THE NARRATIVE OF FREDERICK Douglass and analysis

Analysis of Major Characters

Frederick Douglass

In the Narrative, Douglass acts as both the narrator and the protagonist, and he appears quite different in these two roles. The wide gulf between Douglass’s two personas is, in fact, the point of the Narrative: Douglass progresses from uneducated, oppressed slave to worldly and articulate political commentator. Douglass frequently dramatizes the difference between his older, more experienced self and his younger self through references to his relative ignorance and naïveté. One instance of this dramatization occurs when Douglass mocks how impressed he was as a young man to encounter the city of Annapolis—a city that now seems small to him by the standards of Northern industrial cities.

As the narrator, Douglass presents himself as a reasoned, rational figure. His tone is dry and he does not exaggerate. He is capable of seeing both sides of an issue, even the issue of slavery. Though he makes no excuses for slave owners, he does make an effort to present a realistic—if critical—account of how and why slavery operates. His humane vision allows him to separate slaveowning individuals from the institution that corrupts them. Moreover, Douglass as the narrator presents himself as capable of intricate and deep feeling. He allows his narrative to linger over the inexpressible emotions he and others have suffered, and he sometimes dramatizes his own tears.

Douglass as the protagonist of the Narrative is sometimes a strong character and at other times a sidelined presence. Douglass’s strength as a character fluctuates because Douglass the narrator sometimes presents his younger self as an interesting, unique case and sometimes as a typical, representative American slave. As a representative slave, Douglass’s individual characteristics matter less than the similarity of his circumstances to those of all other slaves, as when he describes the circumstances of his upbringing in Chapter I of the Narrative. Similarly, at times Douglass exists merely as a witness to scenes featuring other characters. These scenes are important to the Narrative not because of Douglass’s role in them, but because they present a composite portrait of the dehumanizing aspects of

Generally, Douglass the protagonist becomes a stronger presence as the Narrative proceeds. The protagonist Douglass exists in the Narrative as a character in process and flux, formed and reformed by such pivotal scenes as Captain Anthony’s whipping of Aunt Hester, Hugh Auld’s insistence that Douglass not be taught to read, and Douglass’s fight with Covey. Aunt Hester’s whipping introduces Douglass to the physical and psychic cruelty of slavery. He becomes committed to literacy after Hugh Auld’s order that Sophia Auld cease teaching him. Douglass then is reintegrated into slavery and loses his desire to learn at Thomas Auld’s and at Covey’s. Finally, Douglass reestablishes a sense of self and justice through his fight with Covey. Douglass thus emerges as a figure formed negatively by slavery and cruelty, and positively by literacy education and a controlled but aggressive insistence on rights.

Through this process, certain traits remain constant in young Douglass’s character. Though often isolated and alienated, Douglass remains largely optimistic about his fate and maintains a strong spiritual sense. He is exceptionally resourceful, as demonstrated by his untraditional self‑education. Finally, Douglass has a strong desire to help others, expressed in part through his commitment to improving the lives of his fellow slaves, as we see in the Sabbath school he runs while under the ownership of William Freeland.

Sophia Auld

Sophia Auld is one of the few characters, apart from Douglass himself, who changes throughout the course of the Narrative. Specifically, Sophia is transformed from a kind, caring woman who owns no slaves to an excessively cruel slave owner. On the one hand, she appears more realistic and humane than other characters because we see her character in process. On the other hand, Sophia comes to resemble less a character than an illustration of Douglass’s argument about slavery. Douglass uses the instance of Sophia’s transformation from kind to cruel as a message about the negative effects of slavery on slaveholders. Sophia also seems less realistic as a character because Douglass’s descriptions of her are rhetorically dramatic rather than realistic. Douglass’s initial description of Sophia idealizes her kind features, and his description of her character post-transformation equally dramatizes her demonic qualities.

Sophia’s gender affects her characterization in the Narrative. To nineteenth-century readers, it would have seemed natural for Sophia, as a female, to be sympathetic and loving. Consequently, it would have appeared all the more unnatural and undesirable for her to be transformed into an evil slave owner. Because many -nineteenth-century readers thought of maternal figures as the symbol of their society’s moral righteousness, corruption of a maternal figure—or disruption of her family structure—would point directly to moral problems in the society at large. In this regard, Sophia appears in the Narrative as a symbolic character as well as a realistic character. Her symbolism of a culture’s corruption is an important emotional component of Douglass’s larger argument against slavery.

Edward Covey

Edward Covey represents Douglass’s nemesis in the Narrative. Covey is a typical villain figure in that his cruelty is calculated. He is not a victim of the slavery mentality but a naturally evil man who finds an outlet for his cruelty in slaveholding. Covey is skilled and methodical in his physical punishment of his slaves, but he is even more skilled at psychological cruelty. While other slaveholders in the Narrative can be deceitful with their slaves, Covey uses deception as his primary method of dealing with them. He makes the slaves feel that they are under constant surveillance by lying to them and creeping around the fields in an effort to catch them being lazy.

One way in which Douglass portrays Covey as a villain is by depicting him as anti-Christian. The slaves call Covey “the snake,” in part because he sneaks through the grass, but also because this nickname is a reference to Satan’s appearance in the form of a snake in the biblical book of Genesis. Douglass also presents Covey as a false Christian. Covey tries to deceive himself and God into believing that he is a true Christian, but his evil actions reveal him to be a sinner. As Douglass associates himself with Christian faith, he heightens the sense of conflict between himself and Covey by showing Covey to be an enemy of Christianity itself.

As Douglass’s nemesis, Covey is the chief figure against whom Douglass defines himself. Douglass’s fight with Covey is the climax of the Narrative—it marks Douglass’s turning point from demoralized slave to confident, freedom-seeking man. Douglass achieves this transformation by matching and containing Covey’s own violence and by showing himself to be Covey’s opposite. Douglass thus emerges as brave man, while Covey is exposed as a coward. Douglass is shown to be capable of restraint, while Covey is revealed to be an excessive braggart. Finally, Douglass emerges as a leader of men, while Covey is shown to be an ineffectual master who cannot even enlist the aid of another slave, Bill, to help him.

Generally, Douglass the protagonist becomes a stronger presence as the Narrative proceeds. The protagonist Douglass exists in the Narrative as a character in process and flux, formed and reformed by such pivotal scenes as Captain Anthony’s whipping of Aunt Hester, Hugh Auld’s insistence that Douglass not be taught to read, and Douglass’s fight with Covey. Aunt Hester’s whipping introduces Douglass to the physical and psychic cruelty of slavery. He becomes committed to literacy after Hugh Auld’s order that Sophia Auld cease teaching him. Douglass then is reintegrated into slavery and loses his desire to learn at Thomas Auld’s and at Covey’s. Finally, Douglass reestablishes a sense of self and justice through his fight with Covey. Douglass thus emerges as a figure formed negatively by slavery and cruelty, and positively by literacy education and a controlled but aggressive insistence on rights.

Through this process, certain traits remain constant in young Douglass’s character. Though often isolated and alienated, Douglass remains largely optimistic about his fate and maintains a strong spiritual sense. He is exceptionally resourceful, as demonstrated by his untraditional self‑education. Finally, Douglass has a strong desire to help others, expressed in part through his commitment to improving the lives of his fellow slaves, as we see in the Sabbath school he runs while under the ownership of William Freeland.

Sophia Auld

Sophia Auld is one of the few characters, apart from Douglass himself, who changes throughout the course of the Narrative. Specifically, Sophia is transformed from a kind, caring woman who owns no slaves to an excessively cruel slave owner. On the one hand, she appears more realistic and humane than other characters because we see her character in process. On the other hand, Sophia comes to resemble less a character than an illustration of Douglass’s argument about slavery. Douglass uses the instance of Sophia’s transformation from kind to cruel as a message about the negative effects of slavery on slaveholders. Sophia also seems less realistic as a character because Douglass’s descriptions of her are rhetorically dramatic rather than realistic. Douglass’s initial description of Sophia idealizes her kind features, and his description of her character post-transformation equally dramatizes her demonic qualities.

Sophia’s gender affects her characterization in the Narrative. To nineteenth-century readers, it would have seemed natural for Sophia, as a female, to be sympathetic and loving. Consequently, it would have appeared all the more unnatural and undesirable for her to be transformed into an evil slave owner. Because many -nineteenth-century readers thought of maternal figures as the symbol of their society’s moral righteousness, corruption of a maternal figure—or disruption of her family structure—would point directly to moral problems in the society at large. In this regard, Sophia appears in the Narrative as a symbolic character as well as a realistic character. Her symbolism of a culture’s corruption is an important emotional component of Douglass’s larger argument against slavery.

Edward Covey

Edward Covey represents Douglass’s nemesis in the Narrative. Covey is a typical villain figure in that his cruelty is calculated. He is not a victim of the slavery mentality but a naturally evil man who finds an outlet for his cruelty in slaveholding. Covey is skilled and methodical in his physical punishment of his slaves, but he is even more skilled at psychological cruelty. While other slaveholders in the Narrative can be deceitful with their slaves, Covey uses deception as his primary method of dealing with them. He makes the slaves feel that they are under constant surveillance by lying to them and creeping around the fields in an effort to catch them being lazy.

One way in which Douglass portrays Covey as a villain is by depicting him as anti-Christian. The slaves call Covey “the snake,” in part because he sneaks through the grass, but also because this nickname is a reference to Satan’s appearance in the form of a snake in the biblical book of Genesis. Douglass also presents Covey as a false Christian. Covey tries to deceive himself and God into believing that he is a true Christian, but his evil actions reveal him to be a sinner. As Douglass associates himself with Christian faith, he heightens the sense of conflict between himself and Covey by showing Covey to be an enemy of Christianity itself.

As Douglass’s nemesis, Covey is the chief figure against whom Douglass defines himself. Douglass’s fight with Covey is the climax of the Narrative—it marks Douglass’s turning point from demoralized slave to confident, freedom-seeking man. Douglass achieves this transformation by matching and containing Covey’s own violence and by showing himself to be Covey’s opposite. Douglass thus emerges as brave man, while Covey is exposed as a coward. Douglass is shown to be capable of restraint, while Covey is revealed to be an excessive braggart. Finally, Douglass emerges as a leader of men, while Covey is shown to be an ineffectual master who cannot even enlist the aid of another slave, Bill, to help him.

Chapters I–II

Summary: Chapter I

I received the tidings of [my mother’s] death with much the same emotions I should have probably felt at the death of a stranger.

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Douglass was born in Talbot County, Maryland, though he does not know the year, as most slaves are not allowed to know their ages. Douglass remembers being unhappy and confused that white children knew their ages, but he was not allowed even to ask his own. He estimates, based on an overheard comment from his master, that he was born in or around 1818.

Douglass’s mother is Harriet Bailey, daughter of Isaac and Betsey Bailey. Douglass is separated from his mother soon after birth—a common practice among slave owners. Douglass assumes that this custom is intended to break the natural bond of affection between mother and child. He recalls that he only saw his mother on the rare occasions when she could walk twelve miles after dark to lie next to him at night. Harriet dies when Douglass is about seven. He is told about it afterward and is hardly affected by the news.

Douglass knows only that his father is a white man, though many people say that his master is his father. He explains that slaveholders often impregnate their female slaves. A law ensures that mixed‑race children become slaves like their mothers. Thus slaveholders actually profit from this practice of rape, as it increases the number of slaves they own. Douglass explains that such mixed‑race slaves have a worse lot than other slaves, as the slaveholder’s wife, insulted by their existence, ensures that they either suffer constantly or are sold off. Douglass considers that the existence of such a large population of mixed-race slaves contradicts arguments that justify American slavery through the supposed inferiority of the African race.

Douglass’s first master is Captain Anthony. The Captain’s overseer, Mr. Plummer, is a drunk and a cruel man who carries a whip and cudgel with him and often uses them on slaves. The Captain himself is cruel as well. Douglass recalls the Captain frequently whipping Douglass’s Aunt Hester. Douglass recalls feeling like both a witness to and a participant in the abuse the first time he ever saw it. He remembers this moment as his introduction into the hellish world of slavery. Douglass cannot, even now, describe what he felt while watching Aunt Hester’s whipping.

Douglass recalls a particularly violent episode of the Captain whipping Aunt Hester. The Captain calls for Hester at night and finds that she has gone out with a slave named Ned, against the Captain’s orders. Douglass implies that the Captain has a particular sexual interest in Hester, who is quite beautiful. The Captain brings Hester home, strips her to the waist, ties her, and whips her until her blood drips on the floor. Young Douglass is so terrified by the scene that he hides in a closet, hoping he will not be whipped next.

Summary: Chapter II

Douglass’s master, Captain Anthony, has two sons, Andrew and Richard, and a daughter, Lucretia, who is married to Captain Thomas Auld. They all live together in one house on a central plantation owned by Colonel Lloyd. Colonel Lloyd employs Captain Anthony as superintendent, meaning that Anthony supervises all of Lloyd’s overseers. Lloyd’s plantations raise tobacco, corn, and wheat. Captain Anthony and his son-in-law, Captain Auld, take the goods by ship to sell in Baltimore.

Lloyd owns about three to four hundred slaves in total. All slaves report to Lloyd’s central plantation for their monthly allowances of pork or fish and corn meal. Slaves receive one set of linen clothing for the year. Adult slaves receive one blanket, but no bed. The floor is uncomfortable, but the slaves are so exhausted from work that they hardly notice. The overseer of Captain Anthony’s farm is Mr. Severe—an appropriate name for such a cruel man. After Severe dies, Mr. Hopkins replaces him as overseer. Hopkins is less cruel and profane than Severe and is considered a fair overseer.

All of Colonel Lloyd’s slaves refer to the central plantation, on which Douglass grew up, as the “Great House Farm” because it resembles a small village. Slaves from other plantations feel privileged to be sent to the Great House Farm on an errand. Douglass likens these slaves to state representatives proud to serve in the American Congress.

Slaves on their way to the Great House Farm usually sing wild, spontaneous songs that sound both joyful and sad. Douglass explains that he did not know the underlying meaning of these songs while he was a slave, but now understands that the songs are a bitter complaint about slavery. Douglass is now often moved to tears hearing them, and it was while listening to the songs that he first begins to understand the evil of slavery. Northerners who believe that the slaves are singing out of happiness, he says, are misinformed.

I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. . . .

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Analysis: Chapters I–II

The first paragraph of Douglass’s Narrative demonstrates the double purpose of the work as both a personal account and a public argument. Douglass introduces the reader to his own circumstances—his birthplace and the fact that he does not know his own age. He then generalizes from his own experience, explaining that almost no slaves know their true ages. Next, Douglass takes this detail of his experience and analyzes it. He points out that slave owners deliberately keep their slaves ignorant, and that this is a tactic whites use to gain power over slaves. This is the recurrent structure Douglass uses in his Narrative: he presents his personal experience as a typical slave experience, and then usually makes an analytical point about the experience and what it tells us about how slavery works and why it is wrong.

The main tactic of Douglass’s antislavery argument in the Narrative is to analyze the institution of slavery and show how and why it works. This analysis demystifies slavery and reveals its brutality and wrongness. To many people who were not abolitionists, slavery appeared an entirely natural practice. To them, religious and economic arguments had demonstrated that blacks were inherently inferior to whites and belonged as an enslaved labor force. Douglass makes a clear case that slavery is sustained not through the natural superiority of whites, but through many concrete and contrived strategies of gaining and holding power over blacks. For example, Douglass shows how slave owners make slaves vulnerable by taking them from their mothers. Blacks are not subhuman to begin with, but are dehumanized only by such cruel practices of slavery.

Douglass also intends to use the Narrative to expose the even more evil underside of slavery. He writes to educate white audiences about what really goes on at slave plantations, including more cruel and depraved behaviors. For example, he devotes several paragraphs in Chapter I to a discussion about white slave owners impregnating their slaves. Douglass’s narrative technique here is not sensationalist. He does not seek to overly shock or titillate his readers. He does not, for example, dwell on the implied rapes of black women, but rather upon the practical fate of their children. He seeks instead to present a practice and explain how it degrades both slaves and slave owners. Douglass often returns to this theme, depicting slavery as dehumanizing to both slaveholders and slaves.

Douglass associates his witnessing of Captain Anthony whipping Aunt Hester with his mental initiation into the horror of slavery. Douglass describes the effect of this scene upon his young self and uses this scene to help explain how slavery works. Part of the pain for Douglass was not simply watching the whipping, but being unable to stop it. He presents slavery as not only a type of physical control, but also a type of mental control. Slaves become virtual participants in brutality because they are made to fear for their own safety too much to stop it. Douglass highlights these psychologically damaging effects of slavery as much as physical effects such as lash wounds.

The scene of Captain Anthony stripping and whipping Aunt Hester is the first of several scenes that feature the abuse of women. Douglass often uses scenes of the abuse of female slaves to depict the brutality of slave owners. Together, these images of whipped or beaten female bodies constitute a motif in Douglass’s Narrative. The motif serves as an emotionally affecting, rather than logic-based, argument about the evils of slavery. Additionally, Douglass’s use of women in his imagery serves to safely distance Douglass himself from the dehumanized and demeaned body of the slave.

Douglass likewise maintains distance between himself and slavery in his commentary on slave songs. He explains that he did not fully understand the meaning of the songs when he himself was a slave, but can now recognize and interpret them as laments. Douglass’s voice in the Narrative is authoritative, and this authority comes from his standing as someone who has escaped mental and physical slavery and embraced education and articulation. Douglass’s position as mediator between slaves and the Northern white reading audience rests on his doubleness of self. He must be both the demeaned self who experienced slavery and the liberated, educated self who can interpret the institution of slavery. This doubleness or fracturing of self is not without consequences, though. In his analysis of the slave songs, Douglass exhibits a sense of nostalgia for when he was part of the “circle” of singing slaves

 

Summary: Chapter III

Douglass continues detailing Colonel Lloyd’s home plantation where he grew up. Lloyd has a large cultivated garden that people from all over Maryland come to see. Some slaves can not resist eating fruit out of it. To prevent them, Lloyd puts tar on the fence surrounding the garden and whips any slave found with tar on him.

Colonel Lloyd also has an impressive stable with horses and carriages. The stable is run by two slaves, a father and son named old Barney and young Barney. The Colonel is picky about his horses and often whips both men for minute faults in the horses that even they themselves cannot even control. Despite the injustice of this system, the slaves can never complain. Colonel Lloyd insists that his slaves stand silent and afraid while he speaks and that they receive punishment without comment. Douglass recalls seeing old Barney kneel on the ground and receive more than thirty lashes. The whippings are often performed by one of the Colonel’s three sons or by one of his three sons‑in‑law.

Colonel Lloyd’s wealth is so great that he has never even seen some of the hundreds of slaves he owns. One day, the Colonel meets a slave traveling on the road. Lloyd, without identifying himself, asks the slave about his owner and how well he is treated. The slave responds that his owner is Colonel Lloyd, and that he is not treated well. Several weeks later, the slave is chained and sold to a Georgia slave trader for the offense to Lloyd. This is the punishment, Douglass concludes, that awaits slaves who tell the truth.

Douglass explains that many slaves, if asked, always report being contented with their life and their masters, for fear of punishment. This suppression of the truth is common to all people, slaves or free. Slaves sometimes truthfully speak well of their masters, too. It is also common for slaves to become competitive and prejudiced about their masters. Slaves sometimes argue over whose master is kinder, even if the masters are not kind at all.

Summary: Chapter IV

The second overseer at Captain Anthony’s, Mr. Hopkins, is fired after only a short time and replaced by Mr. Austin Gore. Mr. Gore is proud, ambitious, cunning, and cruel, and his domination over the slaves is total. He does not argue or hear protests and sometimes provokes slaves only for an excuse to punish them. Mr. Gore thrives on the Great House Farm. His ensures that all of the slaves bow down to him, while he, in turn, willingly bows down to the Colonel. Mr. Gore is a silent man, never joking as some overseers would. He performs barbaric deeds of punishment with a cool demeanor.

One day, Mr. Gore whips a slave named Demby, who then runs into a nearby creek to soothe the pain. Demby refuses to come out of the creek, and Mr. Gore gives Demby a three‑count to return. When Demby makes no response after each call, Mr. Gore promptly shoots him. When questioned about his actions, Mr. Gore calmly explains that Demby was setting a bad example for the rest of the slaves. Mr. Gore is never investigated for this murder, and he still lives free. Douglass points out with irony that Mr. Gore is respected for his talent as an overseer.

Douglass offers several examples similar to Mr. Gore’s killing of Demby. Mr. Thomas Lanman of Maryland has boasted of violently killing two slaves, yet has never been investigated for the crimes. Also in Maryland, the wife of another slave owner beat Douglass’s wife’s cousin to death with a stick. The community issued a warrant for the arrest of the wife, but the warrant has never been served. Colonel Lloyd’s neighbor, Mr. Beal Bondly, shot and killed an elderly slave of Colonel Lloyd’s who was fishing on Bondly’s property. Colonel Lloyd did not complain about the killing.

 

Analysis: Chapters III–IV

Because the Narrative is both an autobiography and a treatise against slavery, Douglass often incorporates general information, including stories about, or heard from, people that he knew. Therefore, several of the opening chapters of the Narrative do not focus on Douglass at all. In Chapters III and IV, Douglass focuses on Colonel Lloyd’s impressive plantation. Such detail serves not only to set the scene for Douglass’s childhood, but also to verify the authenticity of the Narrative. We must remember that many nineteenth‑century readers—especially readers unsympathetic to the plight of slaves—would have doubted the authenticity of Douglass’s Narrative. The public was particularly skeptical of Douglass because he was more articulate than they thought a slave could be. Douglass extensively uses details of setting and character to reinforce the truthfulness of his Narrative, as Garrison and Phillips both point out in their prefaces.

As Douglass spends so much time describing scenes featuring other figures, such as Demby, the Narrative at times resembles a picaresque novel rather than an autobiography. Picaresque novels typically feature a series of episodes held together simply because they all happened to a single character. Douglass is still the character holding together his disparate scenes, as he either witnessed or heard about each of them. Douglass’s technique in rendering the scenes also invites the comparison to a picaresque novel. His depictions include novelistic detail, as when old Barney removes his hat to reveal his bald head before being whipped. Similarly, Douglass’s depiction of Mr. Gore shooting Demby has the dramatic sequence of fiction. Douglass shows us the scene, recounting each of Mr. Gore’s three counts and Demby’s reaction after each count.

Douglass also uses the stories of other slaves to make an argument about the inhumanity of slavery. After Douglass recounts Mr. Gore’s murder of Demby, he includes several similar stories, such as Mrs. Hick killing her female servant and Beal Bondly killing one of Colonel Lloyd’s elderly slaves. These additional scenes serve to support Douglass’s claims about slavery. Douglass is attempting to convince white Northerners that the events he witnessed—such as a white man killing a black man and suffering no legal consequences—are the normative practice. Supplementary scenarios reinforce this sense of commonality.

Perhaps the main theme of Douglass’s Narrative is that slavery dehumanizes men mentally as well as physically. To make this point, Douglass carefully documents the psychological violence of slaveholding. In Chapters III and IV, he focuses on the damaging effects of slaveholders’ inconsistency of punishment. He explains how masters often whip slaves when the slaves least deserve it, but neglect to whip them when they most deserve it. Douglass also offers the example of Colonel Lloyd meeting one of his own slaves, unknown to him, in the road. The slave speaks ill of his master, Colonel Lloyd, and is punished for it, but not until several weeks later. This delay of punishment makes the act seem separate from the consequence for the slave. In order to survive, then, slaves must become paranoid and must endure the feeling that they will be punished regardless of their actions.

Once Douglass identifies the mind games that masters play with slaves, he can explain the common actions of slaves as normal human responses under the circumstances. In Chapter III, Douglass addresses some of the less appealing characteristics and actions of slaves, such as prejudice and dishonesty. Douglass explains these actions as natural responses to the slaveholders’ treatment of their slaves. He points out that all of these traits are shared by whites and by all humans. Douglass attempts to make his white readers see the slaves as human beings possessed with both reason and emotion—as individuals whose actions are explainable.

When describing the career of the cruel overseer Mr. Gore, Douglass uses an increasingly ironic tone. Irony occurs when the implicit meaning of a statement differs from what is actually asserted. Thus, when Douglass says that Mr. Gore is “what is called a first‑rate overseer,” he implies that Mr. Gore is a good overseer only to those with no sense of justice. Douglass implies that reasonable people recognize that Mr. Gore is a cruel man. Douglass frequently uses this ironic tone in the Narrative to highlight the discrepancy between supposed and actual justice.

5-6

 

 

Douglass does not work in the fields as a child because children are not strong enough. He has some free time outside his regular tasks. Douglass often accompanies the Colonel’s grandson, Daniel, as a servant on hunting expeditions. Daniel eventually becomes attached to Douglass, which is to Douglass’s advantage. Douglass still suffers, though. Slave children are given no other clothing but a long linen shirt. The cold of the winters so harms Douglass’s feet that he could insert the pen he now writes with into the cracks of his flesh. Children eat corn mush out of a communal trough, so only the strongest children get enough to eat.

At the age of seven or eight, Douglass is selected to go to Baltimore to live with Captain Anthony’s son‑in‑law’s brother, Hugh Auld. For three days, Douglass happily prepares to leave Colonel Lloyd’s plantation. He cleans himself thoroughly and is rewarded with his first pair of trousers from Lucretia Auld, Captain Anthony’s daughter. Douglass is not sad to leave the plantation, as he has no family ties or sense of home, like children usually have. He also feels he has nothing to lose, because even if his new home in Baltimore is full of hardship, it can be no worse than the hardships he has already seen and endured on the plantation. Additionally, Baltimore seems to be a place of promise. Douglass’s cousin Tom describes to Douglass the impressive beauty of the city.

Douglass sails on the river to Baltimore on a Saturday morning. He looks once back on Colonel Lloyd’s plantation, hoping it will be the last time he sees it. He then sets his sights ahead in the distance. The ship docks at Annapolis first, briefly. Douglass recalls being thoroughly impressed by its size, though in retrospect Annapolis now seems small compared to Northern industrial cities. The ship reaches Baltimore on Sunday morning, and Douglass arrives at his new home. At the Aulds’ he is greeted by the kindly face of Mrs. Sophia Auld, her husband, Hugh Auld, and their son, Thomas Auld, who is to be -Douglass’s master.

Douglass considers his transfer to Baltimore a gift of providence. If he had not been removed from Colonel Lloyd’s plantation at that time, Douglass believes he would still be a slave today, rather than a man sitting freely in his home writing his autobiography. Douglass realizes that he may appear superstitious or self‑centered to suppose that providence had a hand in his delivery to Baltimore, but the feeling is still strong. From his earliest memory, Douglass recalls sensing that he would not be a slave forever. This sense gives him hope in hard times, and he considers it a gift from God.

Summary: Chapter VI

Whilst I was saddened by the thought of losing the aid of my kind mistress, I was gladdened by the invaluable instruction which, by the merest accident, I had gained from my master.

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Douglass is astounded by the strange kindness of his new mistress, Sophia Auld. Mrs. Auld has never owned a slave before and seems untouched by the evils of slavery. Douglass is confused by her. Unlike other white women, she does not appreciate his subservience and does not punish him for looking her in the eye. Yet, after some time, the disease of slaveholding overtakes Mrs. Auld too. Her kindness turns to cruelty, and she is utterly changed as a person.

When Douglass first comes to live with the Aulds, Mrs. Auld begins to teach him the alphabet and some small words. When Hugh Auld realizes what she is doing, he orders her to stop immediately, saying that education ruins slaves, making them unmanageable and unhappy. Douglass overhears Mr. Auld and experiences a sudden revelation of the strategy white men use to enslave blacks. He now understands what he must do to win his freedom. Douglass is thankful to Hugh Auld for this enlightenment.

Slaves in the city enjoy relatively greater freedom than plantation slaves. Urban slave owners are careful not to appear cruel or neglectful to slaves in the eyes of non‑slaveholding whites. Exceptions to this rule certainly exist, however. The Hamiltons, for example, neighbors of the Aulds, mistreat their two young slaves, Henrietta and Mary. The women’s bodies are starved and mangled from Mrs. Hamilton’s regular beatings. Douglass himself witnesses Mrs. Hamilton’s brutal treatment of the girls.

