Remembering to Listen: A Comparison of Puritanism and Westward Expansion

The American experience at its essence, is one large experiment. Our character has been shaped by coming to accept many ways of thought, and our space contains a uniqueness that D.H. Lawrence once called an “alien quality” (Lawrence 1). In terms of democracy, this diversity of thought should be considered a success: rule of the people, the preference of no individual over another and the ability to listen to each person equally. We seek to maintain equal access to opportunity by obeying the commandment, “THOU SHALT NOT PRESUME TO BE A MASTER” (Lawrence 8), but how we can progress while being leaderless? Is the opportunity for advancement truly equal, or has it become less so overtime? Although we may like to consider freedom and democracy as rock solid, we must recognize they are but reinforced concrete–a complex mixture of liberal individualism and oppressive collectivism. To make sense of this amalgam, it is helpful to consider two extremes: the New England Puritans and the settlers on the western frontier. Seeking to understand the interplay and tension between these two ideologies can aid the modern citizen in putting our elusive ideographs on firmer footing.

    In 1630, John Winthrop and his group of Puritan followers set sail for America (PBS). This migration was done entirely on their own accord and volition (Miller 4). Having become fed up with the established Church of England, the Puritans went in search of a space to reform Christianity and prove to the rest of the world that it was their destiny to do so. Alexis de Tocqueville praised the “settlers of New England” as both “ardent sectarians and daring innovators” (Tocqueville 47-48). Their risk taking enterprise led them to construct a “city upon a hill”,  living as one body bound by a mutual covenant to God (Winthrop qtd. in Morgan).

As Calvinists, these individuals were constantly seeking to achieve the approval of God and move beyond “depraved sin” (PBS). However, the Puritan ideology was a shift away from the individualist quest for redemption, in which “a man is left to himselfe; to stand by his own strength”, to a more communal covenant of grace (Miller 62). In this new modality, the Puritans entrusted God to redeem them when “he” saw fit. They could be reassured that God would not “arbitrarily afflict them” (Catholic-Resources) so long as they upheld “assistance through belief” (Miller 62).

One of the biggest issues with this model is there was no clear way of differentiating the saved from the damned. It was up to the individuals themselves to determine if they felt “saved”, and this type of ambiguity inevitably engendered fear, jealousy and surveillance amongst citizens: “If I say anything that displeases them, the free mob will lynch me” (Lawrence 4). Commitment may have proved challenging, but for most the risks of disobedience outweighed the benefits. In a society where “every man might have need of [the] other” (Winthrop qtd. in Morgan 77), there was no place to hide. In this way, the Puritans were hopeful and shaped for devotion. Because there was no materialist identifier of superiority, there could be an “equality of condition” (Tocqueville 26)–an equal opportunity for redemption under mutual adherence to a singular ideology.

Although this regime may appear peaceful on its surface, it is important to consider its ethics. Is such holistic devotion democratic? Is it free? According to D.H. Lawrence, “[the Puritans didn’t come for freedom. Or if they did, they sadly went back on themselves” (Lawrence 5). Perhaps freedom is not the only source of happiness. Modern Christianity to this day encourages individuals to accept the terms that God provides unquestioningly. To overcome discomfort, and “cheerfully submit to that authority set over you” (Winthrop 63). To “lie like wax under the seal, [so] that God may stamp upon you his own impress” (Spurgeon), and patiently anticipate redemption even when it is difficult to do so.

Whether the Puritans truly desired to practice their doctrine, or felt it was necessary to do so in order to avoid lynching, public scrutiny, misfortune or simply a hellacious afterlife remains in question. Ultimately, it is not their level of happiness which is most concerning, but the exclusivity with which they treat their ideas. One must remember that the Puritans ability to pursue the “triumph of [their] idea” on American soil was a privilege (Tocqueville 42). With this in mind, is it just for them to prevent others from doing so?

In Nathaniel Hawthorne’s short story The Maypole of Merry Mount, Puritan John Endicott comes in and criticizes a band of flower children known as the Merry-Mounters. Shocked by their deviance and misdeed, the Puritans are unable to see any value to their more primitive and wild lifestyle. The only exception pertains to a newlywed couple who shows an albeit crude form of commitment: “‘And shall not the youth’s hair be cut?’...‘Crop it forthwith...There be quality in the youth which may make them valiant to fight, and sober to toil, and pious to pray; and in the maiden, that may fit her to become a mother of our Israel…’” (Hawthorne 131). This proposed conversion is preceded without consultation of the Merry-Mounters or even a brash attempt to understand their culture. Instead, the Puritans exude an arrogance which sees any competing ideology as an error to be forgiven. Endicott’s sentiment is a pedagogy for his fellow Puritans as much as it is for the Merry-Mounters. In order to maintain their commitment, he must work to eliminate the distraction of this nonconformist regime by dismissing it forthwith.

