Digging for An American Dream: The Loman Family & Lasch’s Conflict

The American Dream–it is an amorphous phrase that millions of Americans aspire to without acknowledging a singular definition. The fact of the matter is, the dream holds vastly different meanings to different types of people, and this dissension is altogether strategic. As social critic Christopher Lasch argues in his text The Revolt of The Elites, the persona of American success has continued to remain in conflict since the great depression.

For Lasch, the American dream has only came into fruition as a “necessary illusion”, to soften everyday disappointments and the increasingly divisive “hierarchical structure of American society” (Lasch 51-52). Today, the act of traversing this hierarchy has become uncomfortably familiar, but for Arthur Miller’s fictional characters in Death of a Salesman, it remains treacherous. I argue that in Miller’s play, Willy and Biff Loman yearn for a utilitarian and laborious American dream of the past, which can no longer be obtained without sacrificing societal stature.

Willy Loman is a salesman. He has been one for his entire life, and is the father of two fully grown sons, Biff and Happy. As they enter into adulthood, the Loman brothers must learn to reconcile with the harsh judgments of their father, a man who is sorely disappointed with what they have achieved in life.

For Willy, success is defined by the cultivation of vanity and the perception of others. This concern is crucial in the work of sales, which is ruthlessly dependent upon first impressions. Taking a sense of pride in his work, Willy insists on imparting this value upon his two children: that “the man who makes an appearance in the business world, the man who creates personal interest, is the man who gets ahead. Be liked and you will never want” (Miller 33). Throughout the play, Willy both overstates and scrutinizes his own physical appearance and success. Lasch confirms that the modern American insists upon taking full responsibility for the failure to advance, often citing a “lack of ambition or intelligence” as the cause (Lasch 53). It is clear that Willy is no stranger to this narcissism, consistently unsure about his own personality and self-worth.

This was not always the case. According to Lasch, there was a period in our nation's history when an obsession with appearance was of little concern. During this era, physical labor was respected and served as “the source of all value” (Lasch 60). A man who could till his own soil and swing his own axe was considered a benefactor to society. Even Willy is able to admit that “a man who can’t handle tools is not a man” (Miller 44). However, Lasch believes that the benefits of a life based in physical skill have more to do with the production of personality than crops. Living off the land strengthens one’s sense of independence and ability to self-govern, and being free from the judgment or control of another entity means citizens are more familiar with the “habit of forming their own opinions” (Lasch 61). There is no doubt such strength of conviction poses true benefits to democracy, but the ability to independently control one’s own livelihood also improves self-fulfillment and happiness. Conversely, it is a slavish existence when a man defines his self-worth based on the opinion of another, yet this is the reality many Americans face to this day, Willy included.

Willy could not be farther from such independence. A concern for the impression of others exudes all of his actions. As he coaches Biff to prepare for a job interview with Mr. Oliver, he recites, “It’s not what you say, it’s how you say it–because personality always wins the day” (Miller 65). Herein lies the myth of a self-made man. The adage jauntily works its way into the American psyche that if one behaves in a certain fashion, they should be guaranteed success. And yet, having to perform a specific of behavior is exactly what makes vanity more submissive than empowering.

Gifted with the perceptiveness of a generational gap, Willy’s son Biff remains skeptical of his father’s happiness. What is it worth, “to suffer fifty weeks of the year for the sake of a two-week vacation, when all you really desire is to be outdoors, with your shirt off” (Miller 22)? Although this dream may sound simplistic, its goals are noble. Biff seeks to return to a world in which self-worth is defined through physical labor rather than appearance. Willy shares this dream but is not ready to admit it. Instead, the audience must witness his frequent bemoaning of the city’s limits: “the grass don’t grow anymore, you can’t raise a carrot in the backyard” (Miller 17). “Gotta break your neck to see a star” (Miller 52). In his critique of city life, I believe Willy echoes a deeper discontent with his menial pursuit of narcissism. No longer can he join a “vast majority of self-reliant, self-respecting citizens” in a dignified pursuit of physical work. Instead, he must remain within the “permanent class of hirelings” (Lasch 72).

Indeed, Miller is not coy about Loman’s reverie for frontier life, going so far as to mention a particular vision: “You wait, kid, before it’s all over we’re gonna get a little place out in the country, and I’ll raise some vegetables, a couple of chickens...I’d build a little guest house. ’Cause I got so many fine tools, all I’d need would be a little lumber and some peace of mind” (Miller 72). All of Loman’s laments are merely made in passing, but they hold great weight for his character, as if he is quietly calling out for help–looking for his dreams to be validated by another. The true tragedy of Willy Loman is that he never receives such validation. Even when his “only friend” Charlie suggests he can live differently, Willy fails to listen–remaining passionately adherent to society’s stigma of frontier life.

Christopher Lasch confirms this stigma arose during the nineteenth century, a period in which the American dream was in conflict. When the frontier closed in 1890, American citizens were forced to reconsider the good life, becoming more obsessed with class-consciousness, fashion, and good looks. Realizing that physical work was unglamorous, Americans searched for another way to obtain dignity, and the “desire to inspire envy” in the city “[superseded a mere] settling for respect” in the country (Lasch 72).

With this new objective in mind, Willy’s obsession with vanity should come as no surprise. In this new meritocracy, knowledge is divorced from practical experience and all efforts of self-actualization are put on display. We have forged a new pathway to success based on the increasingly intangible phrase “social mobility”, and the “democratization of competence” has become more valued than the personal development of a skill or trade (Lasch 79). Indeed, it is quite ironic that such incessant narcissism leads to submission rather than self-fulfillment.

If Willy’s stubbornness wasn’t enough of a tragedy, he also chooses to project his fears onto Biff by belittling his aspirations: “How can he find himself on a farm? Is that a life? A farmhand?” (Miller 15). Willy continues to question the value of such a life, vying for its meaning and substance. Perhaps he is jealous of Biff’s attempt at nonconformity, or afraid of his ability to fail, but what’s certain is that there is pain in the silence between father and son.

What Willy wants most for his children is for them to be great–not merely respected, but envied. Yet he fails to realize how much pressure a life of vanity puts on an individual. Even as Biff pleas, Willy criticizes his quest for an unglamorous life as lazy and vengeful: “I’m nothing, Pop. Can’t you understand that? There’s no spite in it any more. I’m just what I am, that’s all” (Miller 132-133). From an outsider’s point of view, Biff’s resignation may appear to be the end, but Lasch would argue that Biff has just begun. For within his confession, he has defined himself in all his imperfection.

If every individual takes the same path towards envy then they all end up in the same place. When Willy Loman spends a life worrying about the concerns of others, he becomes a stranger to his own passion. He is afraid to experiment with the cultivation of opinion–to differ with society and discover himself. Willy’s American dream, in which knowledge is based on appearance and merit rather than practical experience, forms a group of “ordinary people [that] are not expected to know anything at all” (Lasch 79). A healthy democracy must be based upon a cornucopia of opinion, cultivated through a process of self-discovery. Biff reminds us that we must be willing to pursue what we love at all costs. The goal is not to construct a façade of envy and wealth, but to discover a self that is humble, robust, and familiar.