Analysis: Chapters V–VI

In Chapter V, the Narrative returns its focus to Douglass’s personal history and away from information or anecdotes about others. Douglass describes his own treatment on Colonel Lloyd’s plantation. He is frank about the relative ease of his experience as compared to the adult slaves who worked in the fields. Douglass’s candor about the relative lack of hardship he endured as a young slave makes his whole account seem more realistic and truthful. He maintains this frank and moderate tone throughout the Narrative.

Douglass uses a striking image to describe the frostbite wounds he suffered as a child, as it dramatizes his doubleness of self. He describes how the pen with which he is now writing could fit inside the cracks on his foot he suffered from the cold. In the Narrative, Douglass typically maintains a dichotomy between his free, educated, literate self—which does not appear as a body—and the abused body of his unenlightened slave self. In his image of the pen in the gash, however, Douglass momentarily collapses the distance between his two selves, suggesting that the distinction between the two is not always clear.

Douglass’s relocation to Baltimore is the first major change in his life, and the shift of setting introduces the notion of the greater freedom of cities versus the countryside. Citiesand especially Northern citiesin the Narrative offer enlightenment, prosperity, and a degree of social freedom. Only in cities is Douglass able to connect with different kinds of people and new intellectual ideas. By contrast, the countryside appears in the Narrative as a place of extremely limited freedom. In rural areas, slaves have less mobility and are more closely watched by slave owners. This motif contributes to the movement of the Narrative: Douglass is symbolically closest to Northern freedom when in the city of Baltimore, and is symbolically furthest from freedom when in rural areas.

While Douglass’s Narrative shows that slavery dehumanizes slaves, it also advances the idea that slavery adversely affects slave owners. Douglass makes this point in previous chapters by showing the damaging self‑deceptions that slave owners must construct to keep their minds at ease. These self‑deceptions build upon one another until slave owners are left without religion or reason, with hypocrisy as the basis of their existence. Douglass uses the figure of Sophia Auld to illustrate this process. When Douglass arrives to live with Hugh and Sophia Auld, Sophia treats Douglass as nearly an equal to her own son. Soon, however, Hugh schools Sophia in the ways of slavery, teaching her the immoral slave‑master relationship that gives one individual complete power over another. Douglass depicts Sophia’s transformation in horrific terms. She seems to lose all human qualities and to become an evil, inhuman being. Douglass presents Sophia as much a victim of the institution of slavery as Douglass himself is.

The fact that Sophia is a woman helps Douglass’s portrayal of her as a victim of slavery. It is significant that the male slaveholders of Douglass’s Narrative, even Hugh Auld, all appear to be already schooled in the vice of slavery. Women, and Sophia especially, exist in Douglass’s Narrative as idealistically sympathetic and virtuous beings—a gender stereotype common in nineteenth‑century culture. Thus Sophia becomes, along with the slaves themselves, an object of sympathy for Douglass’s readers. The readers’ horror and regret for Sophia’s lost kindness reinforces their sense that slavery is unnatural and evil.

The first pivotal moment in Douglass’s mental life is in Chapter I, when he is initiated into the horrors of slavery by seeing Captain Anthony whip Aunt Hester. The second turning point in Douglass’s youth occurs when Hugh Auld refuses to allow Douglass to become educated. Before this moment, Douglass has known intuitively that slavery is evil, but has been mystified by the logic of how slavery works. Hugh Auld’s pronouncement that education ruins slaves enlightens Douglass. He suddenly understands that slave owners gain and keep power over slaves by depriving slaves of education and ideas. Douglass realizes that he must become educated to become free. The idea that education is the means to freedom is a major theme in the Narrative.

Douglass presents his revelation about the importance of education as a moment of both alignment with and opposition to Hugh Auld. Though it is Sophia Auld who has been teaching Douglass to read, Douglass values Hugh Auld’s lesson more. Douglass presents the moment as a rejection of feminine lessons in favor of masculine authoritative knowledge. Douglass further aligns himself with Hugh Auld by pledging to place himself in opposition to Auld. A series of rhetorical antitheses pair the two, such as “What [Hugh Auld] most loved, that I most hated.” Throughout the Narrative, Douglass’s progress rests on this focus on white male authority.

7-8Douglass lives in Hugh Auld’s household for about seven years. During this time, he is able to learn how to read and write, though Mrs. Auld is hardened and no longer tutors him. Slavery hurts Mrs. Auld as much as it hurts Douglass himself. The mentality of slavery strips her of her inherent piety and sympathy for others, making her hardened and cruel.

However, Douglass has already learned the alphabet and is determined to learn how to read. He gives bread to poor local boys in exchange for reading lessons. Douglass writes that he is now tempted to thank these boys by name, but he knows that they would suffer for it, as teaching blacks still constitutes an offense. Douglass recalls the boys sympathetically agreeing that he no more deserved to be a slave than they did themselves.

At around the age of twelve, Douglass encounters a book called The Columbian Orator, which contains a philosophical dialogue between a master and a slave. In the dialogue, the master lays out the argument for slavery, and the slave refutes each point, eventually convincing the master to release him. The book also contains a reprint of a speech arguing for the emancipation of Irish Catholics and for human rights generally. The book helps Douglass to fully articulate the case against slavery, but it also makes him hate his masters more and more. This dilemma is difficult position for Douglass and often fills him with regret. As Hugh Auld predicted, Douglass’s discontent is painfully acute now that he understands the injustice of his situation but still has no means by which to escape it. Douglass enters a period of nearly suicidal despair.

During this period, Douglass eagerly listens to anyone discussing slavery. He often hears the word “abolitionist.” In a city newspaper account of a Northern abolitionist petition, Douglass finally discovers that the word means “antislavery.”

One day around this time, Douglass kindly helps two Irish sailors at the wharf without being asked. When they realize that Douglass is doomed to be a slave for life, the sailors encourage him to run away to the North. Douglass does not respond to them, for fear they might be trying to trick him. White men are known to encourage slaves to escape and then recapture them for the reward money. But the idea of escape nonetheless sticks in Douglass’s head.

Meanwhile, Douglass sets out to learn how to write. After watching ships’ carpenters write single letters on lumber, Douglass learns to form several letters. He practices his letters on fences, walls, and the ground around the city. He approaches local boys and starts contests over who can write the best. Douglass writes what he can and learns from what the boys write. Soon, he can copy from the dictionary. When the Aulds leave Douglass alone in the house, he writes in Thomas Auld’s old discarded copybooks. In this painstaking manner, Douglass eventually learns to write.

Summary: Chapter VIII

During Douglass’s first several years in Baltimore, his old master, Captain Anthony, dies. When Douglass is between ten and eleven years old, he is returned to the plantation to be appraised among the other slaves and the livestock, which are to be divided between Captain Anthony’s surviving children, Mrs. Lucretia Auld and Andrew Anthony. Douglass is apprehensive about leaving Baltimore because he knows his life in the city is preferable to the plantation.

The valuation of the slaves is humiliating, as they are inspected alongside the livestock. All the slaves are anxious, knowing they are to be divided regardless of marriages, family, and friendships. Master Andrew is known for his cruelty and drunkenness, so everyone hopes to avoid becoming his property. Since Douglass’s return to the plantation, he has seen Master Andrew kick Douglass’s younger brother in the head until he bled. Master Andrew has threatened to do the same to Douglass.

Luckily, Douglass is assigned to Mrs. Lucretia Auld, who sends him back to Baltimore. Soon after Douglass returns there, Mrs. Lucretia and Master Andrew both die, leaving all the Anthony family property in the hands of strangers. Neither Lucretia nor Andrew frees any of the slaves before dying—not even Douglass’s grandmother, who nurtured Master Andrew from infancy to death. Because Douglass’s grandmother is deemed too old to work in the fields, her new owners abandon her in a small hut in the woods. Douglass bemoans this cruel fate. He imagines that if his grandmother were still alive today, she would be cold and lonely, mourning the loss of her children.

About two years after the death of Lucretia Auld, her husband, Thomas Auld, remarries. Soon after the marriage, Thomas has a falling out with his brother, Hugh, and punishes Hugh by reclaiming Douglass. Douglass is not sorry to leave Hugh and Sophia Auld, as Hugh has become a drunk and Sophia has become cruel. But Douglass is sorry to leave the local boys, who have become his friends and teachers.

While sailing from Baltimore back to the Eastern Shore of -Maryland, Douglass pays particular attention to the route of the ships heading north to Philadelphia. He resolves to escape at the -earliest opportunity.

Analysis: Chapters VII–VIII

In Chapters VII and VIII, Douglass relates events slightly out of chronological order, again disrupting the Narrative’s appearance of -autobiography. His brief return to the plantation, recounted in Chapter VIII, actually takes place before he reads The Colombian Orator, recounted in Chapter VII. Douglass records the events out of order because he favors thematic consistency over strict chronology. As Chapter VI deals with Hugh Auld forbidding Sophia to teach Douglass to read, Chapter VII addresses Douglass’s self-education and the fulfillment of Hugh Auld’s predictions of unhappiness.

Chapter VII elaborates the idea that with education comes enlightenment—specifically, enlightenment about the oppressive and wrong nature of slavery. Douglass’s reading lessons and acts of reading are, therefore, contiguous with his growing understanding of the social injustice of slavery. Douglass gets his first reading lessons from neighborhood boys and also engages in discussions about the institution of slavery with them. These boys not only provide the means of Douglass’s education, but also support his growing political convictions. In this way, Douglass depicts each step in his educational process as a simultaneous step in philosophical and political enlightenment.

Douglass’s encounter with The Columbian Orator represents the main event of Douglass’s educational and philosophical growth. This book features both a Socratic‑style dialogue between an archetypal “master” and “slave” and a speech in favor of Irish Catholic emancipation. Douglass has a sense of the inhumanity of slavery before he reads The Columbian Orator, but the book gives him a clear articulation of the political and philosophical argument against slavery and in favor of human rights. It allows Douglass to formulate his personal thoughts and convictions about slavery. However, the book also causes Douglass to detest his masters. Painfully, he understands the injustice of his position, but has no immediate means of escape. In this regard, Douglass fulfills Hugh Auld’s prediction that educated slaves become unhappy. Douglass’s unhappiness shows that education does not directly bring freedom. His new consciousness of injustice has drawbacks, and intellectual freedom is not the same as physical freedom.

Chapters VII and VIII further develop the Narrative’s motif of the greater freedom of the city compared to the countryside. Chapter VII takes place in Baltimore and features Douglass’s free movements and self-education. Douglass hardly discusses the Aulds or their cruel treatment in Chapter VII. Instead, he focuses on his intellectually fruitful interactions with people around the city, such as neighborhood boys and dock workers. Chapter VIII, however, deals with Douglass’s time in the countryside. First, Douglass discusses his brief trip back to the Eastern Shore around age ten and then his return to Thomas Auld’s plantation three years later. These disparate historical events are out of chronological order with the events of Chapter VII. They are united in one chapter because of their common rural setting. Douglass portrays the oppressive atmosphere of the rural plantation, where slaves are closely watched, harshly punished, and treated as property.

In Chapter VIII, Douglass elaborates on the idea of slave owners treating slaves as property through his depiction of the valuation of Captain Anthony’s slaves. Douglass ironically describes how Captain Anthony’s slaves are lined up alongside the livestock to be valued in the same manner. Douglass’s irony points to the absurdity of treating humans as animals. Douglass further develops this idea by showing how slaves are frequently passed from owner to owner as property. In Chapter VIII alone, Douglass is under the ownership of Captain Anthony, then Lucretia and Thomas Auld, then Hugh Auld, and then Thomas Auld once again. Douglass’s extended description of the Anthony family’s treatment of his grandmother particularly develops this motif of ownership. Though Douglass’s grandmother lovingly tends the Anthony children for her entire life, they do not grant her freedom even in her old age. Because slave owners value slaves only according to the amount labor they can do, Douglass’s grandmother’s new owners abandon the elderly woman.

Several times in his Narrative, Douglass breaks the conventions of his past‑tense autobiography to recreate a scene imaginatively. In his discussion of the treatment of his grandmother, Douglass imagines that she is still alive as he is writing. He creates an image of her stumbling around her small hut, waiting for death. This imagined scene works in the same ways as sentimental fiction. Douglass evokes the conventional scene of the home hearth surrounded by happy children to contrast it with the desolation of his grandmother’s life. Douglass’s grandmother becomes an object of sympathy—a sympathy meant to translate into outrage and political conviction.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Summary: Chapter IX

Douglass arrives to live at Thomas Auld’s in March 1832. Life under Auld is particularly difficult because Auld does not give the slaves enough food. Douglass works in the kitchen alongside his sister, Eliza; his aunt, Priscilla; and another woman, Henny. They have to beg or steal food from neighbors to survive, though the Aulds always seem to have food wasting in the storehouse.

As a slave owner, Thomas Auld has absolutely no redeeming qualities. His meanness is in accord with the fact that he was not born with slaves, but acquired them through marriage. Douglass reports that adoptive slaveholders are notoriously the worst masters. Auld is inconsistent in his discipline and cowardly in his cruelty. In August 1832, Auld attends a Methodist camp meeting and suddenly becomes quite religious—and even more cruel. Some of the religious figures in the community, however, act kindly to slaves. One man named Mr. Wilson even runs a slave school until the community shuts it down. Auld, on the other hand, only uses his newfound piety to justify his cruelty to his slaves with added fervor.

While Douglass lives under Auld, he sometimes purposely lets Auld’s horse run away to a nearby farm. Douglass then goes to fetch the horse and eats a full meal at the neighboring farm. After this happens several times, Auld decides to rent Douglass to Edward Covey for one year. Covey is a poor man with a reputation for successfully taming problem slaves. Slave owners give Covey their slaves for one year, during which he “breaks” the slaves while using them as free labor on his land. Douglass knows of Covey’s sinister reputation, but looks forward to being fed sufficiently at Covey’s.

Summary: Chapter X

From the beginning of Chapter X through Douglass’s fight with Covey

Douglass arrives at Covey’s farm on January 1, 1833, and he is forced to work in the fields for the first time. His first task is to guide a team of unbroken oxen. The oxen are uncooperative, and Douglass barely escapes with his life. Finding that Douglass has failed, Covey orders him to take off his clothes and receive punishment. When Douglass does not respond, Covey rushes at him, tears his clothing off, and whips him repeatedly. Covey continues to whip Douglass almost weekly, usually as punishment for Douglass’s supposed “awkwardness.”

Covey’s slaves must work in the fields during all the daylight hours, with few breaks for meals. Unlike most slave owners, Covey often works in the fields with his slaves. He also has a habit of sneaking up on the slaves by crawling through the cornfield in an attempt to catch them resting. Because of this behavior, the slaves call him “the snake.”

Covey behaves deceitfully even in regard to his religion. His excessive piety seems designed to convince himself that he is a faithful man, even though he is guilty of blatant sins such as adultery. Covey owns one slave named Caroline whom he bought to be a “breeder.” Covey has hired a married man to sleep with Caroline every night so that she will produce more slaves for Covey to own.

Douglass recalls that he spent his hardest times as a slave during his first six months rented to Covey. Douglass becomes deadened by work, exhaustion, and Covey’s repeated punishments. Douglass loses his spirit, his intellect, his desire to learn, and his natural cheerfulness. Sunday is the slaves’ only leisure time, and Douglass usually spends the day in a stupor in the shade. He considers killing himself, or even Covey, but he is paralyzed by both hope and fear.

Covey’s house is situated near the banks of the Chesapeake Bay, where large ships with white sails travel past. To Douglass, these ships symbolize freedom, cruelly reminding him of his own enslaved condition. Douglass recalls standing on the bank and speaking aloud to the ships, asking them why they should be free and he enslaved. He begs for God’s deliverance and then wonders if there actually is a God. He vows to run away.

Having traced his dehumanization from a man into a slave, Douglass now recounts his transformation back into a man. In August 1833, on a particularly hot day, Douglass collapses from fatigue. Covey discovers him and kicks and hits him with a plank. Douglass resolves to return to Thomas Auld and complain about Covey. When Covey is not looking, Douglass starts to walk feebly to Auld’s. Douglass has blood pouring from his head and his progress is slow. He stays in the woods to avoid detection. Douglass finally arrives at Auld’s and complains about Covey’s behavior. At first Auld seems sympathetic, but then he insists that Douglass return to Covey’s.

When Douglass arrives back at Covey’s the next morning, Covey runs toward him with a whip. Douglass runs and hides in the cornfield among the stalks. Covey eventually gives up searching for him and leaves. Douglass returns to the woods, where he runs into Sandy Jenkins, a slave from a neighboring farm. Sandy is traveling to the home of his free wife, and he invites Douglass to come. At the house, Douglass explains his troubles to Sandy. Sandy advises Douglass to carry a certain magical root from the woods, explaining that the root will save him from white men’s beatings. Douglass is skeptical, but then decides it cannot hurt to try.

Douglass returns to Covey’s on Sunday morning with the root in hand. Covey, who is on his way to a religious meeting, speaks kindly to Douglass. Douglass begins to suspect that the root has worked. But on Monday morning, Covey finds Douglass in the stable and attempts to tie his legs. Douglass suddenly decides to fight back. He grabs Covey by the throat in an effort to keep Covey from tying and whipping him. Covey is terrified and calls for another slave, Hughes, to hold Douglass back. Hughes approaches, and Douglass kicks him down. Next, Covey calls on another slave, Bill, for aid, but Bill refuses. Douglass explains to Covey that he will not stand being treated like an animal any longer. The two men fight for two hours. Covey brags afterward that he whipped Douglass, but he did not. Covey never touches Douglass again.

[T]he dark night of slavery closed in upon me; and behold a man transformed into a brute!

(See Important Quotations Explained)

Analysis: Chapters IX–X

In Chapter IX, Douglass uses the character of Thomas Auld to show that slaveholding is not a natural way of life. Because Auld was not born owning slaves, he must learn the techniques of being a slave master. Auld imitates the mannerisms of someone comfortable with power, but he is unsuccessful in his imitation. Both the slaves and Auld himself realize the falseness of his manner, and Auld becomes more cruel to compensate for his own inconsistency. Douglass shows that the power of slaveholders is created through role‑playing. Auld fails as a slaveholder because his role‑playing is unskilled. If power, then, consists only of the successful enactment of outward demeanor, actions, and words, it follows that slave-holding must not be part of the natural order.

Auld also serves as a vehicle for one of Douglass’s main themes in the Narrative—the dangerous alliance between slaveholders and false Christianity. Douglass recounts Auld’s religious conversion and notes that Auld’s cruelty increases after the conversion. Auld, like many others, creates an image of himself as an upstanding Christian. He uses this self-image to justify his actions toward his slaves. In turn, the church community benefits from Auld’s slaveholding wealth. Douglass is careful to point out that one or two members of Auld’s Christian community are truly religious people who display sympathy for the slaves. Thus Douglass sets up a dichotomy between “true” and “false” Christianity.

Douglass also presents Edward Covey as an example of a slave owner perverting Christianity. Covey considers himself a pious man, yet he has forced a female slave into adultery with a married man. With Covey, Douglass shows that this false Christianity can be a symptom of the negative effects of slaveholding on slave owners. Because of the evils Covey perpetrates against his slaves, he must deceive himself with elaborate displays of piety in order to preserve his sense of moral righteousness. Douglass presents this self–deception as a damaging way of life.

Douglass also points to the falseness of Covey’s Christianity by drawing parallels between Covey and Satan. The slaves refer to Covey as “the snake”—a nickname that is a clear reference to Satan in the Garden of Eden from the biblical story of Genesis. Covey’s cunning and deceitfulness further align him with the figure of Satan, undermining his professions of piety.

In Chapter X, Douglass’s Narrative clearly fits the conventions of several types of autobiography—the “underdog” story, the success story, and the religious conversion narrative. These subgenres usually portray the decline of the protagonist’s fortunes, followed by a climactic turning point in which the protagonist has some sort of revelation. The Narrative shows Douglass’s decline during his first six months with Covey, and at the end of this time, Douglass’s spirits are lower than ever. Douglass then presents his fight with Covey as the turning point in his life. Douglass highlights this moment as the climax of the Narrative by using a rhetorical phrase that hinges on a reversal of fortune: “You have seen how a man was made a slave; you shall see how a slave was made a man.”

Douglass is vague about the role that Sandy’s magical root plays in his successful battle with Covey. Sandy’s root seems to symbolize a kind of religion different from Douglass’s own spiritual Christianity. Douglass associates the root with backward ideas—and possibly traditional African ideas. Douglass does not go so far as to say that the root has no effect, though, and he admits to having wondered about it. Douglass’s conflicted attitude toward the root arises again in Chapter XI. In a footnote, Douglass identifies Sandy as “superstitious,” attributing beliefs similar to Sandy’s belief in the root to “ignorant” slaves. Douglass’s authority in the Narrative relies on the distance between his writing self and his slave self, and the distance between himself and unenlightened slaves. Therefore, Douglass must ultimately dismiss the root as having no power.

Though the Narrative treats knowledge as the means to freedom, Douglass presents his transformation from slave to free man as an act of violence. Douglass regains his personal spirit, interest in learning, and conviction to be free by physically fighting against his oppressor, Covey. Yet Douglass’s violence takes the form of controlled violence or self‑defense. He does not advocate vengeance, but rather controlled confrontation. Through this contained aggression, Douglass asserts himself and achieves his larger goal—to end physical violence between Covey and himself.

The fight with Covey causes Douglass to regain his spirit and defiance, as well as his resolve to be free. He never receieves a whipping from anyone during his remaining four years as a slave. Douglass’s year with Covey ends on Christmas Day, 1833. It is customary for slaves to enjoy a holiday from Christmas to New Year’s. Slaveholders typically encourage slaves to spend the holiday drinking, rather than resting or working industriously for themselves. Douglass explains that this strategy helps keep blacks enslaved. By giving slaves a brief span of time each year to release their rebellious spirit, slaveholders keep them manageable for the rest of the year. By encouraging them to spend the holiday riotously drunk, slaveholders ensure that freedom comes to seem unappealing.

On January 1, 1834, Douglass is sent to live with Mr. William Freeland. Mr. Freeland, though quick‑tempered, is more consistently fair than Covey. Douglass is grateful that Mr. Freeland is not a hypocritically religious man. Many men in the community profess to be religious, but merely use their religion as justification for their cruelty to their slaves.

Freeland works his slaves hard, but treats them fairly. Douglass meets and befriends other slaves on Freeland’s property, including the intelligent brothers Henry and John Harris. Sandy Jenkins also lives at Freeland’s at this time, and Douglass reminds readers about Sandy’s root and reports that Sandy’s superstition is common among the more ignorant slaves.

Douglass soon succeeds in getting some of his fellow slaves interested in learning how to read. Word soon spreads, and Douglass surreptitiously begins to hold a Sabbath school in the cabin of a free black. This is a dangerous undertaking, as educating slaves is forbidden; the community violently shuts down a similar school run by a white man. Yet the slaves value their education so highly that they attend Douglass’s school despite the threat of punishment.

Douglass’s first year with Freeland passes smoothly. Douglass remembers Freeland as the best master he ever had. Douglass also attributes the comfort of the year to his solidarity with the other slaves. Douglass recalls that he loved them and that they operated together as a single community.

Though Douglass remains with Freeland for another year in 1835, by this time he desires his freedom more strongly than ever. Here Douglass puns on the comfort of living with “Freeland” as his master and his stronger desire to live on “free land.” Douglass, resolving to attempt an escape sometime during the year, sets about offering his fellow slaves the chance to join him. Douglass recalls how daunting the odds were for them. He describes their position as facing the bloody figure of slavery and glimpsing the doubtful, beckoning figure of freedom in the distance, with the intervening path full of hardship and death. Douglass points out that their decision was far more difficult than that of Patrick Henry, whose choice between death and an oppressed life—“Give me liberty or give me death”—was merely rhetorical. As slaves, Douglass and his companions had to choose doubtful liberty over nearly certain death.

The escape party consists of Douglass, Henry and John Harris, Henry Bailey, and Charles Roberts. Sandy Jenkins initially intends to accompany them, but eventually decides to remain. They plan to canoe up the Chesapeake Bay on the Saturday before Easter. Douglass writes travel passes, signed by their master, for each of them.

On the morning of their planned escape, Douglass works in the fields as usual. He soon feels overcome by a sense that their plan has been betrayed. Douglass tells Sandy Jenkins of his fear, and Sandy feels the same way. During breakfast, William Hamilton and several other men arrive at the house. They seize and tie Douglass and the rest of the escape party. The men transport their prisoners to Thomas Auld’s house. On the way, Douglass and the others speak together, agreeing to destroy their written passes and admit nothing.

At Thomas Auld’s, Douglass and the others learn that someone has betrayed them. Douglass writes that they immediately knew who the betrayer was, but he does not reveal who they suspected. The men are placed in jail. Slave traders arrive to taunt them and size them up as though to sell them. At the end of the Easter holidays, all the slaves but Douglass are taken home. Douglass remains in jail because he is identified as the leader and instigator. He begins to despair. At first, Thomas Auld announces his intent to send Douglass to Alabama. Then Auld suddenly changes his mind and sends Douglass back to Baltimore with Hugh Auld.

In Baltimore, Hugh Auld apprentices Douglass to a shipbuilder named William Gardner. Douglass is to learn the trade of ship caulking. Because Gardner’s shipyard is struggling to meet a deadline, however, Douglass becomes a helping hand for seventy-five different carpenters and learns no new skill. The carpenters -constantly summon and yell at Douglass, who cannot help them all at once. Tensions at the shipyard increase when the white carpenters suddenly strike to protest the free black carpenters who Gardner has hired. Gardner agrees to fire the free black carpenters. As an apprentice who is not free, Douglass continues working at Gardner’s, but he endures severe physical intimidation from the white apprentices.

One day, four white apprentices attack Douglass at the shipyard and nearly destroy his left eye. He starts to fight back but decides against it, as lynch law dictates that any black man who hits a white man may be killed. Instead, Douglass complains to Hugh Auld, who becomes surprisingly indignant on Douglass’s behalf. Auld takes Douglass with him to see a lawyer, but the lawyer informs them that no warrant may be issued without the testimony of a white man.

Douglass spends time at home recovering, and later he becomes an apprentice at Hugh Auld’s own shipyard. Douglass quickly learns caulking under Walter Price and soon earns the highest possible wage. Each week, Douglass turns over all his wages to Hugh Auld. Douglass compares Auld to a pirate who has a “right” to Douglass’s wages only because he has the power to compel Douglass to hand them over.

Analysis

The second half of Chapter X continues to shift between personal accounts and public arguments against slavery. Douglass moves from the personal account of the rest of the year under Covey to a general analysis of the “holiday” that slave owners give their slaves between Christmas and New Year’s. Generally, the public, or persuasive—sections of the Narrative generally either disprove pro‑-slavery arguments, present antislavery arguments, or disabuse readers of misinformation or misinterpretation about the practices of slave owners. Douglass’s analysis of the holiday time falls in this last category. To the uninformed observer, it would appear a positive thing that slave owners grant a holiday to their slaves. Douglass explains, however, that this seeming benevolence is part of the larger power structure of slavery. Slaveholders use holiday time to make their slaves disaffected with “freedom” and to keep them from revolting.

The figure of William Freeland stands in direct contrast to the rest of the slave owners in Douglass’s Narrative. Douglass’s previous masters have all shared one or both of two traits: hypocritical piety or inconsistent brutality. Douglass presents Freeland as a good slave owner because he lacks both of these vices. Freeland has no pretensions about religion and is consistent and fair in his treatment of his slaves. However, though Freeland is a good model for a slave owner, Douglass remains clear that slaveholding in any form is still unjust. He points to his dissatisfaction with Freeland in a pun on Freeland’s name. Instead of equating “Freeland” with “free land,” Douglass uses the pun to point out that belonging to “Freeland” is not as good a guarantee as living on “free land.”

Douglass’s experience under Freeland is also positive because he develops a social network of fellow slaves that during this time. Except for his friendship with the local boys in Baltimore, Douglass has been a figure of isolation and alienation in the Narrative. As an isolated figure, he appropriately resembles the protagonist of a traditional coming‑of‑age story. These autobiographical stories tend to privilege a model of heroic individualism over social interaction and support. In Chapter X, however, Douglass reveals the close friendships he develops at Freeland’s and shows that he relies on friends’ support. This model of social support competes with the model of heroic individualism through the end of Douglass’s Narrative. For example, Douglass’s first escape attempt involves several people and fails, whereas he presents his successful escape as the act of an individual.

