. Where last week I despised this behavior, this week I feel almost relieved by it. Even though I disagree with a large majority of those who remain, the fact that they remained says something indeed. As the Bard said in Henry 5th, “I would ask for not one man more” than those who would freely and actively participate in learning with me.

Paper #2 was due this week. I am particularly pleased with my paper, as I believed that I discerned a literary and poetic sleight-of-hand by Emerson (part of our required reading) that I think novel and—to the best of my knowledge—as yet undiscovered. I must find a way to post my essays online via this blog to make them accessible.

We had more readings by Baldwin for this week and we saw a snippet of a documentary about the man. The snippet was of no real help—perhaps if we had watched it in its entirety we could have gleaned some value. If the professor had a point in the particular segment he showed us I am afraid that I missed it. But it was, to my mind, at least partially beneficial to hear Baldwin’s actual audible voice. As I read his other works, I will be able to imagine him speaking them now that I have somewhat of an ear for his meter, inflexion, and tone.

Nothing that I write here could diminish the quality of Baldwin’s prose or the moral courage of his participation in the civil rights movement of the 1960’s. But his work reflects a disconnection and pessimistic outlook that screams out from the pages. I fear that, for all of the good he effected, there is also a legacy of error in his work that harms those he sought to help—even to this day. I pretend to no psychological authority, but some of this mystery may be in James Baldwin’s “personal” diaspora.

More than Personal
Baldwin was one of nine children and never knew his biological father. His step-father was reputed to have a cruel streak and opposed James’ literary aspirations. James, of course, was African-American (to use the terms of today)—which presented well established incumbent identity challenges of that period. And it must be noted that he was also homosexual at a time when it was profoundly more difficult to be so (setting aside that hot-potato for the moment). So, to paint this picture in broad strokes, Baldwin was a relatively poor, black, out-of-wedlock, “blended” family, homosexual whose natural talents were not readily accepted by the authority figure of his home. The fact that he managed to rise above that station is a testament to his talent. But it is also reasonable for us to postulate that his personal feelings is disaffection were given amplitude by his personal condition. Perhaps this increased amplitude served to increase his effectiveness--giving constructive output to his many frustrations by channeling his energies.

But we should also Consider...
There is a psychological condition called “transference” where emotions or associations that naturally belong to one person, object, or circomstance become linked or directed at another. Baldwin writes about the disassociations and disaffections of/by/and among America and African-Americans, but he so often tosses the baby out with the bath water that plausibility suffers. He wrote ably for decades—some of the most progressive decades in racial matters—and in that time if one were to listen solely to Baldwin (albeit to my limited readings so far) that not a step of progress had been made. And as he defends the struggles and culture of the African-American, he becomes what he abhors—mocking and deriding the struggles and cultural traditions of other groups and seemingly denying the ones we share. Such blindness speaks to a pathology of the soul that denies the ability to belong and to celebrate the victories. Even if fresh battles await.

James Baldwin was an important and great writer, but I think that there was a lot more broken than he would let anyone really see.

Be well,