This contemptuousness seems quite distant from the open arms of a democracy, and even hypocritical amidst the Christian mantra “Love thy neighbour as thyself” (Winthrop 77). Does this policy encourage one to truly get to know their neighbor, or to convert them to be likeminded? According to Tocqueville, “Liberty considers religion as the safeguard of morality, and morality as the best security of law and the surest pledge of the duration of freedom” (Tocqueville 48). Is it truly moral to be so harshly critical of a peaceful band of forest hippies? Surely not–morality must be a subjective affair.

While the Puritans may seem community oriented, it is important to question their degree of selfishness. How can one be free within the context of myopia? As for their lasting contribution to democracy, the Puritans can teach the American populace a great deal about the struggle of shared commitment, close proximity and sacred documents. They fit nicely within the Oxford English definition of the term, as “a system of government in which all the people of a state or polity ... are involved in making decisions about its affairs” (Oxford). In spite of this resonance, I believe a mutual myopia is not democratic. Such conformity is one step removed from tyranny. Without the threat of God’s wrath, Puritans could develop individual thoughts and be able to make rational decisions. Even if it was their decision to join in covenant at one time, shouldn’t there be an escape clause for when things get too heavy handed? This is the contrast found at the core of frontier democracy–a sense of unexpired choice.

    Fed up with the contrivedly oppressive framework of New England politics, many citizens turned their gaze westward to an open frontier. The mentalities of this decision continue to pervade our lives today, in the form of  imperialism and consumer culture. At its origin, the frontier offered space for the impatient to break free from “the bondage of the past” and start freshly (Turner 62). This new chance was not seized by any particular masse or collective, but by lone individuals willing to risk everything. This vast wilderness necessitated a series of self-reliant traits, namely a “practical, inventive turn of mind, quick to find expedients” and “a masterful grasp of material things” (Turner 61).

    Needless to say, this contest of strength did not breed collectivism, but rather competitiveness. Much of  this could be attributed to the frontiersman’s evasion of permanence. The need to move on arises when “the hunting [becomes] a little precarious”, or “the neighbors crowd around...and he lacks elbow room” (Turner 49). This frequent transplantation in search of new wealth and land resources led to the decline of community-based local sectionalism in favor of a more broad nationalism.

One benefit of this homogenization was that it called arbitrary and unjust differences into question. As one frontiersman shared, “‘I believe this Government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free. It will become all of one thing or all of the other’” (Turner 56). Despite the fact the issue was worth talking about, the standardizing tendencies of nationalism did not facilitate collectivist discourse. In other cases, this hegemony probably led to a lamentable loss of local flavor. The object, was simply to allow individuals to live on their own terms without having to convert and integrate into local standards for each exploit.     

    In light of these anti-social tendencies Frederick Jackson Turner continues to make the claim that democracy comes out of the forest (Miller 1). Is not democracy a “social” regime? What level of communication does it require from its citizens? For a frontiersman, the rule of the people simply means the space to create. “Freedom of the individual, [and] the belief that those who win the vacant lands are entitled to shape their own government in their own way” (Turner 83). In this era, land was seen as the great equalizing force–something anybody could use to shape their ideal life.  However, as a period Western Virginia representative hinted, a “democracy born of free land” is also “strong in selfishness and individualism”. Without a developed civic spirit,, it is easy to become “lax in regard to governmental affairs” and fall prey to a “spoils system” (Turner 58).

    While there are definite risks posed by the expansionist mentality of the frontier, its sense of individuated choice and capacity to experiment are more at home within a 21st century American ethos. The frontier allows one to be different. What’s missing is a space to share those ideas apart from the construction of an individuated enterprise. At the end of his essay, Turner suggests that we must begin using “individual achievement for the common good” (Turner 97). This may be a step in the right direction, but I believe the ideal democratic setting is one which infuses the lessons learned from both of these regimes. Our society can no longer resort to the complexity of religion or simplicity of private property to equalize the populace. We must acknowledge our differences and build from them–creating a space where ideas can be shared and listened to on a pleasantly hypothetical basis. Without a threat to livelihood or a fear of scorn, this new democratic sandbox is the foundation for true debate, and meaningful progress.