In their prefaces to Douglass’s Narrative, Garrison and Phillips place Douglass in the context of the American Revolutionaries’ battle for rights and freedom. Douglass himself uses this context in Chapter X when he specifies that escaping slaves act more bravely than Patrick Henry did. Douglass alludes to Henry’s famous declaration, “Give me liberty or give me death.” While Henry faces a choice between political independence and oppression, escaping slaves must choose between two unattractive options—the familiar ills of slavery and the unknown dangers of escape. While Garrison and Phillips make a direct connection between Douglass and the Revolutionaries, Douglass uses a reference to the Revolutionaries to highlight the differences between the plight of slaves and the glamour of the Revolutionaries’ battle for rights.

For Douglass, the difference between the Revolutionaries and slaves is widened by the fact that slaves do not benefit from the citizen’s rights for which the Revolutionaries fought. When four of Gardner’s white apprentices attack Douglass, Douglass enjoys neither the right to defend himself nor the right see his attackers punished for their crime. Douglass ironically portrays his master Hugh Auld as naïvely surprised and indignant upon hearing the lawyer say that a slave has no right to stand witness against a white. The irony with which Douglass writes of American “human rights” in theory and in practice also seems present in the Narrative’s subtitle, An American Slave. The Narrative goes on to show that the words “American” and “slave” are contradictory: the rights afforded by the designation “American” are nonexistent for slaves.

In Chapter X we see Douglass working for wages for the first time. Previously, his labor translated into invisible profit for his masters, but when he begins apprenticing at shipyards, he begins to receive the monetary value of his labor. Douglass must must turn over these wages to Hugh Auld each week, however. The physical presence of the money Douglass earns with his labor reinforces his sense of the injustice of slavery. Hugh Auld comes to resemble a thief who steals what is not his, rather than an owner of property by which he profits.

 

Variables And Measurement Scales.

  • 1. Variables It is very important in research to see variables, define them, and control or measure them. Name some of the variables in a classroom.
  • 2. Outline of today’s presentation The concept and definition of variable Variables in research Constructs versus variables Operationalization Types and functions of variables Measurement Scales
  • 3. The concept of variable The concept of variable is basic but very important in research. You won’t be able to do very much in research unless you know how to deal with variables. A variable is any entity that can take on different values across individuals and time.
  • 4. Some examples Age can be considered a variable because age can take different values for different people or for the same person at different times. Similarly, country can be considered a variable because a person’s country can be assigned a value.
  • 5. Variables in research Variables are things that we measure, control, or manipulate in research. The measurement may be different from everyday notions of measurement such as weight and temperature. Measurement can involve merely categorization (e.g. sex, country, etc.)
  • 6. Remember Most variables that differ over time also vary among individuals, but the reverse is not true. That is, the variables that differ among individuals may not necessarily differ over time. An example for the former is “proficiency” and for the latter is “sex.” Can you give some more examples for the two variables?
  • 7. Operationalization Variables such as intelligence, motivation, and academic achievement are concepts, constructs, or traits that cannot be observed directly. They should be stated in precise definitions that can be observed and measured. This process is called operationalization.
  • 8. Operationalization Intelligence Trait or construct Scores on the Wechsler Adult Intelligence Scale Operational definition of intelligence operationalization
  • 9. Operationalization Proficiency Trait or construct Scores on the TOEFL test Operational definition of proficiency
  • 10. Operational definition of a variable With students’ intelligence scores or TOEFL scores, we now have observable and quantifiable definitions of what the researcher means by the constructs of “intelligence” and “proficiency”. This is an operational definition of the variable.
  • 11. Important point! Operational definitions must be based upon a theory that is generally recognized as valid. For example, to operationalize the construct of “proficiency” we should construct a test based on an accepted theory or model of language proficiency.
  • 12. Different types and functions of variables In addition to knowing how constructs are operationalized as variables, it is important to understand how such variables are classified and manipulated by researchers in their quest to empirical knowledge. To that end, we describe five different functions of variables.
  • 13. Functions of variables To assess the relationship between variables in research, we must be able to identify each variable. Variables can be classified as: Independent Dependent Moderator Control Intervening
  • 14. Independent vs. Dependent Variables An important distinction having to do with the term ‘variable’ is the distinction between an independent and dependent variable. This distinction is particularly relevant when you are investigating cause-effect relationships (experiment). However, the concept is also used in other research designs.
  • 15. Independent vs. dependent V. In fact the independent variable is what you (or nature) manipulates — a treatment or program or cause. The dependent variable is what is affected by the independent variable — your effects or outcomes.
  • 16. Independent Variables The independent variable is the major variable which you hope to investigate. It is the variable which is selected, manipulated, and measured (its effect) by the researcher. Examples: The effect of your instruction on reading scores of your students. The effect of social class on language use.
  • 17. Dependent variable The dependent variable is the variable which you observe and measure to determine the effect of the independent variable. In the previous examples, the reading scores of your students and the use of language would be the dependent variable.
  • 18. Two points A variable that functions as a dependent variable in one study may be an independent variable in another study. Depending on the design of the study, we may have more than one independent and even more than one dependent variable in the study.
  • 19. Moderator variable A moderator variable is a special type of independent variable which you may select for study in order to investigate whether it modifies the relationship between the dependent and independent variables. Example, sex in the study of the effect of instruction on students’ reading scores
  • 20. Independent vs. moderator variable The essential difference between independent and moderator variables lies in how the researcher views each in the study. For independent variables, the concern is with their direct relationship to the dependent variable, whereas for moderator variables, the concern is with their effect on that relationship.
  • 21. Control variables It is virtually impossible to include all the potential variables in each study. As a result, the researcher must attempt to control, or neutralize, all other extraneous variables that are likely to have an effect on the relationship between the independent, dependent, and moderator variables.
  • 22. Control variables Control variables, then, are those that the researcher has chosen to keep constant, neutralize, or otherwise eliminate so that they will not have an effect on the study. Example, the effect of outside practice on reading in the previous example.
  • 23. Intervening variables Intervening variables are constructs (other than the construct under study) that may explain the relationship between independent and dependent variables but are not directly observable themselves. We are somehow aware of their effects, but we are not able to account for them.
  • 24. The relationship among variables Independent Variable(s) Dependent Variable(s) Intervening Variable(s) Moderator Variable(s) Control Variable(s) The Study
  • 25. Two points When designing a study, the researcher determines which variables fall into each category. In real situations, all five types of variables may not be included in all studies.
  • 26. Measurement Scales To measure different variables, we have four measurement scales: Nominal Scale Ordinal Scale Interval Scale Ratio Scale
  • 27. Nominal Scale Nominal scale classifies persons or objects into two or more categories. Members of a category have a common set of characteristics, and each member may only belong to one category. Other names: categorical, discontinuous, dichotomous (only two categories).
  • 28. True vs. artificial categories True categories are those to which the member naturally falls, such as gender (male vs. female). Artificial categories are those to which the researcher places the members, such as learning style (field independent versus field dependent).
  • 29. Ordinal Scale Ordinal variables allow us to rank order the items we measure in terms of which has less and which has more of the quality represented by the variable, but still they do not allow us to say "how much more.“ Example: Ranking students
  • 30. Ordinal Scale Ordinal scales both classify subjects and rank them in terms of how they possess the characteristic of interest. Members are placed in terms of highest to lowest, or most to least. Students may be ranked by height, weight, or IQ scores. Ordinal scales do not, however, state how much difference there is between the ranks.
  • 31. Interval Scale Not only rank order the items that are measured, but also to quantify and compare the sizes of differences between them. For example: students performance on a spelling test A score of 16 will be higher than 14 and lower than 18 and the difference between them is 2 points (equal intervals). Interval scales normally have an arbitrary minimum and maximum point. A score of zero in a spelling test does not represent an absence of spelling knowledge, nor does a score of 20 represent perfect spelling knowledge.
  • 32. Ratio Scale V ery similar to interval scale; has all the properties of interval variables, it has absolute zero point. Height, weight, speed, and distance are examples of ratio scales. Measurements made with ratio scales can be added, subtracted, multiplied, and divided. For example, we can say that a person who runs a mile in 5 minutes is twice as fast as a person who runs the mile in 10 minutes. Because ratio scales are often used in physical measurements (where absolute zero exists), they are not often employed in educational research and testing.

NARRATIVE OF THE LIFE OF FREDERICK DOUGLASS

Preface by Wendell Phillips

 

                          LETTER
 
                FROM WENDELL PHILLIPS, ESQ.
 
 
                  BOSTON, APRIL 22, 1845.
 
  My Dear Friend:

You remember the old fable of “The Man and the Lion,” where the lion complained that he should not be so misrepresented “when the lions wrote history.”

I am glad the time has come when the “lions write history.” We have been left long enough to gather the character of slavery from the involuntary evidence of the masters. One might, indeed, rest sufficiently satisfied with what, it is evident, must be, in general, the results of such a relation, without seeking farther to find whether they have followed in every instance. Indeed, those who stare at the half-peck of corn a week, and love to count the lashes on the slave’s back, are seldom the “stuff” out of which reformers and abolitionists are to be made. I remember that, in 1838, many were waiting for the results of theWest Indiaexperiment, before they could come into our ranks. Those “results” have come long ago; but, alas! Few of that number have come with them, as converts. A man must be disposed to judge of emancipation by other tests than whether it has increased the produce of sugar,–and to hate slavery for other reasons than because it starves men and whips women,–before he is ready to lay the first stone of his anti-slavery life.

I was glad to learn, in your story, how early the most neglected of God’s children waken to a sense of their rights, and of the injustice done them. Experience is a keen teacher; and long before you had mastered your A B C, or knew where the “white sails” of the Chesapeake were bound, you began, I see, to gauge the wretchedness of the slave, not by his hunger and want, not by his lashes and toil, but by the cruel and blighting death which gathers over his soul.

In connection with this, there is one circumstance which makes your recollections peculiarly valuable, and renders your early insight the more remarkable. You come from that part of the country where we are told slavery appears with its fairest features. Let us hear, then, what it is at its best estate–gaze on its bright side, if it has one; and then imagination may task her powers to add dark lines to the picture, as she travels southward to that (for the colored man) Valley of the Shadow of Death, where the Mississippi sweeps along.

Again, we have known you long, and can put the most entire confidence in your truth, candor, and sincerity. Every one who has heard you speak has felt, and, I am confident, every one who reads your book will feel, persuaded that you give them a fair specimen of the whole truth. No one-sided portrait, –no wholesale complaints,–but strict justice done, whenever individual kindliness has neutralized, for a moment, the deadly system with which it was strangely allied. You have been with us, too, some years, and can fairly compare the twilight of rights, which your race enjoy at the North, with that “noon of night” under which they labor south of Mason and Dixon’s line. Tell us whether, after all, the half- free colored man ofMassachusettsis worse off than the pampered slave of the rice swamps!

In reading your life, no one can say that we have unfairly picked out some rare specimens of cruelty. We know that the bitter drops, which even you have drained from the cup, are no incidental aggravations, no individual ills, but such as must mingle always and necessarily in the lot of every slave. They are the essential ingredients, not the occasional results, of the system.

After all, I shall read your book with trembling for you. Some years ago, when you were beginning to tell me your real name and birthplace, you may remember I stopped you, and preferred to remain ignorant of all. With the exception of a vague description, so I continued, till the other day, when you read me your memoirs. I hardly knew, at the time, whether to thank you or not for the sight of them, when I reflected that it was still dangerous, inMassachusetts, for honest men to tell their names! They say the fathers, in 1776, signed the Declaration of Independence with the halter about their necks. You, too, publish your declaration of freedom with danger compassing you around. In all the broad lands which the Constitution of theUnited Statesovershadows, there is no single spot,–however narrow or desolate,–where a fugitive slave can plant himself and say, “I am safe.” The whole armory of Northern Law has no shield for you. I am free to say that, in your place, I should throw the MS. into the fire.

You, perhaps, may tell your story in safety, endeared as you are to so many warm hearts by rare gifts, and a still rarer devotion of them to the service of others. But it will be owing only to your labors, and the fearless efforts of those who, trampling the laws and Constitution of the country under their feet, are determined that they will “hide the outcast,” and that their hearths shall be, spite of the law, an asylum for the oppressed, if, some time or other, the humblest may stand in our streets, and bear witness in safety against the cruelties of which he has been the victim.

Yet it is sad to think, that these very throbbing hearts which welcome your story, and form your best safeguard in telling it, are all beating contrary to the “statute in such case made and provided.” Go on, my dear friend, till you, and those who, like you, have been saved, so as by fire, from the dark prison-house, shall stereotype these free, illegal pulses into statutes; and New England, cutting loose from a blood-stained Union, shall glory in being the house of refuge for the oppressed,–till we no longer merely “~hide~ the outcast,” or make a merit of standing idly by while he is hunted in our midst; but, consecrating anew the soil of the Pilgrims as an asylum for the oppressed, proclaim our WELCOME to the slave so loudly, that the tones shall reach every hut in the Carolinas, and make the broken-hearted bondman leap up at the thought of old Massachusetts.

                 God speed the day!
 

                      ~Till then, and ever,~

                              ~Yours truly,~

                          ~WENDELL PHILLIPS~

Preface by William Lloyd Garrison

 

                           NARRATIVE
 
                             OF THE
 
                              LIFE
 
                               OF
 
                       FREDERICK DOUGLASS,
 
                               AN
 
                         AMERICAN SLAVE.
 
 
                         ---------------
                       WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
                         ---------------
 
 
                             BOSTON
              PUBLISHED AT THE ANTI-SLAVERY OFFICE,
                         NO. 25 CORNHILL
                              1845
 
                            NARRATIVE
                          OF THE LIFE OF
                        FREDERICK DOUGLASS,
                         AN AMERICAN SLAVE
 
                        WRITTEN BY HIMSELF
 
 
 
             ENTERED, ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS,
                        IN THE YEAR 1845
                     BY FREDERICK DOUGLASS,
           IN THE CLERK'S OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT
                        OF MASSACHUSETTS. 
 
                             PREFACE

In the month of August, 1841, I attended an anti- slavery convention inNantucket, at which it was my happiness to become acquainted with FREDERICK DOUGLASS, the writer of the following Narrative. He was a stranger to nearly every member of that body; but, having recently made his escape from the southern prison-house of bondage, and feeling his curiosity excited to ascertain the principles and measures of the abolitionists,–of whom he had heard a somewhat vague description while he was a slave,–he was induced to give his attendance, on the occasion alluded to, though at that time a resident in New Bedford.

Fortunate, most fortunate occurrence!–fortunate for the millions of his manacled brethren, yet panting for deliverance from their awful thraldom!–fortunate for the cause of negro emancipation, and of universal liberty!–fortunate for the land of his birth, which he has already done so much to save and bless! –fortunate for a large circle of friends and acquaintances, whose sympathy and affection he has strongly secured by the many sufferings he has endured, by his virtuous traits of character, by his ever-abiding remembrance of those who are in bonds, as being bound with them!–fortunate for the multitudes, in various parts of our republic, whose minds he has enlightened on the subject of slavery, and who have been melted to tears by his pathos, or roused to virtuous indignation by his stirring eloquence against the enslavers of men!–fortunate for himself, as it at once brought him into the field of public usefulness, “gave the world assurance of a MAN,” quick- ened the slumbering energies of his soul, and consecrated him to the great work of breaking the rod of the oppressor, and letting the oppressed go free!

I shall never forget his first speech at the convention–the extraordinary emotion it excited in my own mind–the powerful impression it created upon a crowded auditory, completely taken by surprise–the applause which followed from the beginning to the end of his felicitous remarks. I think I never hated slavery so intensely as at that moment; certainly, my perception of the enormous outrage which is inflicted by it, on the godlike nature of its victims, was rendered far more clear than ever. There stood one, in physical proportion and stature commanding and exact–in intellect richly endowed–in natural eloquence a prodigy–in soul manifestly “created but a little lower than the angels”–yet a slave, ay, a fugitive slave,–trembling for his safety, hardly daring to believe that on the American soil, a single white person could be found who would befriend him at all hazards, for the love of God and humanity! Capable of high attainments as an intellectual and moral being–needing nothing but a comparatively small amount of cultivation to make him an ornament to society and a blessing to his race–by the law of the land, by the voice of the people, by the terms of the slave code, he was only a piece of property, a beast of burden, a chattel personal, nevertheless!

A beloved friend fromNew Bedfordprevailed on Mr. DOUGLASS to address the convention: He came forward to the platform with a hesitancy and embarrassment, necessarily the attendants of a sensitive mind in such a novel position. After apologizing for his ignorance, and reminding the audience that slavery was a poor school for the human intellect and heart, he proceeded to narrate some of the facts in his own history as a slave, and in the course of his speech gave utterance to many noble thoughts and thrilling reflections. As soon as he had taken his seat, filled with hope and admiration, I rose, and declared that PATRICK HENRY, of revolutionary fame, never made a speech more eloquent in the cause of liberty, than the one we had just listened to from the lips of that hunted fugitive. So I believed at that time–such is my belief now. I reminded the audience of the peril which surrounded this self- emancipated young man at the North,–even in Massachusetts, on the soil of the Pilgrim Fathers, among the descendants of revolutionary sires; and I appealed to them, whether they would ever allow him to be carried back into slavery,–law or no law, constitution or no constitution. The response was unanimous and in thunder-tones–“NO!” “Will you succor and protect him as a brother-man–a resident of the oldBayState?” “YES!” shouted the whole mass, with an energy so startling, that the ruthless tyrants south of Mason and Dixon’s line might almost have heard the mighty burst of feeling, and recognized it as the pledge of an invincible determination, on the part of those who gave it, never to betray him that wanders, but to hide the outcast, and firmly to abide the consequences.

It was at once deeply impressed upon my mind, that, if Mr. DOUGLASS could be persuaded to consecrate his time and talents to the promotion of the anti-slavery enterprise, a powerful impetus would be given to it, and a stunning blow at the same time inflicted on northern prejudice against a colored complexion. I therefore endeavored to instil hope and courage into his mind, in order that he might dare to engage in a vocation so anomalous and responsible for a person in his situation; and I was seconded in this effort by warm-hearted friends, especially by the late General Agent of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society, Mr. JOHN A. COLLINS, whose judgment in this instance entirely coincided with my own. At first, he could give no encouragement; with unfeigned diffidence, he expressed his conviction that he was not adequate to the performance of so great a task; the path marked out was wholly an untrodden one; he was sincerely apprehensive that he should do more harm than good. After much deliberation, however, he consented to make a trial; and ever since that period, he has acted as a lecturing agent, under the auspices either of the American or the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society. In labors he has been most abundant; and his success in combating prejudice, in gaining proselytes, in agitating the public mind, has far surpassed the most sanguine expectations that were raised at the commencement of his brilliant career. He has borne himself with gentleness and meekness, yet with true manliness of character. As a public speaker, he excels in pathos, wit, comparison, imitation, strength of reasoning, and fluency of language. There is in him that union of head and heart, which is indispensable to an enlightenment of the heads and a winning of the hearts of others. May his strength continue to be equal to his day! May he continue to “grow in grace, and in the knowledge of God,” that he may be increasingly serviceable in the cause of bleeding humanity, whether at home or abroad!

It is certainly a very remarkable fact, that one of the most efficient advocates of the slave population, now before the public, is a fugitive slave, in the person of FREDERICK DOUGLASS; and that the free colored population of the United States are as ably represented by one of their own number, in the person of CHARLES LENOX REMOND, whose eloquent appeals have extorted the highest applause of multitudes on both sides of the Atlantic. Let the calumniators of the colored race despise themselves for their baseness and illiberality of spirit, and henceforth cease to talk of the natural inferiority of those who require nothing but time and opportunity to attain to the highest point of human excellence.

It may, perhaps, be fairly questioned, whether any other portion of the population of the earth could have endured the privations, sufferings and horrors of slavery, without having become more degraded in the scale of humanity than the slaves of African descent. Nothing has been left undone to cripple their intellects, darken their minds, debase their moral nature, obliterate all traces of their relationship to mankind; and yet how wonderfully they have sustained the mighty load of a most frightful bondage, under which they have been groaning for centuries! To illustrate the effect of slavery on the white man,–to show that he has no powers of endurance, in such a condition, superior to those of his black brother,–DANIEL O’CONNELL, the distinguished advocate of universal emancipation, and the mightiest champion of prostrate but not conquered Ireland, relates the following anecdote in a speech delivered by him in the Conciliation Hall, Dublin, before the Loyal National Repeal Association, March 31, 1845. “No matter,” said Mr. O’CONNELL, “under what specious term it may disguise itself, slavery is still hideous. ~It has a natural, an inevitable tendency to brutalize every noble faculty of man.~ An American sailor, who was cast away on the shore of Africa, where he was kept in slavery for three years, was, at the expiration of that period, found to be imbruted and stultified–he had lost all reasoning power; and having forgotten his native language, could only utter some savage gibberish between Arabic and English, which nobody could understand, and which even he himself found difficulty in pronouncing. So much for the humanizing influence of THE DOMESTIC INSTITUTION!” Admitting this to have been an extraordinary case of mental deterioration, it proves at least that the white slave can sink as low in the scale of humanity as the black one.

Mr. DOUGLASS has very properly chosen to write his own Narrative, in his own style, and according to the best of his ability, rather than to employ some one else. It is, therefore, entirely his own production; and, considering how long and dark was the career he had to run as a slave,–how few have been his opportunities to improve his mind since he broke his iron fetters,–it is, in my judgment, highly creditable to his head and heart. He who can peruse it without a tearful eye, a heaving breast, an afflicted spirit,– without being filled with an unutterable abhorrence of slavery and all its abettors, and animated with a determination to seek the immediate overthrow of that execrable system,–without trembling for the fate of this country in the hands of a righteous God, who is ever on the side of the oppressed, and whose arm is not shortened that it cannot save,–must have a flinty heart, and be qualified to act the part of a trafficker “in slaves and the souls of men.” I am confident that it is essentially true in all its statements; that nothing has been set down in malice, nothing exaggerated, nothing drawn from the imagination; that it comes short of the reality, rather than overstates a single fact in regard to SLAVERY AS IT IS. The experience of FREDERICK DOUGLASS, as a slave, was not a peculiar one; his lot was not especially a hard one; his case may be regarded as a very fair specimen of the treatment of slaves inMaryland, in which State it is conceded that they are better fed and less cruelly treated than inGeorgia,Alabama, orLouisiana. Many have suffered incomparably more, while very few on the plantations have suffered less, than himself. Yet how deplorable was his situation! what terrible chastisements were inflicted upon his person! what still more shocking outrages were perpetrated upon his mind! with all his noble powers and sublime aspirations, how like a brute was he treated, even by those professing to have the same mind in them that was in Christ Jesus! to what dreadful liabilities was he continually subjected! how destitute of friendly counsel and aid, even in his greatest extremities! how heavy was the midnight of woe which shrouded in blackness the last ray of hope, and filled the future with terror and gloom! what longings after freedom took possession of his breast, and how his misery augmented, in proportion as he grew reflective and intelligent,–thus demonstrating that a happy slave is an extinct man! how he thought, reasoned, felt, under the lash of the driver, with the chains upon his limbs! what perils he encountered in his endeavors to escape from his horrible doom! and how signal have been his deliverance and preservation in the midst of a nation of pitiless enemies!

This Narrative contains many affecting incidents, many passages of great eloquence and power; but I think the most thrilling one of them all is the description DOUGLASS gives of his feelings, as he stood soliloquizing respecting his fate, and the chances of his one day being a freeman, on the banks of the Chesapeake Bay–viewing the receding vessels as they flew with their white wings before the breeze, and apostrophizing them as animated by the living spirit of freedom. Who can read that passage, and be insensible to its pathos and sublimity? Compressed into it is a whole Alexandrian library of thought, feeling, and sentiment–all that can, all that need be urged, in the form of expostulation, entreaty, rebuke, against that crime of crimes,–making man the property of his fellow-man! O, how accursed is that system, which entombs the godlike mind of man, defaces the divine image, reduces those who by creation were crowned with glory and honor to a level with four-footed beasts, and exalts the dealer in human flesh above all that is called God! Why should its existence be prolonged one hour? Is it not evil, only evil, and that continually? What does its presence imply but the absence of all fear of God, all regard for man, on the part of the people of theUnited States? Heaven speed its eternal overthrow!

So profoundly ignorant of the nature of slavery are many persons, that they are stubbornly incredulous whenever they read or listen to any recital of the cruelties which are daily inflicted on its victims. They do not deny that the slaves are held as property; but that terrible fact seems to convey to their minds no idea of injustice, exposure to outrage, or savage barbarity. Tell them of cruel scourgings, of mutilations and brandings, of scenes of pollution and blood, of the banishment of all light and knowledge, and they affect to be greatly indignant at such enormous exaggerations, such wholesale misstatements, such abominable libels on the character of the southern planters! As if all these direful outrages were not the natural results of slavery! As if it were less cruel to reduce a human being to the condition of a thing, than to give him a severe flagellation, or to deprive him of necessary food and clothing! As if whips, chains, thumb-screws, paddles, blood- hounds, overseers, drivers, patrols, were not all indispensable to keep the slaves down, and to give protection to their ruthless oppressors! As if, when the marriage institution is abolished, concubinage, adultery, and incest, must not necessarily abound; when all the rights of humanity are annihilated, any barrier remains to protect the victim from the fury of the spoiler; when absolute power is assumed over life and liberty, it will not be wielded with destructive sway! Skeptics of this character abound in society. In some few instances, their incredulity arises from a want of reflection; but, generally, it indicates a hatred of the light, a desire to shield slavery from the assaults of its foes, a contempt of the colored race, whether bond or free. Such will try to discredit the shocking tales of slaveholding cruelty which are recorded in this truthful Narrative; but they will labor in vain. Mr. DOUGLASS has frankly disclosed the place of his birth, the names of those who claimed ownership in his body and soul, and the names also of those who committed the crimes which he has alleged against them. His statements, therefore, may easily be disproved, if they are untrue.

In the course of his Narrative, he relates two instances of murderous cruelty,–in one of which a planter deliberately shot a slave belonging to a neighboring plantation, who had unintentionally gotten within his lordly domain in quest of fish; and in the other, an overseer blew out the brains of a slave who had fled to a stream of water to escape a bloody scourging. Mr. DOUGLASS states that in neither of these instances was any thing done by way of legal arrest or judicial investigation. The Baltimore American, of March 17, 1845, relates a similar case of atrocity, perpetrated with similar impunity–as follows:–“~Shooting a slave.~–We learn, upon the authority of a letter from Charles county, Maryland, received by a gentleman of this city, that a young man, named Matthews, a nephew of General Matthews, and whose father, it is believed, holds an office at Washington, killed one of the slaves upon his father’s farm by shooting him. The letter states that young Matthews had been left in charge of the farm; that he gave an order to the servant, which was disobeyed, when he proceeded to the house, ~obtained a gun, and, returning, shot the servant.~ He immediately, the letter continues, fled to his father’s residence, where he still remains unmolested.”–Let it never be forgotten, that no slaveholder or overseer can be convicted of any outrage perpetrated on the person of a slave, however diabolical it may be, on the testimony of colored witnesses, whether bond or free. By the slave code, they are adjudged to be as incompetent to testify against a white man, as though they were indeed a part of the brute creation. Hence, there is no legal protection in fact, whatever there may be in form, for the slave population; and any amount of cruelty may be inflicted on them with impunity. Is it possible for the human mind to conceive of a more horrible state of society?

The effect of a religious profession on the conduct of southern masters is vividly described in the following Narrative, and shown to be any thing but salutary. In the nature of the case, it must be in the highest degree pernicious. The testimony of Mr. DOUGLASS, on this point, is sustained by a cloud of witnesses, whose veracity is unimpeachable. “A slave- holder’s profession of Christianity is a palpable imposture. He is a felon of the highest grade. He is a man-stealer. It is of no importance what you put in the other scale.”

Reader! are you with the man-stealers in sympathy and purpose, or on the side of their down-trodden victims? If with the former, then are you the foe of God and man. If with the latter, what are you prepared to do and dare in their behalf? Be faithful, be vigilant, be untiring in your efforts to break every yoke, and let the oppressed go free. Come what may –cost what it may–inscribe on the banner which you unfurl to the breeze, as your religious and political motto–“NO COMPROMISE WITH SLAVERY! NOUNIONWITH SLAVEHOLDERS!”

                WM. LLOYD GARRISON
                BOSTON, May 1, 1845.

Chapter 1

I was born in Tuckahoe, near Hillsborough, andabout twelve miles fromEaston, in Talbot county,Maryland. I have no accurate knowledge of my age,never having seen any authentic record containing it.By far the larger part of the slaves know as little oftheir ages as horses know of theirs, and it is the wishof most masters within my knowledge to keep theirslaves thus ignorant. I do not remember to have evermet a slave who could tell of his birthday. Theyseldom come nearer to it than planting-time, harvesttime, cherry-time, spring-time, or fall-time. A wantof information concerning my own was a source ofunhappiness to me even during childhood. The whitechildren could tell their ages. I could not tell why Iought to be deprived of the same privilege. I wasnot allowed to make any inquiries of my master concerning it. He deemed all such inquiries on the partof a slave improper and impertinent, and evidenceof a restless spirit. The nearest estimate I can givemakes me now between twenty-seven and twentyeight years of age. I come to this, from hearing mymaster say, some time during 1835, I was aboutseventeen years old.

My mother was named Harriet Bailey. She wasthe daughter of Isaac and Betsey Bailey, both colored, and quite dark. My mother was of a darkercomplexion than either my grandmother or grandfather.

My father was a white man. He was admitted tobe such by all I ever heard speak of my parentage.The opinion was also whispered that my master wasmy father; but of the correctness of this opinion, Iknow nothing; the means of knowing was withheldfrom me. My mother and I were separated when Iwas but an infant–before I knew her as my mother.It is a common custom, in the part of Marylandfrom which I ran away, to part children from theirmothers at a very early age. Frequently, before thechild has reached its twelfth month, its mother istaken from it, and hired out on some farm a considerable distance off, and the child is placed underthe care of an old woman, too old for field labor.For what this separation is done, I do not know,unless it be to hinder the development of the child’saffection toward its mother, and to blunt and destroythe natural affection of the mother for the child.This is the inevitable result.

I never saw my mother, to know her as such, morethan four or five times in my life; and each of thesetimes was very short in duration, and at night. Shewas hired by a Mr. Stewart, who lived about twelvemiles from my home. She made her journeys to seeme in the night, travelling the whole distance onfoot, after the performance of her day’s work. Shewas a field hand, and a whipping is the penalty ofnot being in the field at sunrise, unless a slave hasspecial permission from his or her master to the contrary–a permission which they seldom get, and onethat gives to him that gives it the proud name ofbeing a kind master. I do not recollect of ever seeingmy mother by the light of day. She was with me inthe night. She would lie down with me, and get meto sleep, but long before I waked she was gone. Verylittle communication ever took place between us.Death soon ended what little we could have whileshe lived, and with it her hardships and suffering.She died when I was about seven years old, on oneof my master’s farms, near Lee’s Mill. I was not allowed to be present during her illness, at her death,or burial. She was gone long before I knew any thingabout it. Never having enjoyed, to any considerableextent, her soothing presence, her tender and watchful care, I received the tidings of her death withmuch the same emotions I should have probablyfelt at the death of a stranger.

Called thus suddenly away, she left me withoutthe slightest intimation of who my father was. Thewhisper that my master was my father, may or maynot be true; and, true or false, it is of but little consequence to my purpose whilst the fact remains,in all its glaring odiousness, that slaveholders haveordained, and by law established, that the childrenof slave women shall in all cases follow the condition of their mothers; and this is done too obviouslyto administer to their own lusts, and make a gratification of their wicked desires profitable as well aspleasurable; for by this cunning arrangement, theslaveholder, in cases not a few, sustains to his slavesthe double relation of master and father.

I know of such cases; and it is worthy of remarkthat such slaves invariably suffer greater hardships,and have more to contend with, than others. Theyare, in the first place, a constant offence to theirmistress. She is ever disposed to find fault with them;they can seldom do any thing to please her; she isnever better pleased than when she sees them underthe lash, especially when she suspects her husbandof showing to his mulatto children favors which hewithholds from his black slaves. The master is frequently compelled to sell this class of his slaves, outof deference to the feelings of his white wife; and,cruel as the deed may strike any one to be, for aman to sell his own children to human flesh-mongers,it is often the dictate of humanity for him to do so;for, unless he does this, he must not only whip themhimself, but must stand by and see one white sontie up his brother, of but few shades darker complexion than himself, and ply the gory lash to hisnaked back; and if he lisp one word of disapproval,it is set down to his parental partiality, and onlymakes a bad matter worse, both for himself and theslave whom he would protect and defend.

Every year brings with it multitudes of this classof slaves. It was doubtless in consequence of a knowledge of this fact, that one great statesman of thesouth predicted the downfall of slavery by the inevitable laws of population. Whether this prophecyis ever fulfilled or not, it is nevertheless plain that avery different-looking class of people are springing upat the south, and are now held in slavery, from thoseoriginally brought to this country from Africa; andif their increase do no other good, it will doaway the force of the argument, that God cursedHam, and therefore American slavery is right. If thelineal descendants of Ham are alone to be scripturally enslaved, it is certain that slavery at the southmust soon become unscriptural; for thousands areushered into the world, annually, who, like myself,owe their existence to white fathers, and those fathers most frequently their own masters.

I have had two masters. My first master’s namewas Anthony. I do not remember his first name.He was generally called Captain Anthony–a titlewhich, I presume, he acquired by sailing a craft ontheChesapeake Bay. He was not considered a richslaveholder. He owned two or three farms, and aboutthirty slaves. His farms and slaves were under thecare of an overseer. The overseer’s name wasPlummer. Mr. Plummer was a miserable drunkard,a profane swearer, and a savage monster. He alwayswent armed with a cowskin and a heavy cudgel. Ihave known him to cut and slash the women’s headsso horribly, that even master would be enraged athis cruelty, and would threaten to whip him if hedid not mind himself. Master, however, was not ahumane slaveholder. It required extraordinary barbarity on the part of an overseer to affect him. Hewas a cruel man, hardened by a long life of slaveholding. He would at times seem to take great pleasure in whipping a slave. I have often been awakenedat the dawn of day by the most heart-rending shrieksof an own aunt of mine, whom he used to tie upto a joist, and whip upon her naked back till shewas literally covered with blood. No words, no tears,no prayers, from his gory victim, seemed to movehis iron heart from its bloody purpose. The loudershe screamed, the harder he whipped; and wherethe blood ran fastest, there he whipped longest. Hewould whip her to make her scream, and whip herto make her hush; and not until overcome by fatigue,would he cease to swing the blood-clotted cowskin.I remember the first time I ever witnessed this horrible exhibition. I was quite a child, but I well remember it. I never shall forget it whilst I rememberany thing. It was the first of a long series of such outrages, of which I was doomed to be a witness and aparticipant. It struck me with awful force. It wasthe blood-stained gate, the entrance to the hell ofslavery, through which I was about to pass. It wasa most terrible spectacle. I wish I could commit topaper the feelings with which I beheld it.

This occurrence took place very soon after I wentto live with my old master, and under the followingcircumstances. Aunt Hester went out one night,-where or for what I do not know,–and happened tobe absent when my master desired her presence. Hehad ordered her not to go out evenings, and warnedher that she must never let him catch her in company with a young man, who was paying attentionto her belonging to Colonel Lloyd. The young man’sname was Ned Roberts, generally called Lloyd’sNed. Why master was so careful of her, may besafely left to conjecture. She was a woman of nobleform, and of graceful proportions, having very fewequals, and fewer superiors, in personal appearance,among the colored or white women of our neighborhood.

Aunt Hester had not only disobeyed his orders ingoing out, but had been found in company withLloyd’s Ned; which circumstance, I found, fromwhat he said while whipping her, was the chief offence. Had he been a man of pure morals himself,he might have been thought interested in protectingthe innocence of my aunt; but those who knew himwill not suspect him of any such virtue. Beforehe commenced whipping Aunt Hester, he took herinto the kitchen, and stripped her from neck to waist,leaving her neck, shoulders, and back, entirelynaked. He then told her to cross her hands, callingher at the same time a d—-d b—h. After crossingher hands, he tied them with a strong rope, and ledher to a stool under a large hook in the joist, putin for the purpose. He made her get upon the stool,and tied her hands to the hook. She now stood fairfor his infernal purpose. Her arms were stretchedup at their full length, so that she stood upon theends of her toes. He then said to her, “Now, youd—-d b—h, I’ll learn you how to disobey myorders!” and after rolling up his sleeves, he commenced to lay on the heavy cowskin, and soon thewarm, red blood (amid heart-rending shrieks fromher, and horrid oaths from him) came dripping tothe floor. I was so terrified and horror-stricken at thesight, that I hid myself in a closet, and dared notventure out till long after the bloody transaction wasover. I expected it would be my turn next. It wasall new to me. I had never seen any thing like itbefore. I had always lived with my grandmother onthe outskirts of the plantation, where she was put toraise the children of the younger women. I had therefore been, until now, out of the way of the bloodyscenes that often occurred on the plantation.

Chapter 2

My master’s family consisted of two sons, Andrewand Richard; one daughter, Lucretia, and her husband, Captain Thomas Auld. They lived in onehouse, upon the home plantation of Colonel EdwardLloyd. My master was Colonel Lloyd’s clerk andsuperintendent. He was what might be called theoverseer of the overseers. I spent two years of childhood on this plantation in my old master’s family.It was here that I witnessed the bloody transactionrecorded in the first chapter; and as I received myfirst impressions of slavery on this plantation,I will give some description of it, and of slavery asit there existed. The plantation is about twelve milesnorth ofEaston, in Talbot county, and is situatedon the border ofMilesRiver. The principal productsraised upon it were tobacco, corn, and wheat. Thesewere raised in great abundance; so that, with theproducts of this and the other farms belonging tohim, he was able to keep in almost constant employment a large sloop, in carrying them to marketat Baltimore. This sloop was named Sally Lloyd,in honor of one of the colonel’s daughters. My master’s son-in-law, Captain Auld, was master of thevessel; she was otherwise manned by the colonel’sown slaves. Their names were Peter, Isaac, Rich, andJake. These were esteemed very highly by the otherslaves, and looked upon as the privileged ones of theplantation; for it was no small affair, in the eyes ofthe slaves, to be allowed to seeBaltimore.

Colonel Lloyd kept from three to four hundredslaves on his home plantation, and owned a largenumber more on the neighboring farms belonging tohim. The names of the farms nearest to the homeplantation wereWyeTownand New Design. “WyeTown” was under the overseership of a man namedNoah Willis. New Design was under the overseership of a Mr. Townsend. The overseers of these,and all the rest of the farms, numbering over twenty,received advice and direction from the managers ofthe home plantation. This was the great businessplace. It was the seat of government for the wholetwenty farms. All disputes among the overseers weresettled here. If a slave was convicted of any highmisdemeanor, became unmanageable, or evinced adetermination to run away, he was brought immediately here, severely whipped, put on board the sloop,carried to Baltimore, and sold to Austin Woolfolk,or some other slave-trader, as a warning to the slavesremaining.

Here, too, the slaves of all the other farms receivedtheir monthly allowance of food, and their yearlyclothing. The men and women slaves received, astheir monthly allowance of food, eight pounds ofpork, or its equivalent in fish, and one bushel ofcorn meal. Their yearly clothing consisted of twocoarse linen shirts, one pair of linen trousers, likethe shirts, one jacket, one pair of trousers for winter,made of coarse negro cloth, one pair of stockings,and one pair of shoes; the whole of which could nothave cost more than seven dollars. The allowanceof the slave children was given to their mothers, orthe old women having the care of them. The children unable to work in the field had neither shoes,stockings, jackets, nor trousers, given to them; theirclothing consisted of two coarse linen shirts per year.When these failed them, they went naked until thenext allowance-day. Children from seven to ten yearsold, of both sexes, almost naked, might be seenat all seasons of the year.

There were no beds given the slaves, unless onecoarse blanket be considered such, and none butthe men and women had these. This, however, isnot considered a very great privation. They find lessdifficulty from the want of beds, than from the wantof time to sleep; for when their day’s work in thefield is done, the most of them having their washing, mending, and cooking to do, and having few ornone of the ordinary facilities for doing either ofthese, very many of their sleeping hours are consumed in preparing for the field the coming day;and when this is done, old and young, male andfemale, married and single, drop down side by side,on one common bed,–the cold, damp floor,–eachcovering himself or herself with their miserableblankets; and here they sleep till they are summonedto the field by the driver’s horn. At the sound ofthis, all must rise, and be off to the field. Theremust be no halting; every one must be at his orher post; and woe betides them who hear not thismorning summons to the field; for if they are notawakened by the sense of hearing, they are by thesense of feeling: no age nor sex finds any favor.Mr. Severe, the overseer, used to stand by the doorof the quarter, armed with a large hickory stickand heavy cowskin, ready to whip any one who wasso unfortunate as not to hear, or, from any othercause, was prevented from being ready to start forthe field at the sound of the horn.

Mr. Severe was rightly named: he was a cruelman. I have seen him whip a woman, causing theblood to run half an hour at the time; and this, too,in the midst of her crying children, pleading for theirmother’s release. He seemed to take pleasure inmanifesting his fiendish barbarity. Added to hiscruelty, he was a profane swearer. It was enough tochill the blood and stiffen the hair of an ordinaryman to hear him talk. Scarce a sentence escaped himbut that was commenced or concluded by some horrid oath. The field was the place to witness hiscruelty and profanity. His presence made it boththe field of blood and of blasphemy. From the risingtill the going down of the sun, he was cursing, raving,cutting, and slashing among the slaves of the field,in the most frightful manner. His career was short.He died very soon after I went to Colonel Lloyd’s;and he died as he lived, uttering, with his dyinggroans, bitter curses and horrid oaths. His death wasregarded by the slaves as the result of a mercifulprovidence.

Mr. Severe’s place was filled by a Mr. Hopkins.He was a very different man. He was less cruel, lessprofane, and made less noise, than Mr. Severe. Hiscourse was characterized by no extraordinary demonstrations of cruelty. He whipped, but seemed to takeno pleasure in it. He was called by the slaves a goodoverseer.

The home plantation of Colonel Lloyd wore theappearance of a country village. All the mechanicaloperations for all the farms were performed here.The shoemaking and mending, the blacksmithing,cartwrighting, coopering, weaving, and grain-grinding, were all performed by the slaves on the homeplantation. The whole place wore a business-like aspect very unlike the neighboring farms. The number of houses, too, conspired to give it advantageover the neighboring farms. It was called by theslaves the ~Great House Farm.~ Few privileges wereesteemed higher, by the slaves of the out-farms, thanthat of being selected to do errands at the GreatHouse Farm. It was associated in their minds withgreatness. A representative could not be prouder ofhis election to a seat in the American Congress,than a slave on one of the out-farms would be of hiselection to do errands at the Great House Farm.They regarded it as evidence of great confidence reposed in them by their overseers; and it was onthis account, as well as a constant desire to be out ofthe field from under the driver’s lash, that they esteemed it a high privilege, one worth careful livingfor. He was called the smartest and most trusty fellow, who had this honor conferred upon him themost frequently. The competitors for this officesought as diligently to please their overseers, as theoffice-seekers in the political parties seek to pleaseand deceive the people. The same traits of charactermight be seen in Colonel Lloyd’s slaves, as are seenin the slaves of the political parties.

The slaves selected to go to the Great House Farm,for the monthly allowance for themselves and theirfellow-slaves, were peculiarly enthusiastic. While ontheir way, they would make the dense old woods,for miles around, reverberate with their wild songs,revealing at once the highest joy and the deepestsadness. They would compose and sing as they wentalong, consulting neither time nor tune. The thoughtthat came up, came out–if not in the word, in thesound;–and as frequently in the one as in the other.They would sometimes sing the most pathetic sentiment in the most rapturous tone, and the most rapturous sentiment in the most pathetic tone. Into allof their songs they would manage to weave something of the Great House Farm. Especially wouldthey do this, when leaving home. They would thensing most exultingly the following words:–

“I am going away to the Great House Farm!

O, yea! O, yea! O!”This they would sing, as a chorus, to words which tomany would seem unmeaning jargon, but which,nevertheless, were full of meaning to themselves. Ihave sometimes thought that the mere hearing ofthose songs would do more to impress some mindswith the horrible character of slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the subjectcould do.

I did not, when a slave, understand the deepmeaning of those rude and apparently incoherentsongs. I was myself within the circle; so that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see andhear. They told a tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension; theywere tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed theprayer and complaint of souls boiling over with thebitterest anguish. Every tone was a testimony againstslavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance fromchains. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit, and filled me with ineffable sadness. I have frequently found myself in tears whilehearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs,even now, afflicts me; and while I am writing theselines, an expression of feeling has already found itsway down my cheek. To those songs I trace my firstglimmering conception of the dehumanizing character of slavery. I can never get rid of that conception. Those songs still follow me, to deepen myhatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies formy brethren in bonds. If any one wishes to be impressed with the soul-killing effects of slavery, lethim go to Colonel Lloyd’s plantation, and, on allowance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, andthere let him, in silence, analyze the sounds thatshall pass through the chambers of his soul,–and ifhe is not thus impressed, it will only be because”there is no flesh in his obdurate heart.”

I have often been utterly astonished, since I cameto the north, to find persons who could speak ofthe singing, among slaves, as evidence of their contentment and happiness. It is impossible to conceiveof a greater mistake. Slaves sing most when they aremost unhappy. The songs of the slave represent thesorrows of his heart; and he is relieved by them, onlyas an aching heart is relieved by its tears. At least,such is my experience. I have often sung to drownmy sorrow, but seldom to express my happiness.Crying for joy, and singing for joy, were alike uncommon to me while in the jaws of slavery. Thesinging of a man cast away upon a desolate islandmight be as appropriately considered as evidence ofcontentment and happiness, as the singing of aslave; the songs of the one and of the other areprompted by the same emotion.

Chapter 3

Colonel Lloyd kept a large and finely cultivatedgarden, which afforded almost constant employmentfor four men, besides the chief gardener, (Mr.M’Durmond.) This garden was probably the greatest attraction of the place. During the summermonths, people came from far and near–fromBaltimore,Easton, andAnnapolis–to see it. Itabounded in fruits of almost every description, fromthe hardy apple of the north to the delicate orangeof the south. This garden was not the least sourceof trouble on the plantation. Its excellent fruit wasquite a temptation to the hungry swarms of boys,as well as the older slaves, belonging to the colonel,few of whom had the virtue or the vice to resistit. Scarcely a day passed, during the summer, butthat some slave had to take the lash for stealing fruit.The colonel had to resort to all kinds of stratagemsto keep his slaves out of the garden. The last andmost successful one was that of tarring his fenceall around; after which, if a slave was caught withany tar upon his person, it was deemed sufficientproof that he had either been into the garden, or hadtried to get in. In either case, he was severely whipped by the chief gardener. This plan worked well;the slaves became as fearful of tar as of the lash.They seemed to realize the impossibility of touchingTAR without being defiled.

The colonel also kept a splendid riding equipage.His stable and carriage-house presented the appearance of some of our large city livery establishments.His horses were of the finest form and noblest blood.His carriage-house contained three splendid coaches,three or four gigs, besidesdearbornsand barouchesof the most fashionable style.

This establishment was under the care of twoslaves–old Barney and young Barney–father and son.To attend to this establishment was their sole work.But it was by no means an easy employment; for innothing was Colonel Lloyd more particular than inthe management of his horses. The slightest inattention to these was unpardonable, and was visitedupon those, under whose care they were placed, withthe severest punishment; no excuse could shieldthem, if the colonel only suspected any want ofattention to his horses–a supposition which he frequently indulged, and one which, of course, madethe office of old and young Barney a very trying one.They never knew when they were safe from punishment. They were frequently whipped when leastdeserving, and escaped whipping when most deserving it. Every thing depended upon the looks of thehorses, and the state of Colonel Lloyd’s own mindwhen his horses were brought to him for use. If ahorse did not move fast enough, or hold his headhigh enough, it was owing to some fault of his keepers. It was painful to stand near the stable-door,and hear the various complaints against the keeperswhen a horse was taken out for use. “This horse hasnot had proper attention. He has not been sufficiently rubbed and curried, or he has not been properly fed; his food was too wet or too dry; he got ittoo soon or too late; he was too hot or too cold; hehad too much hay, and not enough of grain; or hehad too much grain, and not enough of hay; insteadof old Barney’s attending to the horse, he had veryimproperly left it to his son.” To all these complaints, no matter how unjust, the slave must answer never a word. Colonel Lloyd could not brookany contradiction from a slave. When he spoke, aslave must stand, listen, and tremble; and such wasliterally the case. I have seen Colonel Lloyd makeold Barney, a man between fifty and sixty years ofage, uncover his bald head, kneel down upon thecold, damp ground, and receive upon his naked andtoil-worn shoulders more than thirty lashes at thetime. Colonel Lloyd had three sons–Edward, Murray, and Daniel,–and three sons-in-law, Mr. Winder,Mr. Nicholson, and Mr. Lowndes. All of these livedat the Great House Farm, and enjoyed the luxury ofwhipping the servants when they pleased, from oldBarney down to William Wilkes, the coach-driver.I have seen Winder make one of the house-servantsstand off from him a suitable distance to be touchedwith the end of his whip, and at every stroke raisegreat ridges upon his back.

To describe the wealth of Colonel Lloyd wouldbe almost equal to describing the riches of Job. Hekept from ten to fifteen house-servants. He was saidto own a thousand slaves, and I think this estimatequite within the truth. Colonel Lloyd owned somany that he did not know them when he saw them;nor did all the slaves of the out-farms know him. Itis reported of him, that, while riding along the roadone day, he met a colored man, and addressed himin the usual manner of speaking to colored peopleon the public highways of the south: “Well, boy,whom do you belong to?” “To Colonel Lloyd,” replied the slave. “Well, does the colonel treat youwell?” “No, sir,” was the ready reply. “What, doeshe work you too hard?” “Yes, sir.” “Well, don’t hegive you enough to eat?” “Yes, sir, he gives meenough, such as it is.”

The colonel, after ascertaining where the slavebelonged, rode on; the man also went on about hisbusiness, not dreaming that he had been conversingwith his master. He thought, said, and heard nothing more of the matter, until two or three weeksafterwards. The poor man was then informed by hisoverseer that, for having found fault with his master,he was now to be sold to aGeorgiatrader. He wasimmediately chained and handcuffed; and thus,without a moment’s warning, he was snatched away,and forever sundered, from his family and friends,by a hand more unrelenting than death. This is thepenalty of telling the truth, of telling the simpletruth, in answer to a series of plain questions.

It is partly in consequence of such facts, thatslaves, when inquired of as to their condition andthe character of their masters, almost universally saythey are contented, and that their masters are kind.The slaveholders have been known to send in spiesamong their slaves, to ascertain their views and feelings in regard to their condition. The frequency ofthis has had the effect to establish among the slavesthe maxim, that a still tongue makes a wise head.They suppress the truth rather than take the consequences of telling it, and in so doing prove themselves a part of the human family. If they have anything to say of their masters, it is generally in theirmasters’ favor, especially when speaking to an untried man. I have been frequently asked, when aslave, if I had a kind master, and do not rememberever to have given a negative answer; nor did I, inpursuing this course, consider myself as uttering whatwas absolutely false; for I always measured the kindness of my master by the standard of kindness setup among slaveholders around us. Moreover, slavesare like other people, and imbibe prejudices quitecommon to others. They think their own better thanthat of others. Many, under the influence of thisprejudice, think their own masters are better thanthe masters of other slaves; and this, too, in somecases, when the very reverse is true. Indeed, it isnot uncommon for slaves even to fall out and quarrel among themselves about the relative goodness oftheir masters, each contending for the superior goodness of his own over that of the others. At the verysame time, they mutually execrate their masterswhen viewed separately. It was so on our plantation.When Colonel Lloyd’s slaves met the slaves of JacobJepson, they seldom parted without a quarrel abouttheir masters; Colonel Lloyd’s slaves contending thathe was the richest, and Mr. Jepson’s slaves that hewas the smartest, and most of a man. Colonel Lloyd’sslaves would boast his ability to buy and sell JacobJepson. Mr. Jepson’s slaves would boast his abilityto whip Colonel Lloyd. These quarrels would almostalways end in a fight between the parties, and thosethat whipped were supposed to have gained thepoint at issue. They seemed to think that the greatness of their masters was transferable to themselves.It was considered as being bad enough to be aslave; but to be a poor man’s slave was deemed adisgrace indeed!

Chapter 4

Mr. Hopkins remained but a short time in theoffice of overseer. Why his career was so short, Ido not know, but suppose he lacked the necessaryseverity to suit Colonel Lloyd. Mr. Hopkins was succeeded by Mr. Austin Gore, a man possessing, inan eminent degree, all those traits of character indispensable to what is called a first-rate overseer. Mr.Gore had served Colonel Lloyd, in the capacity ofoverseer, upon one of the out-farms, and had shownhimself worthy of the high station of overseer uponthe home or Great House Farm.

Mr. Gore was proud, ambitious, and persevering.He was artful, cruel, and obdurate. He was just theman for such a place, and it was just the place forsuch a man. It afforded scope for the full exerciseof all his powers, and he seemed to be perfectlyat home in it. He was one of those who could torturethe slightest look, word, or gesture, on the part ofthe slave, into impudence, and would treat it accordingly. There must be no answering back to him;no explanation was allowed a slave, showing himselfto have been wrongfully accused. Mr. Gore actedfully up to the maxim laid down by slaveholders,-“It is better that a dozen slaves should suffer under thelash, than that the overseer should be convicted, inthe presence of the slaves, of having been at fault.”No matter how innocent a slave might be–it availedhim nothing, when accused by Mr. Gore of anymisdemeanor. To be accused was to be convicted,and to be convicted was to be punished; the onealways following the other with immutable certainty.To escape punishment was to escape accusation; andfew slaves had the fortune to do either, under theoverseership of Mr. Gore. He was just proud enoughto demand the most debasing homage of the slave,and quite servile enough to crouch, himself, at thefeet of the master. He was ambitious enough to becontented with nothing short of the highest rankof overseers, and persevering enough to reach theheight of his ambition. He was cruel enough to inflict the severest punishment, artful enough to descend to the lowest trickery, and obdurate enough tobe insensible to the voice of a reproving conscience.He was, of all the overseers, the most dreaded bythe slaves. His presence was painful; his eye flashedconfusion; and seldom was his sharp, shrill voiceheard, without producing horror and trembling intheir ranks.

Mr. Gore was a grave man, and, though a youngman, he indulged in no jokes, said no funny words,seldom smiled. His words were in perfect keepingwith his looks, and his looks were in perfect keepingwith his words. Overseers will sometimes indulge ina witty word, even with the slaves; not so with Mr.Gore. He spoke but to command, and commandedbut to be obeyed; he dealt sparingly with his words,and bountifully with his whip, never using theformer where the latter would answer as well. Whenhe whipped, he seemed to do so from a sense ofduty, and feared no consequences. He did nothingreluctantly, no matter how disagreeable; always at hispost, never inconsistent. He never promised but tofulfil. He was, in a word, a man of the most inflexible firmness and stone-like coolness.

His savage barbarity was equalled only by the consummate coolness with which he committed thegrossest and most savage deeds upon the slaves underhis charge. Mr. Gore once undertook to whip one ofColonel Lloyd’s slaves, by the name of Demby. Hehad given Demby but few stripes, when, to get ridof the scourging, he ran and plunged himself into acreek, and stood there at the depth of his shoulders,refusing to come out. Mr. Gore told him that hewould give him three calls, and that, if he did notcome out at the third call, he would shoot him.The first call was given. Demby made no response,but stood his ground. The second and third callswere given with the same result. Mr. Gore then,without consultation or deliberation with any one,not even giving Demby an additional call, raisedhis musket to his face, taking deadly aim at hisstanding victim, and in an instant poor Demby wasno more. His mangled body sank out of sight, andblood and brains marked the water where he hadstood.

A thrill of horror flashed through every soul uponthe plantation, excepting Mr. Gore. He aloneseemed cool and collected. He was asked by ColonelLloyd and my old master, why he resorted to thisextraordinary expedient. His reply was, (as well asI can remember,) that Demby had become unmanageable. He was setting a dangerous example to theother slaves,–one which, if suffered to pass withoutsome such demonstration on his part, would finallylead to the total subversion of all rule and orderupon the plantation. He argued that if one slave refused to be corrected, and escaped with his life, theother slaves would soon copy the example; the result of which would be, the freedom of the slaves,and the enslavement of the whites. Mr. Gore’s defence was satisfactory. He was continued in his station as overseer upon the home plantation. Hisfame as an overseer went abroad. His horrid crimewas not even submitted to judicial investigation. Itwas committed in the presence of slaves, and they ofcourse could neither institute a suit, nor testifyagainst him; and thus the guilty perpetrator of one ofthe bloodiest and most foul murders goes unwhippedof justice, and uncensured by the community inwhich he lives. Mr. Gore lived in St. Michael’s, Talbot county,Maryland, when I left there; and if heis still alive, he very probably lives there now; and ifso, he is now, as he was then, as highly esteemedand as much respected as though his guilty soulhad not been stained with his brother’s blood.

I speak advisedly when I say this,–that killinga slave, or any colored person, in Talbot county,Maryland, is not treated as a crime, either by thecourts or the community. Mr. Thomas Lanman, ofSt. Michael’s, killed two slaves, one of whom hekilled with a hatchet, by knocking his brains out. Heused to boast of the commission of the awful andbloody deed. I have heard him do so laughingly,saying, among other things, that he was the onlybenefactor of his country in the company, and thatwhen others would do as much as he had done, weshould be relieved of “the d—-d niggers.”

The wife of Mr. Giles Hicks, living but a shortdistance from where I used to live, murdered mywife’s cousin, a young girl between fifteen and sixteen years of age, mangling her person in the mosthorrible manner, breaking her nose and breastbonewith a stick, so that the poor girl expired in a fewhours afterward. She was immediately buried, buthad not been in her untimely grave but a few hoursbefore she was taken up and examined by the coroner, who decided that she had come to her deathby severe beating. The offence for which this girlwas thus murdered was this:–She had been setthat night to mind Mrs. Hicks’s baby, and during thenight she fell asleep, and the baby cried. She, havinglost her rest for several nights previous, did not hearthe crying. They were both in the room with Mrs.Hicks. Mrs. Hicks, finding the girl slow to move,jumped from her bed, seized an oak stick of woodby the fireplace, and with it broke the girl’s noseand breastbone, and thus ended her life. I will notsay that this most horrid murder produced no sensation in the community. It did produce sensation,but not enough to bring the murderess to punishment. There was a warrant issued for her arrest,but it was never served. Thus she escaped not onlypunishment, but even the pain of being arraignedbefore a court for her horrid crime.

Whilst I am detailing bloody deeds which tookplace during my stay on Colonel Lloyd’s plantation,I will briefly narrate another, which occurred aboutthe same time as the murder of Demby by Mr.Gore.

Colonel Lloyd’s slaves were in the habit of spending a part of their nights and Sundays in fishing foroysters, and in this way made up the deficiency oftheir scanty allowance. An old man belonging toColonel Lloyd, while thus engaged, happened to getbeyond the limits of Colonel Lloyd’s, and on thepremises of Mr. Beal Bondly. At this trespass, Mr.Bondly took offence, and with his musket camedown to the shore, and blew its deadly contentsinto the poor old man.

Mr. Bondly came over to see Colonel Lloyd thenext day, whether to pay him for his property, orto justify himself in what he had done, I know not.At any rate, this whole fiendish transaction was soonhushed up. There was very little said about it at all,and nothing done. It was a common saying, evenamong little white boys, that it was worth a halfcent to kill a “nigger,” and a half-cent to bury one.

 

Chapter 5

As to my own treatment while I lived on ColonelLloyd’s plantation, it was very similar to that of theother slave children. I was not old enough to work inthe field, and there being little else than field workto do, I had a great deal of leisure time. The mostI had to do was to drive up the cows at evening,keep the fowls out of the garden, keep the frontyard clean, and run of errands for my old master’sdaughter, Mrs. Lucretia Auld. The most of my leisure time I spent in helping Master Daniel Lloydin finding his birds, after he had shot them. Myconnection with Master Daniel was of some advantage to me. He became quite attached to me, andwas a sort of protector of me. He would not allowthe older boys to impose upon me, and would dividehis cakes with me.

I was seldom whipped by my old master, and suffered little from any thing else than hunger andcold. I suffered much from hunger, but much morefrom cold. In hottest summer and coldest winter, Iwas kept almost naked–no shoes, no stockings, nojacket, no trousers, nothing on but a coarse tow linenshirt, reaching only to my knees. I had no bed. Imust have perished with cold, but that, the coldestnights, I used to steal a bag which was used for carrying corn to the mill. I would crawl into this bag,and there sleep on the cold, damp, clay floor, withmy head in and feet out. My feet have been socracked with the frost, that the pen with which Iam writing might be laid in the gashes.

We were not regularly allowanced. Our food wascoarse corn meal boiled. This was called MUSH. Itwas put into a large wooden tray or trough, and setdown upon the ground. The children were thencalled, like so many pigs, and like so many pigs theywould come and devour the mush; some with oystershells, others with pieces of shingle, some with nakedhands, and none with spoons. He that ate fastestgot most; he that was strongest secured the bestplace; and few left the trough satisfied.

I was probably between seven and eight years oldwhen I left Colonel Lloyd’s plantation. I left it withjoy. I shall never forget the ecstasy with which Ireceived the intelligence that my old master (Anthony) had determined to let me go toBaltimore,to live with Mr. Hugh Auld, brother to my oldmaster’s son-in-law, Captain Thomas Auld. I received this information about three days before mydeparture. They were three of the happiest daysI ever enjoyed. I spent the most part of all thesethree days in the creek, washing off the plantationscurf, and preparing myself for my departure.

The pride of appearance which this would indicatewas not my own. I spent the time in washing, not somuch because I wished to, but because Mrs.Lucretia had told me I must get all the dead skinoff my feet and knees before I could go to Baltimore; for the people in Baltimore were very cleanly,and would laugh at me if I looked dirty. Besides,she was going to give me a pair of trousers, which Ishould not put on unless I got all the dirt off me.The thought of owning a pair of trousers was greatindeed! It was almost a sufficient motive, not onlyto make me take off what would be called by pigdrovers the mange, but the skin itself. I went at itin good earnest, working for the first time with thehope of reward.

The ties that ordinarily bind children to theirhomes were all suspended in my case. I found nosevere trial in my departure. My home was charmless; it was not home to me; on parting from it, Icould not feel that I was leaving any thing which Icould have enjoyed by staying. My mother was dead,my grandmother lived far off, so that I seldom sawher. I had two sisters and one brother, that lived inthe same house with me; but the early separation ofus from our mother had well nigh blotted the factof our relationship from our memories. I looked forhome elsewhere, and was confident of finding nonewhich I should relish less than the one which I wasleaving. If, however, I found in my new home hardship, hunger, whipping, and nakedness, I had theconsolation that I should not have escaped any oneof them by staying. Having already had more thana taste of them in the house of my old master, andhaving endured them there, I very naturally inferredmy ability to endure them elsewhere, and especiallyat Baltimore; for I had something of the feelingabout Baltimore that is expressed in the proverb,that “being hanged in England is preferable todying a natural death in Ireland.” I had the strongestdesire to seeBaltimore. Cousin Tom, though notfluent in speech, had inspired me with that desireby his eloquent description of the place. I couldnever point out any thing at the Great House, nomatter how beautiful or powerful, but that he hadseen something atBaltimorefar exceeding, both inbeauty and strength, the object which I pointed outto him. Even the Great House itself, with all itspictures, was far inferior to many buildings inBaltimore. So strong was my desire, that I thought agratification of it would fully compensate for whatever loss of comforts I should sustain by the exchange. I left without a regret, and with the highesthopes of future happiness.

We sailed out ofMilesRiverforBaltimoreon aSaturday morning. I remember only the day of theweek, for at that time I had no knowledge of thedays of the month, nor the months of the year. Onsetting sail, I walked aft, and gave to Colonel Lloyd’splantation what I hoped would be the last look. Ithen placed myself in the bows of the sloop, andthere spent the remainder of the day in lookingahead, interesting myself in what was in the distancerather than in things near by or behind.

In the afternoon of that day, we reachedAnnapolis, the capital of the State. We stopped but afew moments, so that I had no time to go on shore.It was the first large town that I had ever seen, andthough it would look small compared with some ofourNew Englandfactory villages, I thought it awonderful place for its size–more imposing eventhan the Great House Farm!

We arrived atBaltimoreearly on Sunday morning, landing at Smith’s Wharf, not far from Bowley’s Wharf. We had on board the sloop a largeflock of sheep; and after aiding in driving them tothe slaughterhouse of Mr. Curtis on Louden Slater’sHill, I was conducted by Rich, one of the handsbelonging on board of the sloop, to my new homeinAlliciana Street, near Mr. Gardner’s ship-yard, onFells Point.

Mr. and Mrs. Auld were both at home, and metme at the door with their little son Thomas, to takecare of whom I had been given. And here I saw whatI had never seen before; it was a white face beamingwith the most kindly emotions; it was the face ofmy new mistress, Sophia Auld. I wish I could describe the rapture that flashed through my soul as Ibeheld it. It was a new and strange sight to me,brightening up my pathway with the light of happiness. Little Thomas was told, there was his Freddy,–and I was told to take care of little Thomas; andthus I entered upon the duties of my new home withthe most cheering prospect ahead.

I look upon my departure from Colonel Lloyd’splantation as one of the most interesting events ofmy life. It is possible, and even quite probable, thatbut for the mere circumstance of being removedfrom that plantation to Baltimore, I should haveto-day, instead of being here seated by my own table,in the enjoyment of freedom and the happiness ofhome, writing this Narrative, been confined in thegalling chains of slavery. Going to live at Baltimorelaid the foundation, and opened the gateway, to allmy subsequent prosperity. I have ever regarded itas the first plain manifestation of that kind providence which has ever since attended me, and markedmy life with so many favors. I regarded the selectionof myself as being somewhat remarkable. There werea number of slave children that might have beensent from the plantation toBaltimore. There werethose younger, those older, and those of the sameage. I was chosen from among them all, and wasthe first, last, and only choice.

I may be deemed superstitious, and even egotistical, in regarding this event as a special interpositionof divineProvidencein my favor. But I should befalse to the earliest sentiments of my soul, if I suppressed the opinion. I prefer to be true to myself,even at the hazard of incurring the ridicule of others,rather than to be false, and incur my own abhorrence. From my earliest recollection, I date the entertainment of a deep conviction that slavery wouldnot always be able to hold me within its foul embrace; and in the darkest hours of my career in slavery, this living word of faith and spirit of hope departed not from me, but remained like ministeringangels to cheer me through the gloom. This goodspirit was from God, and to him I offer thanksgivingand praise.

Chapter 6

My new mistress proved to be all she appearedwhen I first met her at the door,–a woman of thekindest heart and finest feelings. She had never hada slave under her control previously to myself, andprior to her marriage she had been dependent uponher own industry for a living. She was by trade aweaver; and by constant application to her business,she had been in a good degree preserved from theblighting and dehumanizing effects of slavery. I wasutterly astonished at her goodness. I scarcely knewhow to behave towards her. She was entirely unlikeany other white woman I had ever seen. I could notapproach her as I was accustomed to approach otherwhite ladies. My early instruction was all out ofplace. The crouching servility, usually so acceptablea quality in a slave, did not answer when manifestedtoward her. Her favor was not gained by it; sheseemed to be disturbed by it. She did not deem itimpudent or unmannerly for a slave to look her inthe face. The meanest slave was put fully at easein her presence, and none left without feeling better for having seen her. Her face was made of heavenly smiles, and her voice of tranquil music.

But, alas! this kind heart had but a short time toremain such. The fatal poison of irresponsible powerwas already in her hands, and soon commenced itsinfernal work. That cheerful eye, under the influence of slavery, soon became red with rage; thatvoice, made all of sweet accord, changed to one ofharsh and horrid discord; and that angelic face gaveplace to that of a demon.

Very soon after I went to live with Mr. and Mrs.Auld, she very kindly commenced to teach me theA, B, C. After I had learned this, she assisted me inlearning to spell words of three or four letters. Justat this point of my progress, Mr. Auld found outwhat was going on, and at once forbade Mrs. Auldto instruct me further, telling her, among otherthings, that it was unlawful, as well as unsafe, toteach a slave to read. To use his own words, further,he said, “If you give a nigger an inch, he will takean ell. A nigger should know nothing but to obeyhis master–to do as he is told to do. Learning would~spoil~ the best nigger in the world. Now,” said he, “ifyou teach that nigger (speaking of myself) how toread, there would be no keeping him. It would forever unfit him to be a slave. He would at once become unmanageable, and of no value to his master.As to himself, it could do him no good, but a greatdeal of harm. It would make him discontented andunhappy.” These words sank deep into my heart,stirred up sentiments within that lay slumbering,and called into existence an entirely new train ofthought. It was a new and special revelation, explaining dark and mysterious things, with which myyouthful understanding had struggled, but struggledin vain. I now understood what had been to me amost perplexing difficulty–to wit, the white man’spower to enslave the black man. It was a grandachievement, and I prized it highly. From that moment, I understood the pathway from slavery to freedom. It was just what I wanted, and I got it at atime when I the least expected it. Whilst I was saddened by the thought of losing the aid of my kindmistress, I was gladdened by the invaluable instruction which, by the merest accident, I had gainedfrom my master. Though conscious of the difficultyof learning without a teacher, I set out with highhope, and a fixed purpose, at whatever cost of trouble, to learn how to read. The very decided mannerwith which he spoke, and strove to impress his wifewith the evil consequences of giving me instruction,served to convince me that he was deeply sensibleof the truths he was uttering. It gave me the bestassurance that I might rely with the utmost confidence on the results which, he said, would flow fromteaching me to read. What he most dreaded, thatI most desired. What he most loved, that I mosthated. That which to him was a great evil, to becarefully shunned, was to me a great good, to bediligently sought; and the argument which he sowarmly urged, against my learning to read, onlyserved to inspire me with a desire and determination to learn. In learning to read, I owe almost asmuch to the bitter opposition of my master, as tothe kindly aid of my mistress. I acknowledge thebenefit of both.

I had resided but a short time inBaltimorebeforeI observed a marked difference, in the treatment ofslaves, from that which I had witnessed in the country. A city slave is almost a freeman, compared witha slave on the plantation. He is much better fed andclothed, and enjoys privileges altogether unknownto the slave on the plantation. There is a vestige ofdecency, a sense of shame, that does much to curband check those outbreaks of atrocious cruelty socommonly enacted upon the plantation. He is a desperate slaveholder, who will shock the humanity ofhis non-slaveholding neighbors with the cries of hislacerated slave. Few are willing to incur the odiumattaching to the reputation of being a cruel master;and above all things, they would not be known asnot giving a slave enough to eat. Every city slaveholder is anxious to have it known of him, that hefeeds his slaves well; and it is due to them to say,that most of them do give their slaves enough to eat.There are, however, some painful exceptions to thisrule. Directly opposite to us, onPhilpot Street, livedMr. Thomas Hamilton. He owned two slaves. Theirnames were Henrietta and Mary. Henrietta wasabout twenty-two years of age, Mary was about fourteen; and of all the mangled and emaciated creaturesI ever looked upon, these two were the most so. Hisheart must be harder than stone, that could lookupon these unmoved. The head, neck, and shouldersof Mary were literally cut to pieces. I have frequently felt her head, and found it nearly coveredwith festering sores, caused by the lash of her cruelmistress. I do not know that her master ever whippedher, but I have been an eye-witness to the cruelty ofMrs.Hamilton. I used to be in Mr. Hamilton’s housenearly every day. Mrs. Hamilton used to sit in a largechair in the middle of the room, with a heavy cowskin always by her side, and scarce an hour passedduring the day but was marked by the blood of oneof these slaves. The girls seldom passed her withouther saying, “Move faster, you ~black gip!~” at the sametime giving them a blow with the cowskin over thehead or shoulders, often drawing the blood. Shewould then say, “Take that, you ~black gip!~” continuing, “If you don’t move faster, I’ll move you!”Added to the cruel lashings to which these slaveswere subjected, they were kept nearly half-starved.They seldom knew what it was to eat a full meal.I have seen Mary contending with the pigs for theoffal thrown into the street. So much was Marykicked and cut to pieces, that she was oftener called”~pecked~” than by her name.

Chapter 7

I lived in Master Hugh’s family about seven years.During this time, I succeeded in learning to read andwrite. In accomplishing this, I was compelled to resort to various stratagems. I had no regular teacher.My mistress, who had kindly commenced to instructme, had, in compliance with the advice and direction of her husband, not only ceased to instruct, buthad set her face against my being instructed by anyone else. It is due, however, to my mistress to sayof her, that she did not adopt this course of treatment immediately. She at first lacked the depravityindispensable to shutting me up in mental darkness.It was at least necessary for her to have some trainingin the exercise of irresponsible power, to make herequal to the task of treating me as though I werea brute.

My mistress was, as I have said, a kind and tenderhearted woman; and in the simplicity of her soul shecommenced, when I first went to live with her, totreat me as she supposed one human being oughtto treat another. In entering upon the duties of aslaveholder, she did not seem to perceive that I sustained to her the relation of a mere chattel, andthat for her to treat me as a human being was notonly wrong, but dangerously so. Slavery proved asinjurious to her as it did to me. When I went there,she was a pious, warm, and tender-hearted woman.There was no sorrow or suffering for which she hadnot a tear. She had bread for the hungry, clothes forthe naked, and comfort for every mourner that camewithin her reach. Slavery soon proved its ability todivest her of these heavenly qualities. Under its influence, the tender heart became stone, and thelamblike disposition gave way to one of tiger-likefierceness. The first step in her downward course wasin her ceasing to instruct me. She now commencedto practise her husband’s precepts. She finally became even more violent in her opposition than herhusband himself. She was not satisfied with simplydoing as well as he had commanded; she seemedanxious to do better. Nothing seemed to make hermore angry than to see me with a newspaper. Sheseemed to think that here lay the danger. I have hadher rush at me with a face made all up of fury, andsnatch from me a newspaper, in a manner that fullyrevealed her apprehension. She was an apt woman;and a little experience soon demonstrated, to hersatisfaction, that education and slavery were incompatible with each other.

From this time I was most narrowly watched. If Iwas in a separate room any considerable length oftime, I was sure to be suspected of having a book,and was at once called to give an account of myself.All this, however, was too late. The first step hadbeen taken. Mistress, in teaching me the alphabet,had given me the ~inch,~ and no precaution could prevent me from taking the ~ell.~

The plan which I adopted, and the one by whichI was most successful, was that of making friends ofall the little white boys whom I met in the street.As many of these as I could, I converted into teachers. With their kindly aid, obtained at different timesand in different places, I finally succeeded in learning to read. When I was sent of errands, I alwaystook my book with me, and by going one part ofmy errand quickly, I found time to get a lesson before my return. I used also to carry bread with me,enough of which was always in the house, and towhich I was always welcome; for I was much betteroff in this regard than many of the poor white children in our neighborhood. This bread I used to bestow upon the hungry little urchins, who, in return,would give me that more valuable bread of knowledge. I am strongly tempted to give the names oftwo or three of those little boys, as a testimonial ofthe gratitude and affection I bear them; but prudence forbids;–not that it would injure me, but itmight embarrass them; for it is almost an unpardonable offence to teach slaves to read in this Christian country. It is enough to say of the dear littlefellows, that they lived onPhilpot Street, very nearDurgin and Bailey’s ship-yard. I used to talk thismatter of slavery over with them. I would sometimessay to them, I wished I could be as free as theywould be when they got to be men. “You will befree as soon as you are twenty-one, ~but I am a slavefor life!~ Have not I as good a right to be free asyou have?” These words used to trouble them; theywould express for me the liveliest sympathy, and console me with the hope that something would occurby which I might be free.

I was now about twelve years old, and the thoughtof being ~a slave for life~ began to bear heavily uponmy heart. Just about this time, I got hold of a bookentitled “The Columbian Orator.” Every opportunity I got, I used to read this book. Among much ofother interesting matter, I found in it a dialogue between a master and his slave. The slave was represented as having run away from his master threetimes. The dialogue represented the conversationwhich took place between them, when the slave wasretaken the third time. In this dialogue, the wholeargument in behalf of slavery was brought forwardby the master, all of which was disposed of by theslave. The slave was made to say some very smart aswell as impressive things in reply to his master-things which had the desired though unexpected effect; for the conversation resulted in the voluntaryemancipation of the slave on the part of the master.

In the same book, I met with one of Sheridan’smighty speeches on and in behalf of Catholic emancipation. These were choice documents to me. I readthem over and over again with unabated interest.They gave tongue to interesting thoughts of my ownsoul, which had frequently flashed through my mind,and died away for want of utterance. The moralwhich I gained from the dialogue was the power oftruth over the conscience of even a slaveholder. WhatI got from Sheridan was a bold denunciation of slavery, and a powerful vindication of human rights.The reading of these documents enabled me toutter my thoughts, and to meet the argumentsbrought forward to sustain slavery; but while theyrelieved me of one difficulty, they brought on another even more painful than the one of which I wasrelieved. The more I read, the more I was led toabhor and detest my enslavers. I could regard themin no other light than a band of successful robbers,who had left their homes, and gone toAfrica, andstolen us from our homes, and in a strange landreduced us to slavery. I loathed them as being themeanest as well as the most wicked of men. As Iread and contemplated the subject, behold! that verydiscontentment which Master Hugh had predictedwould follow my learning to read had already come,to torment and sting my soul to unutterable anguish.As I writhed under it, I would at times feel thatlearning to read had been a curse rather than a blessing. It had given me a view of my wretched condition, without the remedy. It opened my eyes to thehorrible pit, but to no ladder upon which to get out.In moments of agony, I envied my fellow-slaves fortheir stupidity. I have often wished myself a beast.I preferred the condition of the meanest reptile tomy own. Any thing, no matter what, to get rid ofthinking! It was this everlasting thinking of my condition that tormented me. There was no getting ridof it. It was pressed upon me by every object withinsight or hearing, animate or inanimate. The silvertrump of freedom had roused my soul to eternalwakefulness. Freedom now appeared, to disappearno more forever. It was heard in every sound, andseen in every thing. It was ever present to tormentme with a sense of my wretched condition. I sawnothing without seeing it, I heard nothing withouthearing it, and felt nothing without feeling it. Itlooked from every star, it smiled in every calm,breathed in every wind, and moved in every storm.

I often found myself regretting my own existence,and wishing myself dead; and but for the hope ofbeing free, I have no doubt but that I should havekilled myself, or done something for which I shouldhave been killed. While in this state of mind, I waseager to hear any one speak of slavery. I was a readylistener. Every little while, I could hear somethingabout the abolitionists. It was some time before Ifound what the word meant. It was always used insuch connections as to make it an interesting wordto me. If a slave ran away and succeeded in gettingclear, or if a slave killed his master, set fire to abarn, or did any thing very wrong in the mind of aslaveholder, it was spoken of as the fruit of ~abolition.~Hearing the word in this connection very often, I setabout learning what it meant. The dictionary afforded me little or no help. I found it was “the actof abolishing;” but then I did not know what wasto be abolished. Here I was perplexed. I did notdare to ask any one about its meaning, for I wassatisfied that it was something they wanted me toknow very little about. After a patient waiting, I gotone of our city papers, containing an account of thenumber of petitions from the north, praying for theabolition of slavery in the District of Columbia, andof the slave trade between the States. From thistime I understood the words ~abolition~ and ~abolitionist,~ and always drew near when that word was spoken,expecting to hear something of importance to myself and fellow-slaves. The light broke in upon meby degrees. I went one day down on the wharf ofMr. Waters; and seeing two Irishmen unloading ascow of stone, I went, unasked, and helped them.When we had finished, one of them came to meand asked me if I were a slave. I told him I was. Heasked, “Are ye a slave for life?” I told him that Iwas. The good Irishman seemed to be deeply affected by the statement. He said to the other thatit was a pity so fine a little fellow as myself shouldbe a slave for life. He said it was a shame to holdme. They both advised me to run away to the north;that I should find friends there, and that I shouldbe free. I pretended not to be interested in whatthey said, and treated them as if I did not understand them; for I feared they might be treacherous.White men have been known to encourage slaves toescape, and then, to get the reward, catch them andreturn them to their masters. I was afraid that theseseemingly good men might use me so; but I nevertheless remembered their advice, and from that timeI resolved to run away. I looked forward to a timeat which it would be safe for me to escape. I wastoo young to think of doing so immediately; besides,I wished to learn how to write, as I might have occasion to write my own pass. I consoled myself withthe hope that I should one day find a good chance.Meanwhile, I would learn to write.

The idea as to how I might learn to write wassuggested to me by being in Durgin and Bailey’sship-yard, and frequently seeing the ship carpenters,after hewing, and getting a piece of timber readyfor use, write on the timber the name of that partof the ship for which it was intended. When a pieceof timber was intended for the larboard side, itwould be marked thus–“L.” When a piece was forthe starboard side, it would be marked thus–“S.” Apiece for the larboard side forward, would be markedthus–“L. F.” When a piece was for starboard sideforward, it would be marked thus–“S. F.” For larboard aft, it would be marked thus–“L. A.” For starboard aft, it would be marked thus–“S. A.” I soonlearned the names of these letters, and for whatthey were intended when placed upon a piece oftimber in the ship-yard. I immediately commencedcopying them, and in a short time was able to makethe four letters named. After that, when I met withany boy who I knew could write, I would tell himI could write as well as he. The next word would be,”I don’t believe you. Let me see you try it.” I wouldthen make the letters which I had been so fortunateas to learn, and ask him to beat that. In this way Igot a good many lessons in writing, which it is quitepossible I should never have gotten in any other way.During this time, my copy-book was the board fence,brick wall, and pavement; my pen and ink was alump of chalk. With these, I learned mainly how towrite. I then commenced and continued copying theItalics in Webster’s Spelling Book, until I could makethem all without looking on the book. By this time,my little Master Thomas had gone to school, andlearned how to write, and had written over a numberof copy-books. These had been brought home, andshown to some of our near neighbors, and then laidaside. My mistress used to go to class meeting attheWilk Streetmeetinghouse every Monday afternoon, and leave me to take care of the house. Whenleft thus, I used to spend the time in writing in thespaces left in Master Thomas’s copy-book, copyingwhat he had written. I continued to do this until Icould write a hand very similar to that of MasterThomas. Thus, after a long, tedious effort for years,I finally succeeded in learning how to write.

Chapter 8

In a very short time after I went to live at Baltimore, my old master’s youngest son Richard died;and in about three years and six months after hisdeath, my old master, Captain Anthony, died, leavonly his son, Andrew, and daughter, Lucretia, toshare his estate. He died while on a visit to see hisdaughter at Hillsborough. Cut off thus unexpectedly,he left no will as to the disposal of his property. Itwas therefore necessary to have a valuation of theproperty, that it might be equally divided betweenMrs. Lucretia and Master Andrew. I was immediately sent for, to be valued with the other property.Here again my feelings rose up in detestation ofslavery. I had now a new conception of my degradedcondition. Prior to this, I had become, if not insensible to my lot, at least partly so. I left Baltimorewith a young heart overborne with sadness, and asoul full of apprehension. I took passage with Captain Rowe, in the schooner Wild Cat, and, after asail of about twenty-four hours, I found myself nearthe place of my birth. I had now been absent fromit almost, if not quite, five years. I, however, remembered the place very well. I was only aboutfive years old when I left it, to go and live with myold master on Colonel Lloyd’s plantation; so thatI was now between ten and eleven years old.

We were all ranked together at the valuation. Menand women, old and young, married and single, wereranked with horses, sheep, and swine. There werehorses and men, cattle and women, pigs and children, all holding the same rank in the scale of being,and were all subjected to the same narrow examination. Silvery-headed age and sprightly youth, maidsand matrons, had to undergo the same indelicateinspection. At this moment, I saw more clearly thanever the brutalizing effects of slavery upon bothslave and slaveholder.

After the valuation, then came the division. I haveno language to express the high excitement and deepanxiety which were felt among us poor slaves duringthis time. Our fate for life was now to be decided.we had no more voice in that decision than thebrutes among whom we were ranked. A single wordfrom the white men was enough–against all ourwishes, prayers, and entreaties–to sunder forever thedearest friends, dearest kindred, and strongest tiesknown to human beings. In addition to the pain ofseparation, there was the horrid dread of falling intothe hands of Master Andrew. He was known to usall as being a most cruel wretch,–a common drunkard, who had, by his reckless mismanagement andprofligate dissipation, already wasted a large portion of his father’s property. We all felt that wemight as well be sold at once to the Georgia traders,as to pass into his hands; for we knew that thatwould be our inevitable condition,–a condition heldby us all in the utmost horror and dread.

I suffered more anxiety than most of my fellowslaves. I had known what it was to be kindly treated;they had known nothing of the kind. They had seenlittle or nothing of the world. They were in verydeed men and women of sorrow, and acquainted withgrief. Their backs had been made familiar with thebloody lash, so that they had become callous; minewas yet tender; for while at Baltimore I got few whippings, and few slaves could boast of a kinder masterand mistress than myself; and the thought of passing out of their hands into those of Master Andrew-a man who, but a few days before, to give me asample of his bloody disposition, took my littlebrother by the throat, threw him on the ground, andwith the heel of his boot stamped upon his headtill the blood gushed from his nose and ears–waswell calculated to make me anxious as to my fate.After he had committed this savage outrage uponmy brother, he turned to me, and said that was theway he meant to serve me one of these days,–meaning, I suppose, when I came into his possession.

Thanks to a kindProvidence, I fell to the portionof Mrs. Lucretia, and was sent immediately backtoBaltimore, to live again in the family of MasterHugh. Their joy at my return equalled their sorrowat my departure. It was a glad day to me. I hadescaped a worse than lion’s jaws. I was absent fromBaltimore, for the purpose of valuation and division,just about one month, and it seemed to have beensix.

Very soon after my return to Baltimore, my mistress, Lucretia, died, leaving her husband and onechild, Amanda; and in a very short time after herdeath, Master Andrew died. Now all the propertyof my old master, slaves included, was in the handsof strangers,–strangers who had had nothing to dowith accumulating it. Not a slave was left free. Allremained slaves, from the youngest to the oldest. Ifany one thing in my experience, more than another,served to deepen my conviction of the infernal character of slavery, and to fill me with unutterableloathing of slaveholders, it was their base ingratitude to my poor old grandmother. She had servedmy old master faithfully from youth to old age. Shehad been the source of all his wealth; she had peopled his plantation with slaves; she had become agreat grandmother in his service. She had rockedhim in infancy, attended him in childhood, servedhim through life, and at his death wiped from hisicy brow the cold death-sweat, and closed his eyesforever. She was nevertheless left a slave–a slave forlife–a slave in the hands of strangers; and in theirhands she saw her children, her grandchildren, andher great-grandchildren, divided, like so many sheep,without being gratified with the small privilege of asingle word, as to their or her own destiny. And, tocap the climax of their base ingratitude and fiendishbarbarity, my grandmother, who was now very old,having outlived my old master and all his children,having seen the beginning and end of all of them,and her present owners finding she was of but littlevalue, her frame already racked with the pains of oldage, and complete helplessness fast stealing over heronce active limbs, they took her to the woods, builther a little hut, put up a little mud-chimney, andthen made her welcome to the privilege of supporting herself there in perfect loneliness; thus virtuallyturning her out to die! If my poor old grandmothernow lives, she lives to suffer in utter loneliness; shelives to remember and mourn over the loss of children, the loss of grandchildren, and the loss of greatgrandchildren. They are, in the language of theslave’s poet,Whittier,–

“Gone, gone, sold and gone

To the rice swamp dank and lone,

Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings,

Where the noisome insect stings,

Where the fever-demon strews

Poison with the falling dews,

Where the sickly sunbeams glare

Through the hot and misty air:–

Gone, gone, sold and gone

To the rice swamp dank and lone,

FromVirginiahills and waters–

Woe is me, my stolen daughters!”

The hearth is desolate. The children, the unconscious children, who once sang and danced in herpresence, are gone. She gropes her way, in the darkness of age, for a drink of water. Instead of the voicesof her children, she hears by day the moans of thedove, and by night the screams of the hideous owl.All is gloom. The grave is at the door. And now,when weighed down by the pains and aches of oldage, when the head inclines to the feet, when thebeginning and ending of human existence meet, andhelpless infancy and painful old age combine together–at this time, this most needful time, the timefor the exercise of that tenderness and affectionwhich children only can exercise towards a decliningparent–my poor old grandmother, the devotedmother of twelve children, is left all alone, in yonderlittle hut, before a few dim embers. She stands-she sits–she staggers–she falls–she groans–she dies–and there are none of her children or grandchildrenpresent, to wipe from her wrinkled brow the coldsweat of death, or to place beneath the sod herfallen remains. Will not a righteous God visit forthese things?

In about two years after the death of Mrs. Lucretia, Master Thomas married his second wife. Hername was Rowena Hamilton. She was the eldestdaughter of Mr. William Hamilton. Master nowlived in St. Michael’s. Not long after his marriage,a misunderstanding took place between himself andMaster Hugh; and as a means of punishing hisbrother, he took me from him to live with himselfat St. Michael’s. Here I underwent another mostpainful separation. It, however, was not so severeas the one I dreaded at the division of property; for,during this interval, a great change had taken placein Master Hugh and his once kind and affectionatewife. The influence of brandy upon him, and ofslavery upon her, had effected a disastrous changein the characters of both; so that, as far as theywere concerned, I thought I had little to lose by thechange. But it was not to them that I was attached.It was to those littleBaltimoreboys that I felt thestrongest attachment. I had received many goodlessons from them, and was still receiving them, andthe thought of leaving them was painful indeed. Iwas leaving, too, without the hope of ever beingallowed to return. Master Thomas had said he wouldnever let me return again. The barrier betwixt himself and brother he considered impassable.

I then had to regret that I did not at least makethe attempt to carry out my resolution to run away;for the chances of success are tenfold greater fromthe city than from the country.

I sailed fromBaltimorefor St. Michael’s in thesloop Amanda, Captain Edward Dodson. On mypassage, I paid particular attention to the directionwhich the steamboats took to go toPhiladelphia. Ifound, instead of going down, on reaching NorthPoint they went up the bay, in a north-easterly direction. I deemed this knowledge of the utmost importance. My determination to run away was againrevived. I resolved to wait only so long as the offeringof a favorable opportunity. When that came, I wasdetermined to be off.

Chapter 9

I have now reached a period of my life when Ican give dates. I leftBaltimore, and went to livewith Master Thomas Auld, at St. Michael’s, inMarch, 1832. It was now more than seven yearssince I lived with him in the family of my old master, on Colonel Lloyd’s plantation. We of coursewere now almost entire strangers to each other. Hewas to me a new master, and I to him a new slave.I was ignorant of his temper and disposition; hewas equally so of mine. A very short time, however,brought us into full acquaintance with each other.I was made acquainted with his wife not less thanwith himself. They were well matched, being equallymean and cruel. I was now, for the first time duringa space of more than seven years, made to feel thepainful gnawings of hunger–a something which Ihad not experienced before since I left ColonelLloyd’s plantation. It went hard enough with methen, when I could look back to no period at whichI had enjoyed a sufficiency. It was tenfold harderafter living in Master Hugh’s family, where I hadalways had enough to eat, and of that which wasgood. I have said Master Thomas was a mean man.He was so. Not to give a slave enough to eat, isregarded as the most aggravated development ofmeanness even among slaveholders. The rule is, nomatter how coarse the food, only let there be enoughof it. This is the theory; and in the part of Marylandfrom which I came, it is the general practice,–thoughthere are many exceptions. Master Thomas gave usenough of neither coarse nor fine food. There werefour slaves of us in the kitchen–my sister Eliza, myaunt Priscilla, Henny, and myself; and we were allowed less than a half of a bushel of corn-meal perweek, and very little else, either in the shape ofmeat or vegetables. It was not enough for us tosubsist upon. We were therefore reduced to thewretched necessity of living at the expense of ourneighbors. This we did by begging and stealing,whichever came handy in the time of need, the onebeing considered as legitimate as the other. A greatmany times have we poor creatures been nearlyperishing with hunger, when food in abundance laymouldering in the safe and smoke-house, and ourpious mistress was aware of the fact; and yet thatmistress and her husband would kneel every morning, and pray that God would bless them in basketand store!

Bad as all slaveholders are, we seldom meet onedestitute of every element of character commandingrespect. My master was one of this rare sort. I donot know of one single noble act ever performed byhim. The leading trait in his character was meanness; and if there were any other element in hisnature, it was made subject to this. He was mean;and, like most other mean men, he lacked the abilityto conceal his meanness. Captain Auld was not borna slaveholder. He had been a poor man, master onlyof a Bay craft. He came into possession of all hisslaves by marriage; and of all men, adopted slaveholders are the worst. He was cruel, but cowardly.He commanded without firmness. In the enforcement of his rules, he was at times rigid, and at timeslax. At times, he spoke to his slaves with the firmnessof Napoleon and the fury of a demon; at other times,he might well be mistaken for an inquirer who hadlost his way. He did nothing of himself. He mighthave passed for a lion, but for his ears. In all thingsnoble which he attempted, his own meanness shonemost conspicuous. His airs, words, and actions,were the airs, words, and actions of born slaveholders, and, being assumed, were awkward enough.He was not even a good imitator. He possessed allthe disposition to deceive, but wanted the power.Having no resources within himself, he was compelled to be the copyist of many, and being such, hewas forever the victim of inconsistency; and of consequence he was an object of contempt, and was heldas such even by his slaves. The luxury of havingslaves of his own to wait upon him was somethingnew and unprepared for. He was a slaveholder without the ability to hold slaves. He found himself incapable of managing his slaves either by force, fear,or fraud. We seldom called him “master;” we generally called him “Captain Auld,” and were hardlydisposed to title him at all. I doubt not that ourconduct had much to do with making him appearawkward, and of consequence fretful. Our want ofreverence for him must have perplexed him greatly.He wished to have us call him master, but lackedthe firmness necessary to command us to do so. Hiswife used to insist upon our calling him so, but tono purpose. In August, 1832, my master attended aMethodist camp-meeting held in the Bay-side, Talbot county, and there experienced religion. I indulged a faint hope that his conversion would leadhim to emancipate his slaves, and that, if he did notdo this, it would, at any rate, make him more kindand humane. I was disappointed in both these respects. It neither made him to be humane to hisslaves, nor to emancipate them. If it had any effecton his character, it made him more cruel and hatefulin all his ways; for I believe him to have been a muchworse man after his conversion than before. Priorto his conversion, he relied upon his own depravityto shield and sustain him in his savage barbarity;but after his conversion, he found religious sanctionand support for his slaveholding cruelty. He madethe greatest pretensions to piety. His house was thehouse of prayer. He prayed morning, noon, andnight. He very soon distinguished himself amonghis brethren, and was soon made a class-leader andexhorter. His activity in revivals was great, and heproved himself an instrument in the hands of thechurch in converting many souls. His house was thepreachers’ home. They used to take great pleasurein coming there to put up; for while he starved us, hestuffed them. We have had three or four preachersthere at a time. The names of those who used tocome most frequently while I lived there, were Mr.Storks, Mr. Ewery, Mr. Humphry, and Mr. Hickey.I have also seen Mr. George Cookman at our house.We slaves loved Mr. Cookman. We believed him tobe a good man. We thought him instrumental in getting Mr. Samuel Harrison, a very rich slaveholder, toemancipate his slaves; and by some means got theimpression that he was laboring to effect the emancipation of all the slaves. When he was at our house,we were sure to be called in to prayers. When theothers were there, we were sometimes called in andsometimes not. Mr. Cookman took more notice ofus than either of the other ministers. He could notcome among us without betraying his sympathy forus, and, stupid as we were, we had the sagacity tosee it.

While I lived with my master in St. Michael’s,there was a white young man, a Mr. Wilson, whoproposed to keep a Sabbath school for the instructionof such slaves as might be disposed to learn to readthe New Testament. We met but three times, whenMr. West and Mr. Fairbanks, both class-leaders,with many others, came upon us with sticks andother missiles, drove us off, and forbade us to meetagain. Thus ended our little Sabbath school in thepious town ofSt. Michael’s.

I have said my master found religious sanctionfor his cruelty. As an example, I will state one ofmany facts going to prove the charge. I have seenhim tie up a lame young woman, and whip her witha heavy cowskin upon her naked shoulders, causingthe warm red blood to drip; and, in justificationof the bloody deed, he would quote this passage ofScripture–“He that knoweth his master’s will, anddoeth it not, shall be beaten with many stripes.”

Master would keep this lacerated young womantied up in this horrid situation four or five hours ata time. I have known him to tie her up early in themorning, and whip her before breakfast; leave her,go to his store, return at dinner, and whip her again,cutting her in the places already made raw with hiscruel lash. The secret of master’s cruelty toward”Henny” is found in the fact of her being almosthelpless. When quite a child, she fell into the fire,and burned herself horribly. Her hands were soburnt that she never got the use of them. She coulddo very little but bear heavy burdens. She was tomaster a bill of expense; and as he was a mean man,she was a constant offence to him. He seemeddesirous of getting the poor girl out of existence.He gave her away once to his sister; but, being apoor gift, she was not disposed to keep her. Finally,my benevolent master, to use his own words, “sether adrift to take care of herself.” Here was a recently-converted man, holding on upon the mother,and at the same time turning out her helpless child,to starve and die! Master Thomas was one of themany pious slaveholders who hold slaves for thevery charitable purpose of taking care of them.

My master and myself had quite a number ofdifferences. He found me unsuitable to his purpose.My city life, he said, had had a very pernicious effectupon me. It had almost ruined me for every goodpurpose, and fitted me for every thing which wasbad. One of my greatest faults was that of lettinghis horse run away, and go down to his father-inlaw’s farm, which was about five miles from St.Michael’s. I would then have to go after it. Myreason for this kind of carelessness, or carefulness,was, that I could always get something to eat whenI went there. Master William Hamilton, my master’sfather-in-law, always gave his slaves enough to eat.I never left there hungry, no matter how great theneed of my speedy return. Master Thomas at lengthsaid he would stand it no longer. I had lived withhim nine months, during which time he had givenme a number of severe whippings, all to no goodpurpose. He resolved to put me out, as he said, tobe broken; and, for this purpose, he let me for oneyear to a man named Edward Covey. Mr. Coveywas a poor man, a farm-renter. He rented the placeupon which he lived, as also the hands with whichhe tilled it. Mr. Covey had acquired a very highreputation for breaking young slaves, and this reputation was of immense value to him. It enabled himto get his farm tilled with much less expense tohimself than he could have had it done withoutsuch a reputation. Some slaveholders thought it notmuch loss to allow Mr. Covey to have their slavesone year, for the sake of the training to which theywere subjected, without any other compensation.He could hire young help with great ease, in consequence of this reputation. Added to the naturalgood qualities of Mr. Covey, he was a professor ofreligion–a pious soul–a member and a class-leader inthe Methodist church. All of this added weight tohis reputation as a “nigger-breaker.” I was aware ofall the facts, having been made acquainted withthem by a young man who had lived there. I nevertheless made the change gladly; for I was sure ofgetting enough to eat, which is not the smallestconsideration to a hungry man.

Chapter 10

I had left Master Thomas’s house, and went to livewith Mr. Covey, on the 1st of January, 1833. I wasnow, for the first time in my life, a field hand. Inmy new employment, I found myself even moreawkward than a country boy appeared to be in alarge city. I had been at my new home but oneweek before Mr. Covey gave me a very severe whipping, cutting my back, causing the blood to run,and raising ridges on my flesh as large as my little finger.The details of this affair are as follows: Mr. Coveysent me, very early in the morning of one of ourcoldest days in the month of January, to the woods,to get a load of wood. He gave me a team of unbroken oxen. He told me which was the in-hand ox,and which the off-hand one. He then tied the endof a large rope around the horns of the in-hand ox,and gave me the other end of it, and told me, ifthe oxen started to run, that I must hold on uponthe rope. I had never driven oxen before, and ofcourse I was very awkward. I, however, succeeded ingetting to the edge of the woods with little difficulty; but I had got a very few rods into the woods,when the oxen took fright, and started full tilt, carrying the cart against trees, and over stumps, in themost frightful manner. I expected every momentthat my brains would be dashed out against thetrees. After running thus for a considerable distance, they finally upset the cart, dashing it withgreat force against a tree, and threw themselves intoa dense thicket. How I escaped death, I do notknow. There I was, entirely alone, in a thick wood,in a place new to me. My cart was upset and shattered, my oxen were entangled among the youngtrees, and there was none to help me. After a longspell of effort, I succeeded in getting my cart righted,my oxen disentangled, and again yoked to the cart.I now proceeded with my team to the place whereI had, the day before, been chopping wood, andloaded my cart pretty heavily, thinking in this wayto tame my oxen. I then proceeded on my wayhome. I had now consumed one half of the day. Igot out of the woods safely, and now felt out ofdanger. I stopped my oxen to open the woods gate;and just as I did so, before I could get hold of myox-rope, the oxen again started, rushed through thegate, catching it between the wheel and the body ofthe cart, tearing it to pieces, and coming within afew inches of crushing me against the gate-post. Thustwice, in one short day, I escaped death by themerest chance. On my return, I told Mr. Coveywhat had happened, and how it happened. He ordered me to return to the woods again immediately.I did so, and he followed on after me. Just as I gotinto the woods, he came up and told me to stop mycart, and that he would teach me how to trifle awaymy time, and break gates. He then went to a largegum-tree, and with his axe cut three large switches,and, after trimming them up neatly with his pocketknife, he ordered me to take off my clothes. I madehim no answer, but stood with my clothes on. Herepeated his order. I still made him no answer, nordid I move to strip myself. Upon this he rushedat me with the fierceness of a tiger, tore off myclothes, and lashed me till he had worn out hisswitches, cutting me so savagely as to leave the marksvisible for a long time after. This whipping was thefirst of a number just like it, and for similar offences.

I lived with Mr. Covey one year. During the firstsix months, of that year, scarce a week passed without his whipping me. I was seldom free from a soreback. My awkwardness was almost always his excuse for whipping me. We were worked fully upto the point of endurance. Long before day we wereup, our horses fed, and by the first approach of daywe were off to the field with our hoes and ploughing teams. Mr. Covey gave us enough to eat, butscarce time to eat it. We were often less than fiveminutes taking our meals. We were often in the fieldfrom the first approach of day till its last lingeringray had left us; and at saving-fodder time, midnightoften caught us in the field binding blades.

Covey would be out with us. The way he used tostand it, was this. He would spend the most of hisafternoons in bed. He would then come out freshin the evening, ready to urge us on with his words,example, and frequently with the whip. Mr. Coveywas one of the few slaveholders who could and didwork with his hands. He was a hard-working man.He knew by himself just what a man or a boy coulddo. There was no deceiving him. His work went onin his absence almost as well as in his presence; andhe had the faculty of making us feel that he wasever present with us. This he did by surprising us.He seldom approached the spot where we were atwork openly, if he could do it secretly. He alwaysaimed at taking us by surprise. Such was his cunning,that we used to call him, among ourselves, “thesnake.” When we were at work in the cornfield, hewould sometimes crawl on his hands and knees toavoid detection, and all at once he would risenearly in our midst, and scream out, “Ha, ha!Come, come! Dash on, dash on!” This being hismode of attack, it was never safe to stop a singleminute. His comings were like a thief in the night.He appeared to us as being ever at hand. He wasunder every tree, behind every stump, in every bush,and at every window, on the plantation. He wouldsometimes mount his horse, as if bound to St. Michael’s, a distance of seven miles, and in half anhour afterwards you would see him coiled up inthe corner of the wood-fence, watching every motionof the slaves. He would, for this purpose, leave hishorse tied up in the woods. Again, he would sometimes walk up to us, and give us orders as thoughhe was upon the point of starting on a long journey,turn his back upon us, and make as though he wasgoing to the house to get ready; and, before he wouldget half way thither, he would turn short and crawlinto a fence-corner, or behind some tree, and therewatch us till the going down of the sun.

Mr. Covey’s FORTE consisted in his power to deceive. His life was devoted to planning and perpetrating the grossest deceptions. Every thing he possessed in the shape of learning or religion, he madeconform to his disposition to deceive. He seemedto think himself equal to deceiving the Almighty.He would make a short prayer in the morning, anda long prayer at night; and, strange as it may seem,few men would at times appear more devotionalthan he. The exercises of his family devotions werealways commenced with singing; and, as he was avery poor singer himself, the duty of raising thehymn generally came upon me. He would read hishymn, and nod at me to commence. I would attimes do so; at others, I would not. My non-compliance would almost always produce much confusion. To show himself independent of me, he wouldstart and stagger through with his hymn in the mostdiscordant manner. In this state of mind, he prayedwith more than ordinary spirit. Poor man! such washis disposition, and success at deceiving, I do verilybelieve that he sometimes deceived himself into thesolemn belief, that he was a sincere worshipper ofthe most high God; and this, too, at a time whenhe may be said to have been guilty of compellinghis woman slave to commit the sin of adultery. Thefacts in the case are these: Mr. Covey was a poorman; he was just commencing in life; he was onlyable to buy one slave; and, shocking as is the fact,he bought her, as he said, for A BREEDER. This womanwas named Caroline. Mr. Covey bought her fromMr. Thomas Lowe, about six miles from St. Michael’s. She was a large, able-bodied woman, abouttwenty years old. She had already given birth to onechild, which proved her to be just what he wanted.After buying her, he hired a married man of Mr.Samuel Harrison, to live with him one year; and himhe used to fasten up with her every night! The result was, that, at the end of the year, the miserablewoman gave birth to twins. At this result Mr. Coveyseemed to be highly pleased, both with the man andthe wretched woman. Such was his joy, and that ofhis wife, that nothing they could do for Carolineduring her confinement was too good, or too hard,to be done. The children were regarded as beingquite an addition to his wealth.

If at any one time of my life more than another,I was made to drink the bitterest dregs of slavery,that time was during the first six months of my staywith Mr. Covey. We were worked in all weathers.It was never too hot or too cold; it could never rain,blow, hail, or snow, too hard for us to work in thefield. Work, work, work, was scarcely more the orderof the day than of the night. The longest days weretoo short for him, and the shortest nights too longfor him. I was somewhat unmanageable when I firstwent there, but a few months of this disciplinetamed me. Mr. Covey succeeded in breaking me. Iwas broken in body, soul, and spirit. My naturalelasticity was crushed, my intellect languished, thedisposition to read departed, the cheerful spark thatlingered about my eye died; the dark night of slaveryclosed in upon me; and behold a man transformedinto a brute!

Sunday was my only leisure time. I spent this ina sort of beast-like stupor, between sleep and wake,under some large tree. At times I would rise up, aflash of energetic freedom would dart through mysoul, accompanied with a faint beam of hope, thatflickered for a moment, and then vanished. I sankdown again, mourning over my wretched condition.I was sometimes prompted to take my life, and thatof Covey, but was prevented by a combination ofhope and fear. My sufferings on this plantation seemnow like a dream rather than a stern reality.

Our house stood within a few rods of the Chesapeake Bay, whose broad bosom was ever white withsails from every quarter of the habitable globe.Those beautiful vessels, robed in purest white, sodelightful to the eye of freemen, were to me somany shrouded ghosts, to terrify and torment mewith thoughts of my wretched condition. I have often, in the deep stillness of a summer’s Sabbath,stood all alone upon the lofty banks of that noblebay, and traced, with saddened heart and tearfuleye, the countless number of sails moving off tothe mighty ocean. The sight of these always affectedme powerfully. My thoughts would compel utterance; and there, with no audience but the Almighty,I would pour out my soul’s complaint, in my rudeway, with an apostrophe to the moving multitude ofships:–

“You are loosed from your moorings, and are free;I am fast in my chains, and am a slave! You movemerrily before the gentle gale, and I sadly beforethe bloody whip! You are freedom’s swift-wingedangels, that fly round the world; I am confined inbands of iron! O that I were free! O, that I wereon one of your gallant decks, and under your protecting wing! Alas! betwixt me and you, the turbidwaters roll. Go on, go on. O that I could also go!Could I but swim! If I could fly! O, why was I borna man, of whom to make a brute! The glad shipis gone; she hides in the dim distance. I am left inthe hottest hell of unending slavery. O God, saveme! God, deliver me! Let me be free! Is there anyGod? Why am I a slave? I will run away. I will notstand it. Get caught, or get clear, I’ll try it. I hadas well die with ague as the fever. I have only onelife to lose. I had as well be killed running as diestanding. Only think of it; one hundred milesstraight north, and I am free! Try it? Yes! Godhelping me, I will. It cannot be that I shall liveand die a slave. I will take to the water. This verybay shall yet bear me into freedom. The steamboats steered in a north-east course from NorthPoint. I will do the same; and when I get to thehead of the bay, I will turn my canoe adrift, andwalk straight throughDelawareinto Pennsylvania.When I get there, I shall not be required to have apass; I can travel without being disturbed. Let butthe first opportunity offer, and, come what will, Iam off. Meanwhile, I will try to bear up under theyoke. I am not the only slave in the world. Whyshould I fret? I can bear as much as any of them.Besides, I am but a boy, and all boys are bound tosome one. It may be that my misery in slavery willonly increase my happiness when I get free. Thereis a better day coming.”

Thus I used to think, and thus I used to speakto myself; goaded almost to madness at one moment, and at the next reconciling myself to mywretched lot.

I have already intimated that my condition wasmuch worse, during the first six months of my stayat Mr. Covey’s, than in the last six. The circumstances leading to the change in Mr. Covey’s coursetoward me form an epoch in my humble history.You have seen how a man was made a slave; youshall see how a slave was made a man. On one ofthe hottest days of the month of August, 1833, BillSmith, William Hughes, a slave named Eli, andmyself, were engaged in fanning wheat. Hughes wasclearing the fanned wheat from before the fan. Eliwas turning, Smith was feeding, and I was carryingwheat to the fan. The work was simple, requiringstrength rather than intellect; yet, to one entirelyunused to such work, it came very hard. About threeo’clock of that day, I broke down; my strength failedme; I was seized with a violent aching of the head,attended with extreme dizziness; I trembled in everylimb. Finding what was coming, I nerved myselfup, feeling it would never do to stop work. I stoodas long as I could stagger to the hopper with grain.When I could stand no longer, I fell, and felt asif held down by an immense weight. The fan ofcourse stopped; every one had his own work to do;and no one could do the work of the other, andhave his own go on at the same time.

Mr. Covey was at the house, about one hundredyards from the treading-yard where we were fanning.On hearing the fan stop, he left immediately, andcame to the spot where we were. He hastily inquired what the matter was. Bill answered that Iwas sick, and there was no one to bring wheat to thefan. I had by this time crawled away under theside of the post and rail-fence by which the yardwas enclosed, hoping to find relief by getting outof the sun. He then asked where I was. He wastold by one of the hands. He came to the spot, and,after looking at me awhile, asked me what wasthe matter. I told him as well as I could, for I scarcehad strength to speak. He then gave me a savagekick in the side, and told me to get up. I tried todo so, but fell back in the attempt. He gave meanother kick, and again told me to rise. I againtried, and succeeded in gaining my feet; but, stooping to get the tub with which I was feeding thefan, I again staggered and fell. While down in thissituation, Mr. Covey took up the hickory slat withwhich Hughes had been striking off the half-bushelmeasure, and with it gave me a heavy blow uponthe head, making a large wound, and the blood ranfreely; and with this again told me to get up. I madeno effort to comply, having now made up my mindto let him do his worst. In a short time after receiving this blow, my head grew better. Mr. Coveyhad now left me to my fate. At this moment I resolved, for the first time, to go to my master, entera complaint, and ask his protection. In order to dothis, I must that afternoon walk seven miles; andthis, under the circumstances, was truly a severeundertaking. I was exceedingly feeble; made so asmuch by the kicks and blows which I received, asby the severe fit of sickness to which I had beensubjected. I, however, watched my chance, whileCovey was looking in an opposite direction, andstarted for St. Michael’s. I succeeded in getting aconsiderable distance on my way to the woods, whenCovey discovered me, and called after me to comeback, threatening what he would do if I did notcome. I disregarded both his calls and his threats,and made my way to the woods as fast as my feeblestate would allow; and thinking I might be overhauled by him if I kept the road, I walked throughthe woods, keeping far enough from the road toavoid detection, and near enough to prevent losingmy way. I had not gone far before my little strengthagain failed me. I could go no farther. I fell down,and lay for a considerable time. The blood was yetoozing from the wound on my head. For a time Ithought I should bleed to death; and think now thatI should have done so, but that the blood so mattedmy hair as to stop the wound. After lying thereabout three quarters of an hour, I nerved myselfup again, and started on my way, through bogs andbriers, barefooted and bareheaded, tearing my feetsometimes at nearly every step; and after a journeyof about seven miles, occupying some five hours toperform it, I arrived at master’s store. I then presented an appearance enough to affect any but aheart of iron. From the crown of my head to myfeet, I was covered with blood. My hair was allclotted with dust and blood; my shirt was stiff withblood. I suppose I looked like a man who had escaped a den of wild beasts, and barely escaped them.In this state I appeared before my master, humblyentreating him to interpose his authority for myprotection. I told him all the circumstances as wellas I could, and it seemed, as I spoke, at times toaffect him. He would then walk the floor, and seekto justify Covey by saying he expected I deservedit. He asked me what I wanted. I told him, to letme get a new home; that as sure as I lived with Mr.Covey again, I should live with but to die withhim; that Covey would surely kill me; he was in afair way for it. Master Thomas ridiculed the ideathat there was any danger of Mr. Covey’s killingme, and said that he knew Mr. Covey; that he wasa good man, and that he could not think of takingme from him; that, should he do so, he would losethe whole year’s wages; that I belonged to Mr. Coveyfor one year, and that I must go back to him, comewhat might; and that I must not trouble him withany more stories, or that he would himself GET HOLDOF ME. After threatening me thus, he gave me a verylarge dose of salts, telling me that I might remainin St. Michael’s that night, (it being quite late,)but that I must be off back to Mr. Covey’s earlyin the morning; and that if I did not, he would~get hold of me,~ which meant that he would whipme. I remained all night, and, according to his orders, I started off to Covey’s in the morning, (Saturday morning,) wearied in body and broken inspirit. I got no supper that night, or breakfast thatmorning. I reached Covey’s about nine o’clock; andjust as I was getting over the fence that dividedMrs. Kemp’s fields from ours, out ran Covey withhis cowskin, to give me another whipping. Beforehe could reach me, I succeeded in getting to thecornfield; and as the corn was very high, it affordedme the means of hiding. He seemed very angry, andsearched for me a long time. My behavior was altogether unaccountable. He finally gave up thechase, thinking, I suppose, that I must come homefor something to eat; he would give himself no further trouble in looking for me. I spent that daymostly in the woods, having the alternative beforeme,–to go home and be whipped to death, or stayin the woods and be starved to death. That night,I fell in with Sandy Jenkins, a slave with whomI was somewhat acquainted. Sandy had a free wifewho lived about four miles from Mr. Covey’s; andit being Saturday, he was on his way to see her. Itold him my circumstances, and he very kindly invited me to go home with him. I went home withhim, and talked this whole matter over, and got hisadvice as to what course it was best for me to pursue.I foundSandyan old adviser. He told me, withgreat solemnity, I must go back to Covey; but thatbefore I went, I must go with him into anotherpart of the woods, where there was a certain ~root,~which, if I would take some of it with me, carryingit ~always on my right side,~ would render it impossible for Mr. Covey, or any other white man, towhip me. He said he had carried it for years; andsince he had done so, he had never received a blow,and never expected to while he carried it. I at firstrejected the idea, that the simple carrying of a rootin my pocket would have any such effect as he hadsaid, and was not disposed to take it; but Sandyimpressed the necessity with much earnestness, telling me it could do no harm, if it did no good. Toplease him, I at length took the root, and, according to his direction, carried it upon my rightside. This was Sunday morning. I immediatelystarted for home; and upon entering the yard gate,out came Mr. Covey on his way to meeting. Hespoke to me very kindly, bade me drive the pigsfrom a lot near by, and passed on towards thechurch. Now, this singular conduct of Mr. Coveyreally made me begin to think that there was something in the ROOT which Sandy had given me; andhad it been on any other day than Sunday, I couldhave attributed the conduct to no other cause thanthe influence of that root; and as it was, I was halfinclined to think the ~root~ to be something morethan I at first had taken it to be. All went well tillMonday morning. On this morning, the virtue ofthe ROOT was fully tested. Long before daylight, Iwas called to go and rub, curry, and feed, the horses.I obeyed, and was glad to obey. But whilst thusengaged, whilst in the act of throwing down someblades from the loft, Mr. Covey entered the stablewith a long rope; and just as I was half out of theloft, he caught hold of my legs, and was about tyingme. As soon as I found what he was up to, I gavea sudden spring, and as I did so, he holding to mylegs, I was brought sprawling on the stable floor.Mr. Covey seemed now to think he had me, andcould do what he pleased; but at this moment-from whence came the spirit I don’t know–I resolved to fight; and, suiting my action to the resolution, I seized Covey hard by the throat; and as Idid so, I rose. He held on to me, and I to him. Myresistance was so entirely unexpected that Coveyseemed taken all aback. He trembled like a leaf.This gave me assurance, and I held him uneasy,causing the blood to run where I touched him withthe ends of my fingers. Mr. Covey soon called outto Hughes for help. Hughes came, and, while Coveyheld me, attempted to tie my right hand. While hewas in the act of doing so, I watched my chance,and gave him a heavy kick close under the ribs.This kick fairly sickened Hughes, so that he leftme in the hands of Mr. Covey. This kick had theeffect of not only weakening Hughes, but Covey also.When he saw Hughes bending over with pain, hiscourage quailed. He asked me if I meant to persistin my resistance. I told him I did, come whatmight; that he had used me like a brute for sixmonths, and that I was determined to be used sono longer. With that, he strove to drag me to astick that was lying just out of the stable door. Hemeant to knock me down. But just as he was leaningover to get the stick, I seized him with both handsby his collar, and brought him by a sudden snatchto the ground. By this time, Bill came. Covey calledupon him for assistance. Bill wanted to know whathe could do. Covey said, “Take hold of him, takehold of him!” Bill said his master hired him out towork, and not to help to whip me; so he left Coveyand myself to fight our own battle out. We wereat it for nearly two hours. Covey at length let mego, puffing and blowing at a great rate, saying thatif I had not resisted, he would not have whippedme half so much. The truth was, that he had notwhipped me at all. I considered him as getting entirely the worst end of the bargain; for he had drawnno blood from me, but I had from him. The wholesix months afterwards, that I spent with Mr. Covey,he never laid the weight of his finger upon me inanger. He would occasionally say, he didn’t wantto get hold of me again. “No,” thought I, “youneed not; for you will come off worse than you didbefore.”

This battle with Mr. Covey was the turningpoint in my career as a slave. It rekindled the fewexpiring embers of freedom, and revived within mea sense of my own manhood. It recalled the departed self-confidence, and inspired me again witha determination to be free. The gratification afforded by the triumph was a full compensation forwhatever else might follow, even death itself. Heonly can understand the deep satisfaction which Iexperienced, who has himself repelled by force thebloody arm of slavery. I felt as I never felt before.It was a glorious resurrection, from the tomb ofslavery, to the heaven of freedom. My long-crushedspirit rose, cowardice departed, bold defiance tookits place; and I now resolved that, however long Imight remain a slave in form, the day had passedforever when I could be a slave in fact. I did nothesitate to let it be known of me, that the whiteman who expected to succeed in whipping, mustalso succeed in killing me.

From this time I was never again what might becalled fairly whipped, though I remained a slavefour years afterwards. I had several fights, but wasnever whipped.

It was for a long time a matter of surprise to mewhy Mr. Covey did not immediately have me takenby the constable to the whipping-post, and thereregularly whipped for the crime of raising my handagainst a white man in defence of myself. And theonly explanation I can now think of does not entirelysatisfy me; but such as it is, I will give it. Mr. Coveyenjoyed the most unbounded reputation for beinga first-rate overseer and negro-breaker. It was of considerable importance to him. That reputation was atstake; and had he sent me–a boy about sixteen yearsold–to the public whipping-post, his reputationwould have been lost; so, to save his reputation, hesuffered me to go unpunished.

My term of actual service to Mr. Edward Coveyended on Christmas day, 1833. The days betweenChristmas and New Year’s day are allowed as holidays; and, accordingly, we were not required to perform any labor, more than to feed and take care ofthe stock. This time we regarded as our own, by thegrace of our masters; and we therefore used orabused it nearly as we pleased. Those of us who hadfamilies at a distance, were generally allowed tospend the whole six days in their society. This time,however, was spent in various ways. The staid, sober,thinking and industrious ones of our number wouldemploy themselves in making corn-brooms, mats,horse-collars, and baskets; and another class of uswould spend the time in hunting opossums, hares,and coons. But by far the larger part engaged insuch sports and merriments as playing ball, wrestling, running foot-races, fiddling, dancing, anddrinking whisky; and this latter mode of spendingthe time was by far the most agreeable to the feelings of our masters. A slave who would work duringthe holidays was considered by our masters asscarcely deserving them. He was regarded as onewho rejected the favor of his master. It was deemeda disgrace not to get drunk at Christmas; and hewas regarded as lazy indeed, who had not providedhimself with the necessary means, during the year,to get whisky enough to last him through Christmas.

From what I know of the effect of these holidaysupon the slave, I believe them to be among themost effective means in the hands of the slaveholderin keeping down the spirit of insurrection. Werethe slaveholders at once to abandon this practice,I have not the slightest doubt it would lead to animmediate insurrection among the slaves. Theseholidays serve as conductors, or safety-valves, to carryoff the rebellious spirit of enslaved humanity. Butfor these, the slave would be forced up to the wildest desperation; and woe betide the slaveholder, theday he ventures to remove or hinder the operationof those conductors! I warn him that, in such anevent, a spirit will go forth in their midst, more tobe dreaded than the most appalling earthquake.

The holidays are part and parcel of the grossfraud, wrong, and inhumanity of slavery. They areprofessedly a custom established by the benevolenceof the slaveholders; but I undertake to say, it is theresult of selfishness, and one of the grossest fraudscommitted upon the down-trodden slave. They donot give the slaves this time because they wouldnot like to have their work during its continuance,but because they know it would be unsafe to deprivethem of it. This will be seen by the fact, that theslaveholders like to have their slaves spend thosedays just in such a manner as to make them as gladof their ending as of their beginning. Their objectseems to be, to disgust their slaves with freedom,by plunging them into the lowest depths of dissipation. For instance, the slaveholders not only like tosee the slave drink of his own accord, but will adoptvarious plans to make him drunk. One plan is, tomake bets on their slaves, as to who can drink themost whisky without getting drunk; and in this waythey succeed in getting whole multitudes to drinkto excess. Thus, when the slave asks for virtuousfreedom, the cunning slaveholder, knowing his ignorance, cheats him with a dose of vicious dissipation, artfully labelled with the name of liberty.The most of us used to drink it down, and the resultwas just what might be supposed; many of uswere led to think that there was little to choosebetween liberty and slavery. We felt, and very properly too, that we had almost as well be slaves toman as to rum. So, when the holidays ended, westaggered up from the filth of our wallowing, tooka long breath, and marched to the field,–feeling,upon the whole, rather glad to go, from what ourmaster had deceived us into a belief was freedom,back to the arms of slavery.

I have said that this mode of treatment is a partof the whole system of fraud and inhumanity ofslavery. It is so. The mode here adopted to disgustthe slave with freedom, by allowing him to see onlythe abuse of it, is carried out in other things. Forinstance, a slave loves molasses; he steals some.His master, in many cases, goes off to town, andbuys a large quantity; he returns, takes his whip,and commands the slave to eat the molasses, untilthe poor fellow is made sick at the very mentionof it. The same mode is sometimes adopted to makethe slaves refrain from asking for more food thantheir regular allowance. A slave runs through hisallowance, and applies for more. His master is enraged at him; but, not willing to send him off without food, gives him more than is necessary, and compels him to eat it within a given time. Then, if hecomplains that he cannot eat it, he is said to besatisfied neither full nor fasting, and is whippedfor being hard to please! I have an abundance ofsuch illustrations of the same principle, drawn frommy own observation, but think the cases I have citedsufficient. The practice is a very common one.

On the first of January, 1834, I left Mr. Covey,and went to live with Mr. William Freeland, wholived about three miles from St. Michael’s. I soonfound Mr. Freeland a very different man from Mr.Covey. Though not rich, he was what would becalled an educated southern gentleman. Mr. Covey,as I have shown, was a well-trained negro-breakerand slave-driver. The former (slaveholder though hewas) seemed to possess some regard for honor,some reverence for justice, and some respect forhumanity. The latter seemed totally insensible toall such sentiments. Mr. Freeland had many of thefaults peculiar to slaveholders, such as being verypassionate and fretful; but I must do him thejustice to say, that he was exceedingly free fromthose degrading vices to which Mr. Covey was constantly addicted. The one was open and frank, andwe always knew where to find him. The other was amost artful deceiver, and could be understood onlyby such as were skilful enough to detect his cunningly-devised frauds. Another advantage I gainedin my new master was, he made no pretensions to,or profession of, religion; and this, in my opinion,was truly a great advantage. I assert most unhesitatingly, that the religion of the south is a merecovering for the most horrid crimes,–a justifier ofthe most appalling barbarity,–a sanctifier of themost hateful frauds,–and a dark shelter under,which the darkest, foulest, grossest, and most infernal deeds of slaveholders find the strongest protection. Were I to be again reduced to the chains ofslavery, next to that enslavement, I should regardbeing the slave of a religious master the greatestcalamity that could befall me. For of all slaveholderswith whom I have ever met, religious slaveholdersare the worst. I have ever found them the meanestand basest, the most cruel and cowardly, of all others. It was my unhappy lot not only to belong to areligious slaveholder, but to live in a community ofsuch religionists. Very near Mr. Freeland lived theRev. Daniel Weeden, and in the same neighborhoodlived the Rev. Rigby Hopkins. These were membersand ministers in the Reformed Methodist Church.Mr. Weeden owned, among others, a woman slave,whose name I have forgotten. This woman’s back,for weeks, was kept literally raw, made so by thelash of this merciless, ~religious~ wretch. He used tohire hands. His maxim was, Behave well or behaveill, it is the duty of a master occasionally to whipa slave, to remind him of his master’s authority.Such was his theory, and such his practice.

Mr. Hopkins was even worse than Mr. Weeden.His chief boast was his ability to manage slaves.The peculiar feature of his government was thatof whipping slaves in advance of deserving it. Healways managed to have one or more of his slavesto whip every Monday morning. He did this to alarmtheir fears, and strike terror into those who escaped.His plan was to whip for the smallest offences, toprevent the commission of large ones. Mr. Hopkinscould always find some excuse for whipping a slave.It would astonish one, unaccustomed to a slaveholding life, to see with what wonderful ease a slaveholder can find things, of which to make occasionto whip a slave. A mere look, word, or motion,–amistake, accident, or want of power,–are all mattersfor which a slave may be whipped at any time. Doesa slave look dissatisfied? It is said, he has the devilin him, and it must be whipped out. Does he speakloudly when spoken to by his master? Then he isgetting high-minded, and should be taken down abutton-hole lower. Does he forget to pull off hishat at the approach of a white person? Then he iswanting in reverence, and should be whipped forit. Does he ever venture to vindicate his conduct,when censured for it? Then he is guilty of impudence,–one of the greatest crimes of which a slavecan be guilty. Does he ever venture to suggest adifferent mode of doing things from that pointedout by his master? He is indeed presumptuous, andgetting above himself; and nothing less than a flogging will do for him. Does he, while ploughing,break a plough,–or, while hoeing, break a hoe? Itis owing to his carelessness, and for it a slave mustalways be whipped. Mr. Hopkins could always findsomething of this sort to justify the use of the lash,and he seldom failed to embrace such opportunities.There was not a man in the whole county, withwhom the slaves who had the getting their ownhome, would not prefer to live, rather than withthis Rev. Mr. Hopkins. And yet there was not aman any where round, who made higher professionsof religion, or was more active in revivals,–moreattentive to the class, love-feast, prayer and preaching meetings, or more devotional in his family,-that prayed earlier, later, louder, and longer,–thanthis same reverend slave-driver, Rigby Hopkins.

But to return to Mr. Freeland, and to my experience while in his employment. He, like Mr. Covey,gave us enough to eat; but, unlike Mr. Covey, healso gave us sufficient time to take our meals. Heworked us hard, but always between sunrise andsunset. He required a good deal of work to be done,but gave us good tools with which to work. Hisfarm was large, but he employed hands enough towork it, and with ease, compared with many ofhis neighbors. My treatment, while in his employment, was heavenly, compared with what I experienced at the hands of Mr. Edward Covey.

Mr. Freeland was himself the owner of but twoslaves. Their names were Henry Harris and JohnHarris. The rest of his hands he hired. These consisted of myself, Sandy Jenkins,* and Handy Caldwell. Henry and John were quite intelligent, and ina very little while after I went there, I succeeded increating in them a strong desire to learn how toread. This desire soon sprang up in the others also.They very soon mustered up some old spelling-books,and nothing would do but that I must keep a Sabbath school. I agreed to do so, and accordinglydevoted my Sundays to teaching these my loved fellow-slaves how to read. Neither of them knew hisletters when I went there. Some of the slaves of theneighboring farms found what was going on, andalso availed themselves of this little opportunity tolearn to read. It was understood, among all whocame, that there must be as little display about itas possible. It was necessary to keep our religiousmasters at St. Michael’s unacquainted with the fact,that, instead of spending the Sabbath in wrestling,boxing, and drinking whisky, we were trying to learnhow to read the will of God; for they had much

*This is the same man who gave me the roots to preventmy being whipped by Mr. Covey. He was “a clever soul.”We used frequently to talk about the fight with Covey, andas often as we did so, he would claim my success as theresult of the roots which he gave me. This superstitionis very common among the more ignorant slaves. A slaveseldom dies but that his death is attributed to trickery.rather see us engaged in those degrading sports, thanto see us behaving like intellectual, moral, and accountable beings. My blood boils as I think of thebloody manner in which Messrs. Wright Fairbanksand Garrison West, both class-leaders, in connectionwith many others, rushed in upon us with sticksand stones, and broke up our virtuous little Sabbath school, at St. Michael’s–all calling themselvesChristians! humble followers of the Lord JesusChrist! But I am again digressing.

I held my Sabbath school at the house of a freecolored man, whose name I deem it imprudent tomention; for should it be known, it might embarrass him greatly, though the crime of holding theschool was committed ten years ago. I had at onetime over forty scholars, and those of the right sort,ardently desiring to learn. They were of all ages,though mostly men and women. I look back to thoseSundays with an amount of pleasure not to be expressed. They were great days to my soul. The workof instructing my dear fellow-slaves was the sweetestengagement with which I was ever blessed. We lovedeach other, and to leave them at the close of theSabbath was a severe cross indeed. When I thinkthat these precious souls are to-day shut up in theprison-house of slavery, my feelings overcome me,and I am almost ready to ask, “Does a righteousGod govern the universe? and for what does he holdthe thunders in his right hand, if not to smite theoppressor, and deliver the spoiled out of the handof the spoiler?” These dear souls came not to Sabbath school because it was popular to do so, nor didI teach them because it was reputable to be thusengaged. Every moment they spent in that school,they were liable to be taken up, and given thirtynine lashes. They came because they wished tolearn. Their minds had been starved by their cruelmasters. They had been shut up in mental darkness.I taught them, because it was the delight of mysoul to be doing something that looked like bettering the condition of my race. I kept up my schoolnearly the whole year I lived with Mr. Freeland;and, beside my Sabbath school, I devoted three evenings in the week, during the winter, to teaching theslaves at home. And I have the happiness to know,that several of those who came to Sabbath schoollearned how to read; and that one, at least, is nowfree through my agency.

The year passed off smoothly. It seemed onlyabout half as long as the year which preceded it.I went through it without receiving a single blow.I will give Mr. Freeland the credit of being thebest master I ever had, ~till I became my own master.~ For the ease with which I passed the year, Iwas, however, somewhat indebted to the society ofmy fellow-slaves. They were noble souls; they notonly possessed loving hearts, but brave ones. Wewere linked and interlinked with each other. I lovedthem with a love stronger than any thing I haveexperienced since. It is sometimes said that weslaves do not love and confide in each other. Inanswer to this assertion, I can say, I never lovedany or confided in any people more than my fellowslaves, and especially those with whom I lived atMr. Freeland’s. I believe we would have died foreach other. We never undertook to do any thing,of any importance, without a mutual consultation.We never moved separately. We were one; and asmuch so by our tempers and dispositions, as by themutual hardships to which we were necessarily subjected by our condition as slaves.

At the close of the year 1834, Mr. Freeland againhired me of my master, for the year 1835. But, bythis time, I began to want to live ~upon free land~as well as ~with freeland;~ and I was no longer content, therefore, to live with him or any other slaveholder. I began, with the commencement of theyear, to prepare myself for a final struggle, whichshould decide my fate one way or the other. Mytendency was upward. I was fast approaching manhood, and year after year had passed, and I wasstill a slave. These thoughts roused me–I must dosomething. I therefore resolved that 1835 shouldnot pass without witnessing an attempt, on my part,to secure my liberty. But I was not willing to cherishthis determination alone. My fellow-slaves were dearto me. I was anxious to have them participate withme in this, my life-giving determination. I therefore,though with great prudence, commenced early toascertain their views and feelings in regard to theircondition, and to imbue their minds with thoughtsof freedom. I bent myself to devising ways andmeans for our escape, and meanwhile strove, on allfitting occasions, to impress them with the grossfraud and inhumanity of slavery. I went first toHenry, next to John, then to the others. I found,in them all, warm hearts and noble spirits. Theywere ready to hear, and ready to act when a feasibleplan should be proposed. This was what I wanted.I talked to them of our want of manhood, if wesubmitted to our enslavement without at least onenoble effort to be free. We met often, and consultedfrequently, and told our hopes and fears, recountedthe difficulties, real and imagined, which we shouldbe called on to meet. At times we were almost disposed to give up, and try to content ourselves withour wretched lot; at others, we were firm and unbending in our determination to go. Whenever wesuggested any plan, there was shrinking–the oddswere fearful. Our path was beset with the greatestobstacles; and if we succeeded in gaining the endof it, our right to be free was yet questionable–wewere yet liable to be returned to bondage. We couldsee no spot, this side of the ocean, where we couldbe free. We knew nothing aboutCanada. Ourknowledge of the north did not extend farther thanNew York; and to go there, and be forever harassedwith the frightful liability of being returned toslavery–with the certainty of being treated tenfoldworse than before–the thought was truly a horribleone, and one which it was not easy to overcome.The case sometimes stood thus: At every gatethrough which we were to pass, we saw a watchman–at every ferry a guard–on every bridge a sentinel-and in every wood a patrol. We were hemmed inupon every side. Here were the difficulties, real orimagined–the good to be sought, and the evil to beshunned. On the one hand, there stood slavery, astern reality, glaring frightfully upon us,–its robesalready crimsoned with the blood of millions, andeven now feasting itself greedily upon our own flesh.On the other hand, away back in the dim distance,under the flickering light of the north star, behindsome craggy hill or snow-covered mountain, stooda doubtful freedom–half frozen–beckoning us tocome and share its hospitality. This in itself wassometimes enough to stagger us; but when we permitted ourselves to survey the road, we were frequently appalled. Upon either side we saw grimdeath, assuming the most horrid shapes. Now it wasstarvation, causing us to eat our own flesh;–now wewere contending with the waves, and were drowned;–now we were overtaken, and torn to pieces by thefangs of the terrible bloodhound. We were stungby scorpions, chased by wild beasts, bitten by snakes,and finally, after having nearly reached the desiredspot,–after swimming rivers, encountering wildbeasts, sleeping in the woods, suffering hunger andnakedness,–we were overtaken by our pursuers, and,in our resistance, we were shot dead upon the spot!I say, this picture sometimes appalled us, and madeus

“rather bear those ills we had,

Than fly to others, that we knew not of.”

In coming to a fixed determination to run away,we did more than Patrick Henry, when he resolvedupon liberty or death. With us it was a doubtfulliberty at most, and almost certain death if we failed.For my part, I should prefer death to hopeless bondage.

Sandy, one of our number, gave up the notion,but still encouraged us. Our company then consistedof Henry Harris, John Harris, Henry Bailey, CharlesRoberts, and myself. Henry Bailey was my uncle,and belonged to my master. Charles married myaunt: he belonged to my master’s father-in-law, Mr.William Hamilton.

The plan we finally concluded upon was, to geta large canoe belonging to Mr. Hamilton, and uponthe Saturday night previous to Easter holidays,paddle directly up theChesapeake Bay. On our arrival at the head of the bay, a distance of seventyor eighty miles from where we lived, it was ourpurpose to turn our canoe adrift, and follow theguidance of the north star till we got beyond thelimits ofMaryland. Our reason for taking the waterroute was, that we were less liable to be suspected asrunaways; we hoped to be regarded as fishermen;whereas, if we should take the land route, we shouldbe subjected to interruptions of almost every kind.Any one having a white face, and being so disposed,could stop us, and subject us to examination.

The week before our intended start, I wrote several protections, one for each of us. As well as Ican remember, they were in the following words, towit:–

“This is to certify that I, the undersigned, havegiven the bearer, my servant, full liberty to go toBaltimore, and spend the Easter holidays. Writtenwith mine own hand, &c., 1835.

“WILLIAM HAMILTON,

“Near St. Michael’s, in Talbot county,Maryland.”

We were not going to Baltimore; but, in going upthe bay, we went toward Baltimore, and these protections were only intended to protect us while onthe bay.

As the time drew near for our departure, ouranxiety became more and more intense. It was trulya matter of life and death with us. The strength ofour determination was about to be fully tested. Atthis time, I was very active in explaining every difficulty, removing every doubt, dispelling every fear,and inspiring all with the firmness indispensable tosuccess in our undertaking; assuring them that halfwas gained the instant we made the move; we hadtalked long enough; we were now ready to move;if not now, we never should be; and if we did notintend to move now, we had as well fold our arms,sit down, and acknowledge ourselves fit only to beslaves. This, none of us were prepared to acknowledge. Every man stood firm; and at our last meeting,we pledged ourselves afresh, in the most solemnmanner, that, at the time appointed, we would certainly start in pursuit of freedom. This was in themiddle of the week, at the end of which we wereto be off. We went, as usual, to our several fieldsof labor, but with bosoms highly agitated withthoughts of our truly hazardous undertaking. Wetried to conceal our feelings as much as possible;and I think we succeeded very well.

After a painful waiting, the Saturday morning,whose night was to witness our departure, came. Ihailed it with joy, bring what of sadness it might.Friday night was a sleepless one for me. I probablyfelt more anxious than the rest, because I was, bycommon consent, at the head of the whole affair.The responsibility of success or failure lay heavilyupon me. The glory of the one, and the confusionof the other, were alike mine. The first two hoursof that morning were such as I never experiencedbefore, and hope never to again. Early in themorning, we went, as usual, to the field. We werespreading manure; and all at once, while thus engaged, I was overwhelmed with an indescribable feeling, in the fulness of which I turned to Sandy, whowas near by, and said, “We are betrayed!” “Well,”said he, “that thought has this moment struck me.”We said no more. I was never more certain of anything.

The horn was blown as usual, and we went upfrom the field to the house for breakfast. I went forthe form, more than for want of any thing to eatthat morning. Just as I got to the house, in lookingout at the lane gate, I saw four white men, withtwo colored men. The white men were on horseback,and the colored ones were walking behind, as if tied.I watched them a few moments till they got up toour lane gate. Here they halted, and tied the coloredmen to the gate-post. I was not yet certain as towhat the matter was. In a few moments, in rodeMr.Hamilton, with a speed betokening great excitement. He came to the door, and inquired if MasterWilliam was in. He was told he was at the barn. Mr.Hamilton, without dismounting, rode up to the barnwith extraordinary speed. In a few moments, he andMr. Freeland returned to the house. By this time,the three constables rode up, and in great haste dismounted, tied their horses, and met Master Williamand Mr. Hamilton returning from the barn; andafter talking awhile, they all walked up to thekitchen door. There was no one in the kitchen butmyself and John. Henry and Sandy were up at thebarn. Mr. Freeland put his head in at the door, andcalled me by name, saying, there were some gentlemen at the door who wished to see me. I steppedto the door, and inquired what they wanted. Theyat once seized me, and, without giving me any satisfaction, tied me–lashing my hands closely together.I insisted upon knowing what the matter was. Theyat length said, that they had learned I had been in a”scrape,” and that I was to be examined before mymaster; and if their information proved false, Ishould not be hurt.

In a few moments, they succeeded in tying John.They then turned to Henry, who had by this timereturned, and commanded him to cross his hands.”I won’t!” said Henry, in a firm tone, indicating hisreadiness to meet the consequences of his refusal.”Won’t you?” said Tom Graham, the constable. “No,I won’t!” said Henry, in a still stronger tone. Withthis, two of the constables pulled out their shiningpistols, and swore, by their Creator, that they wouldmake him cross his hands or kill him. Each cockedhis pistol, and, with fingers on the trigger, walkedup to Henry, saying, at the same time, if he did notcross his hands, they would blow his damned heartout. “Shoot me, shoot me!” said Henry; “you can’tkill me but once. Shoot, shoot,–and be damned! ~Iwon’t be tied!~” This he said in a tone of loud defiance; and at the same time, with a motion as quickas lightning, he with one single stroke dashed thepistols from the hand of each constable. As he didthis, all hands fell upon him, and, after beatinghim some time, they finally overpowered him, andgot him tied.

During the scuffle, I managed, I know not how,to get my pass out, and, without being discovered,put it into the fire. We were all now tied; and justas we were to leave for Easton jail, Betsy Freeland,mother of William Freeland, came to the door withher hands full of biscuits, and divided them betweenHenry and John. She then delivered herself of aspeech, to the following effect:–addressing herselfto me, she said, “~You devil! You yellow devil!~ it wasyou that put it into the heads of Henry and Johnto run away. But for you, you long-legged mulattodevil! Henry nor John would never have thoughtof such a thing.” I made no reply, and was immediately hurried off towards St. Michael’s. Just a moment previous to the scuffle with Henry, Mr. Hamilton suggested the propriety of making a search forthe protections which he had understood Frederickhad written for himself and the rest. But, just atthe moment he was about carrying his proposal intoeffect, his aid was needed in helping to tie Henry;and the excitement attending the scuffle causedthem either to forget, or to deem it unsafe, underthe circumstances, to search. So we were not yetconvicted of the intention to run away.

When we got about half way to St. Michael’s,while the constables having us in charge were looking ahead, Henry inquired of me what he shoulddo with his pass. I told him to eat it with his biscuit,and own nothing; and we passed the word around,”~Own nothing;~” and “~Own nothing!~” said we all.Our confidence in each other was unshaken. Wewere resolved to succeed or fail together, after thecalamity had befallen us as much as before. Wewere now prepared for any thing. We were to bedragged that morning fifteen miles behind horses,and then to be placed in theEastonjail. When wereached St. Michael’s, we underwent a sort of examination. We all denied that we ever intended to runaway. We did this more to bring out the evidenceagainst us, than from any hope of getting clear ofbeing sold; for, as I have said, we were ready forthat. The fact was, we cared but little where wewent, so we went together. Our greatest concern wasabout separation. We dreaded that more than anything this side of death. We found the evidenceagainst us to be the testimony of one person; ourmaster would not tell who it was; but we came toa unanimous decision among ourselves as to whotheir informant was. We were sent off to the jail atEaston. When we got there, we were delivered upto the sheriff, Mr. Joseph Graham, and by himplaced in jail. Henry, John, and myself, were placedin one room together–Charles, and Henry Bailey,in another. Their object in separating us was tohinder concert.

We had been in jail scarcely twenty minutes,when a swarm of slave traders, and agents for slavetraders, flocked into jail to look at us, and to ascertain if we were for sale. Such a set of beings Inever saw before! I felt myself surrounded by somany fiends from perdition. A band of pirates neverlooked more like their father, the devil. Theylaughed and grinned over us, saying, “Ah, my boys!we have got you, haven’t we?” And after tauntingus in various ways, they one by one went into anexamination of us, with intent to ascertain our value.They would impudently ask us if we would not liketo have them for our masters. We would make themno answer, and leave them to find out as best theycould. Then they would curse and swear at us, tellingus that they could take the devil out of us in a verylittle while, if we were only in their hands.

While in jail, we found ourselves in much morecomfortable quarters than we expected when wewent there. We did not get much to eat, nor thatwhich was very good; but we had a good clean room,from the windows of which we could see what was going on in the street, which was very much betterthan though we had been placed in one of the dark,damp cells. Upon the whole, we got along very well,so far as the jail and its keeper were concerned.Immediately after the holidays were over, contraryto all our expectations, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Freeland came up to Easton, and took Charles, the twoHenrys, and John, out of jail, and carried themhome, leaving me alone. I regarded this separationas a final one. It caused me more pain than anything else in the whole transaction. I was ready forany thing rather than separation. I supposed thatthey had consulted together, and had decided that,as I was the whole cause of the intention of theothers to run away, it was hard to make the innocentsuffer with the guilty; and that they had, therefore,concluded to take the others home, and sell me, asa warning to the others that remained. It is dueto the noble Henry to say, he seemed almost asreluctant at leaving the prison as at leaving hometo come to the prison. But we knew we should, inall probability, be separated, if we were sold; andsince he was in their hands, he concluded to gopeaceably home.

I was now left to my fate. I was all alone, andwithin the walls of a stone prison. But a few daysbefore, and I was full of hope. I expected to havebeen safe in a land of freedom; but now I was covered with gloom, sunk down to the utmost despair.I thought the possibility of freedom was gone. Iwas kept in this way about one week, at the endof which, Captain Auld, my master, to my surpriseand utter astonishment, came up, and took me out,with the intention of sending me, with a gentlemanof his acquaintance, intoAlabama. But, from somecause or other, he did not send me toAlabama,but concluded to send me back toBaltimore, tolive again with his brother Hugh, and to learn atrade.

Thus, after an absence of three years and onemonth, I was once more permitted to return to myold home atBaltimore. My master sent me away,because there existed against me a very great prejudice in the community, and he feared I might bekilled.

In a few weeks after I went toBaltimore, MasterHugh hired me to Mr. William Gardner, an extensive ship-builder, on Fell’s Point. I was put thereto learn how to calk. It, however, proved a veryunfavorable place for the accomplishment of thisobject. Mr. Gardner was engaged that spring inbuilding two large man-of-war brigs, professedly forthe Mexican government. The vessels were to belaunched in the July of that year, and in failurethereof, Mr. Gardner was to lose a considerable sum;so that when I entered, all was hurry. There wasno time to learn any thing. Every man had to dothat which he knew how to do. In entering the shipyard, my orders from Mr. Gardner were, to do whatever the carpenters commanded me to do. This wasplacing me at the beck and call of about seventy-fivemen. I was to regard all these as masters. Theirword was to be my law. My situation was a mosttrying one. At times I needed a dozen pair of hands.I was called a dozen ways in the space of a singleminute. Three or four voices would strike my earat the same moment. It was–“Fred., come help meto cant this timber here.”–“Fred., come carry thistimber yonder.”–“Fred., bring that roller here.”-“Fred., go get a fresh can of water.”–“Fred., comehelp saw off the end of this timber.”–“Fred., goquick, and get the crowbar.”–“Fred., hold on theend of this fall.”–“Fred., go to the blacksmith’sshop, and get a new punch.”–“Hurra, Fred.! runand bring me a cold chisel.”–“I say, Fred., bear ahand, and get up a fire as quick as lightning underthat steam-box.”–“Halloo, nigger! come, turn thisgrindstone.”–“Come, come! move, move! and BOWSEthis timber forward.”–“I say, darky, blast your eyes,why don’t you heat up some pitch?”–“Halloo!halloo! halloo!” (Three voices at the same time.)”Come here!–Go there!–Hold on where you are!Damn you, if you move, I’ll knock your brains out!”

This was my school for eight months; and I mighthave remained there longer, but for a most horridfight I had with four of the white apprentices, inwhich my left eye was nearly knocked out, and Iwas horribly mangled in other respects. The factsin the case were these: Until a very little whileafter I went there, white and black ship-carpentersworked side by side, and no one seemed to see anyimpropriety in it. All hands seemed to be very wellsatisfied. Many of the black carpenters were freemen.Things seemed to be going on very well. All at once,the white carpenters knocked off, and said theywould not work with free colored workmen. Theirreason for this, as alleged, was, that if free coloredcarpenters were encouraged, they would soon takethe trade into their own hands, and poor white menwould be thrown out of employment. They thereforefelt called upon at once to put a stop to it. And,taking advantage of Mr. Gardner’s necessities, theybroke off, swearing they would work no longer, unlesshe would discharge his black carpenters. Now,though this did not extend to me in form, it didreach me in fact. My fellow-apprentices very soonbegan to feel it degrading to them to work withme. They began to put on airs, and talk about the”niggers” taking the country, saying we all ought tobe killed; and, being encouraged by the journeymen, they commenced making my condition ashard as they could, by hectoring me around, andsometimes striking me. I, of course, kept the vowI made after the fight with Mr. Covey, and struckback again, regardless of consequences; and whileI kept them from combining, I succeeded very well;for I could whip the whole of them, taking themseparately. They, however, at length combined, andcame upon me, armed with sticks, stones, and heavyhandspikes. One came in front with a half brick.There was one at each side of me, and one behindme. While I was attending to those in front, and oneither side, the one behind ran up with the handspike, and struck me a heavy blow upon the head.It stunned me. I fell, and with this they all ranupon me, and fell to beating me with their fists. Ilet them lay on for a while, gathering strength. Inan instant, I gave a sudden surge, and rose to myhands and knees. Just as I did that, one of theirnumber gave me, with his heavy boot, a powerfulkick in the left eye. My eyeball seemed to haveburst. When they saw my eye closed, and badlyswollen, they left me. With this I seized the handspike, and for a time pursued them. But here thecarpenters interfered, and I thought I might as wellgive it up. It was impossible to stand my handagainst so many. All this took place in sight of notless than fifty white ship-carpenters, and not oneinterposed a friendly word; but some cried, “Killthe damned nigger! Kill him! kill him! He strucka white person.” I found my only chance for lifewas in flight. I succeeded in getting away withoutan additional blow, and barely so; for to strike awhite man is death by Lynch law,–and that was thelaw in Mr. Gardner’s ship-yard; nor is there muchof any other out of Mr. Gardner’s ship-yard.

I went directly home, and told the story of mywrongs to Master Hugh; and I am happy to say ofhim, irreligious as he was, his conduct was heavenly,compared with that of his brother Thomas undersimilar circumstances. He listened attentively to mynarration of the circumstances leading to the savageoutrage, and gave many proofs of his strong indignation at it. The heart of my once overkind mistresswas again melted into pity. My puffed-out eye andblood-covered face moved her to tears. She took achair by me, washed the blood from my face, and,with a mother’s tenderness, bound up my head,covering the wounded eye with a lean piece of freshbeef. It was almost compensation for my sufferingto witness, once more, a manifestation of kindnessfrom this, my once affectionate old mistress. MasterHugh was very much enraged. He gave expressionto his feelings by pouring out curses upon the headsof those who did the deed. As soon as I got a littlethe better of my bruises, he took me with him toEsquire Watson’s, onBond Street, to see what couldbe done about the matter. Mr. Watson inquired whosaw the assault committed. Master Hugh told himit was done in Mr. Gardner’s ship-yard at midday,where there were a large company of men at work.”As to that,” he said, “the deed was done, and therewas no question as to who did it.” His answer was,he could do nothing in the case, unless some whiteman would come forward and testify. He couldissue no warrant on my word. If I had been killedin the presence of a thousand colored people, theirtestimony combined would have been insufficientto have arrested one of the murderers. Master Hugh,for once, was compelled to say this state of thingswas too bad. Of course, it was impossible to get anywhite man to volunteer his testimony in my behalf,and against the white young men. Even those whomay have sympathized with me were not preparedto do this. It required a degree of courage unknownto them to do so; for just at that time, the slightestmanifestation of humanity toward a colored personwas denounced as abolitionism, and that name subjected its bearer to frightful liabilities. The watchwords of the bloody-minded in that region, and inthose days, were, “Damn the abolitionists!” and”Damn the niggers!” There was nothing done, andprobably nothing would have been done if I hadbeen killed. Such was, and such remains, the stateof things in the Christian city ofBaltimore.

Master Hugh, finding he could get no redress, refused to let me go back again to Mr. Gardner. Hekept me himself, and his wife dressed my woundtill I was again restored to health. He then took meinto the ship-yard of which he was foreman, in theemployment of Mr. Walter Price. There I was immediately set to calking, and very soon learned theart of using my mallet and irons. In the course ofone year from the time I left Mr. Gardner’s, I wasable to command the highest wages given to themost experienced calkers. I was now of some importance to my master. I was bringing him from sixto seven dollars per week. I sometimes brought himnine dollars per week: my wages were a dollar anda half a day. After learning how to calk, I soughtmy own employment, made my own contracts, andcollected the money which I earned. My pathwaybecame much more smooth than before; my condition was now much more comfortable. When I couldget no calking to do, I did nothing. During theseleisure times, those old notions about freedom wouldsteal over me again. When in Mr. Gardner’s employment, I was kept in such a perpetual whirl of excitement, I could think of nothing, scarcely, butmy life; and in thinking of my life, I almost forgotmy liberty. I have observed this in my experienceof slavery,–that whenever my condition was improved, instead of its increasing my contentment,it only increased my desire to be free, and set me tothinking of plans to gain my freedom. I have foundthat, to make a contented slave, it is necessary tomake a thoughtless one. It is necessary to darken hismoral and mental vision, and, as far as possible, toannihilate the power of reason. He must be able todetect no inconsistencies in slavery; he must be madeto feel that slavery is right; and he can be broughtto that only when he ceases to be a man.

I was now getting, as I have said, one dollar andfifty cents per day. I contracted for it; I earned it;it was paid to me; it was rightfully my own; yet,upon each returning Saturday night, I was compelledto deliver every cent of that money to Master Hugh.And why? Not because he earned it,–not becausehe had any hand in earning it,–not because I owedit to him,–nor because he possessed the slightestshadow of a right to it; but solely because he hadthe power to compel me to give it up. The right ofthe grim-visaged pirate upon the high seas is exactlythe same.

Chapter 11

I now come to that part of my life during which Iplanned, and finally succeeded in making, my escapefrom slavery. But before narrating any of the peculiar circumstances, I deem it proper to makeknown my intention not to state all the facts connected with the transaction. My reasons for pursuingthis course may be understood from the following:First, were I to give a minute statement of all thefacts, it is not only possible, but quite probable, thatothers would thereby be involved in the most embarrassing difficulties. Secondly, such a statement wouldmost undoubtedly induce greater vigilance on thepart of slaveholders than has existed heretoforeamong them; which would, of course, be the meansof guarding a door whereby some dear brother bondman might escape his galling chains. I deeply regretthe necessity that impels me to suppress any thingof importance connected with my experience inslavery. It would afford me great pleasure indeed,as well as materially add to the interest of my narrative, were I at liberty to gratify a curiosity, whichI know exists in the minds of many, by an accuratestatement of all the facts pertaining to my mostfortunate escape. But I must deprive myself of thispleasure, and the curious of the gratification whichsuch a statement would afford. I would allow myself to suffer under the greatest imputations whichevil-minded men might suggest, rather than exculpate myself, and thereby run the hazard of closingthe slightest avenue by which a brother slave mightclear himself of the chains and fetters of slavery.

I have never approved of the very public mannerin which some of our western friends have conductedwhat they call the ~underground railroad,~ but whichI think, by their open declarations, has been mademost emphatically the ~upperground railroad.~ I honorthose good men and women for their noble daring,and applaud them for willingly subjecting themselves to bloody persecution, by openly avowing theirparticipation in the escape of slaves. I, however, cansee very little good resulting from such a course,either to themselves or the slaves escaping; while,upon the other hand, I see and feel assured thatthose open declarations are a positive evil to theslaves remaining, who are seeking to escape. Theydo nothing towards enlightening the slave, whilstthey do much towards enlightening the master.They stimulate him to greater watchfulness, andenhance his power to capture his slave. We owesomething to the slave south of the line as well asto those north of it; and in aiding the latter on theirway to freedom, we should be careful to do nothingwhich would be likely to hinder the former fromescaping from slavery. I would keep the mercilessslaveholder profoundly ignorant of the means offlight adopted by the slave. I would leave him toimagine himself surrounded by myriads of invisibletormentors, ever ready to snatch from his infernalgrasp his trembling prey. Let him be left to feelhis way in the dark; let darkness commensurate withhis crime hover over him; and let him feel that atevery step he takes, in pursuit of the flying bondman,he is running the frightful risk of having his hotbrains dashed out by an invisible agency. Let usrender the tyrant no aid; let us not hold the lightby which he can trace the footprints of our flyingbrother. But enough of this. I will now proceed tothe statement of those facts, connected with myescape, for which I am alone responsible, and forwhich no one can be made to suffer but myself.

In the early part of the year 1838, I became quiterestless. I could see no reason why I should, at theend of each week, pour the reward of my toil intothe purse of my master. When I carried to him myweekly wages, he would, after counting the money,look me in the face with a robber-like fierceness,and ask, “Is this all?” He was satisfied with nothingless than the last cent. He would, however, when Imade him six dollars, sometimes give me six cents,to encourage me. It had the opposite effect. I regarded it as a sort of admission of my right to thewhole. The fact that he gave me any part of mywages was proof, to my mind, that he believed meentitled to the whole of them. I always felt worsefor having received any thing; for I feared that thegiving me a few cents would ease his conscience,and make him feel himself to be a pretty honorablesort of robber. My discontent grew upon me. I wasever on the look-out for means of escape; and, finding no direct means, I determined to try to hire mytime, with a view of getting money with which tomake my escape. In the spring of 1838, when MasterThomas came toBaltimoreto purchase his springgoods, I got an opportunity, and applied to him toallow me to hire my time. He unhesitatingly refusedmy request, and told me this was another stratagemby which to escape. He told me I could go nowherebut that he could get me; and that, in the eventof my running away, he should spare no pains in hisefforts to catch me. He exhorted me to contentmyself, and be obedient. He told me, if I wouldbe happy, I must lay out no plans for the future.He said, if I behaved myself properly, he would takecare of me. Indeed, he advised me to completethoughtlessness of the future, and taught me to depend solely upon him for happiness. He seemed tosee fully the pressing necessity of setting aside myintellectual nature, in order to contentment inslavery. But in spite of him, and even in spite ofmyself, I continued to think, and to think aboutthe injustice of my enslavement, and the means ofescape.

About two months after this, I applied to MasterHugh for the privilege of hiring my time. He wasnot acquainted with the fact that I had applied toMaster Thomas, and had been refused. He too, atfirst, seemed disposed to refuse; but, after some reflection, he granted me the privilege, and proposedthe following terms: I was to be allowed all mytime, make all contracts with those for whom Iworked, and find my own employment; and, in return for this liberty, I was to pay him three dollarsat the end of each week; find myself in calking tools,and in board and clothing. My board was two dollars and a half per week. This, with the wear andtear of clothing and calking tools, made my regularexpenses about six dollars per week. This amountI was compelled to make up, or relinquish theprivilege of hiring my time. Rain or shine, work orno work, at the end of each week the money mustbe forthcoming, or I must give up my privilege. Thisarrangement, it will be perceived, was decidedly inmy master’s favor. It relieved him of all need oflooking after me. His money was sure. He receivedall the benefits of slaveholding without its evils;while I endured all the evils of a slave, and sufferedall the care and anxiety of a freeman. I found it ahard bargain. But, hard as it was, I thought it betterthan the old mode of getting along. It was a steptowards freedom to be allowed to bear the responsibilities of a freeman, and I was determined to holdon upon it. I bent myself to the work of makingmoney. I was ready to work at night as well as day,and by the most untiring perseverance and industry,I made enough to meet my expenses, and lay upa little money every week. I went on thus from Maytill August. Master Hugh then refused to allow meto hire my time longer. The ground for his refusalwas a failure on my part, one Saturday night, to payhim for my week’s time. This failure was occasionedby my attending a camp meeting about ten milesfromBaltimore. During the week, I had enteredinto an engagement with a number of young friendsto start from Baltimore to the camp ground earlySaturday evening; and being detained by my employer, I was unable to get down to Master Hugh’swithout disappointing the company. I knew thatMaster Hugh was in no special need of the moneythat night. I therefore decided to go to camp meeting, and upon my return pay him the three dollars.I staid at the camp meeting one day longer than Iintended when I left. But as soon as I returned, Icalled upon him to pay him what he considered hisdue. I found him very angry; he could scarce restrainhis wrath. He said he had a great mind to give me asevere whipping. He wished to know how I daredgo out of the city without asking his permission. Itold him I hired my time and while I paid him theprice which he asked for it, I did not know that Iwas bound to ask him when and where I should go.This reply troubled him; and, after reflecting a fewmoments, he turned to me, and said I should hiremy time no longer; that the next thing he shouldknow of, I would be running away. Upon the sameplea, he told me to bring my tools and clothinghome forthwith. I did so; but instead of seekingwork, as I had been accustomed to do previously tohiring my time, I spent the whole week withoutthe performance of a single stroke of work. I did thisin retaliation. Saturday night, he called upon meas usual for my week’s wages. I told him I had nowages; I had done no work that week. Here wewere upon the point of coming to blows. He raved,and swore his determination to get hold of me. I didnot allow myself a single word; but was resolved, ifhe laid the weight of his hand upon me, it shouldbe blow for blow. He did not strike me, but told methat he would find me in constant employment infuture. I thought the matter over during the next day,Sunday, and finally resolved upon the third day ofSeptember, as the day upon which I would make asecond attempt to secure my freedom. I now hadthree weeks during which to prepare for my journey.Early on Monday morning, before Master Hugh hadtime to make any engagement for me, I went outand got employment of Mr. Butler, at his ship-yardnear the drawbridge, upon what is called the CityBlock, thus making it unnecessary for him to seekemployment for me. At the end of the week, Ibrought him between eight and nine dollars. Heseemed very well pleased, and asked why I did notdo the same the week before. He little knew whatmy plans were. My object in working steadily wasto remove any suspicion he might entertain of myintent to run away; and in this I succeeded admirably. I suppose he thought I was never bettersatisfied with my condition than at the very timeduring which I was planning my escape. The secondweek passed, and again I carried him my full wages;and so well pleased was he, that he gave me twentyfive cents, (quite a large sum for a slaveholder togive a slave,) and bade me to make a good use of it.I told him I would.

Things went on without very smoothly indeed,but within there was trouble. It is impossible forme to describe my feelings as the time of my contemplated start drew near. I had a number of warmhearted friends inBaltimore,–friends that I lovedalmost as I did my life,–and the thought of beingseparated from them forever was painful beyondexpression. It is my opinion that thousands wouldescape from slavery, who now remain, but for thestrong cords of affection that bind them to theirfriends. The thought of leaving my friends was decidedly the most painful thought with which I hadto contend. The love of them was my tender point,and shook my decision more than all things else.Besides the pain of separation, the dread and apprehension of a failure exceeded what I had experiencedat my first attempt. The appalling defeat I thensustained returned to torment me. I felt assuredthat, if I failed in this attempt, my case would bea hopeless one–it would seal my fate as a slave forever. I could not hope to get off with any thing lessthan the severest punishment, and being placedbeyond the means of escape. It required no veryvivid imagination to depict the most frightfulscenes through which I should have to pass, in caseI failed. The wretchedness of slavery, and theblessedness of freedom, were perpetually before me.It was life and death with me. But I remainedfirm, and, according to my resolution, on the thirdday of September, 1838, I left my chains, and succeeded in reachingNew Yorkwithout the slightestinterruption of any kind. How I did so,–what meansI adopted,–what direction I travelled, and by whatmode of conveyance,–I must leave unexplained,for the reasons before mentioned.

I have been frequently asked how I felt when Ifound myself in afree State. I have never been ableto answer the question with any satisfaction to myself. It was a moment of the highest excitement Iever experienced. I suppose I felt as one may imaginethe unarmed mariner to feel when he is rescuedby a friendly man-of-war from the pursuit of a pirate.In writing to a dear friend, immediately after myarrival at New York, I said I felt like one who hadescaped a den of hungry lions. This state of mind,however, very soon subsided; and I was again seizedwith a feeling of great insecurity and loneliness. Iwas yet liable to be taken back, and subjected toall the tortures of slavery. This in itself was enoughto damp the ardor of my enthusiasm. But the loneliness overcame me. There I was in the midst ofthousands, and yet a perfect stranger; without homeand without friends, in the midst of thousands of myown brethren–children of a common Father, andyet I dared not to unfold to any one of them mysad condition. I was afraid to speak to any one forfear of speaking to the wrong one, and thereby falling into the hands of money-loving kidnappers,whose business it was to lie in wait for the pantingfugitive, as the ferocious beasts of the forest lie inwait for their prey. The motto which I adoptedwhen I started from slavery was this–“Trust noman!” I saw in every white man an enemy, and inalmost every colored man cause for distrust. It wasa most painful situation; and, to understand it, onemust needs experience it, or imagine himself insimilar circumstances. Let him be a fugitive slave ina strange land–a land given up to be the huntingground for slaveholders–whose inhabitants are legalized kidnappers–where he is every moment subjected to the terrible liability of being seized uponby his fellowmen, as the hideous crocodile seizesupon his prey!–I say, let him place himself in mysituation–without home or friends–without moneyor credit–wanting shelter, and no one to give it-wanting bread, and no money to buy it,–and at thesame time let him feel that he is pursued by merciless men-hunters, and in total darkness as to whatto do, where to go, or where to stay,–perfectly helpless both as to the means of defence and means ofescape,–in the midst of plenty, yet suffering the terrible gnawings of hunger,–in the midst of houses,yet having no home,–among fellow-men, yet feelingas if in the midst of wild beasts, whose greedinessto swallow up the trembling and half-famished fugitive is only equalled by that with which the monstersof the deep swallow up the helpless fish upon whichthey subsist,–I say, let him be placed in this mosttrying situation,–the situation in which I was placed,–then, and not till then, will he fully appreciate thehardships of, and know how to sympathize with, thetoil-worn and whip-scarred fugitive slave.

Thank Heaven, I remained but a short time inthis distressed situation. I was relieved from it by thehumane hand of Mr. DAVID RUGGLES, whose vigilance, kindness, and perseverance, I shall never forget. I am glad of an opportunity to express, as far aswords can, the love and gratitude I bear him. Mr.Ruggles is now afflicted with blindness, and is himself in need of the same kind offices which he wasonce so forward in the performance of toward others.I had been in New York but a few days, when Mr.Ruggles sought me out, and very kindly took meto his boarding-house at the corner of Church andLespenard Streets. Mr. Ruggles was then very deeplyengaged in the memorable ~Darg~ case, as well as attending to a number of other fugitive slaves, devising ways and means for their successful escape; and,though watched and hemmed in on almost everyside, he seemed to be more than a match for hisenemies.

Very soon after I went to Mr. Ruggles, he wishedto know of me where I wanted to go; as he deemedit unsafe for me to remain inNew York. I told himI was a calker, and should like to go where I couldget work. I thought of going toCanada; but he decided against it, and in favor of my going to NewBedford, thinking I should be able to get work thereat my trade. At this time, Anna,* my intended wife,came on; for I wrote to her immediately after myarrival at New York, (notwithstanding my homeless,houseless, and helpless condition,) informing her ofmy successful flight, and wishing her to come onforthwith. In a few days after her arrival, Mr. Ruggles called in the Rev. J. W. C. Pennington, who, inthe presence of Mr. Ruggles, Mrs. Michaels, andtwo or three others, performed the marriage ceremony, and gave us a certificate, of which the following is an exact copy:–

“This may certify, that I joined together in holymatrimony Frederick Johnson+ and Anna Murray, asman and wife, in the presence of Mr. David Rugglesand Mrs. Michaels.

“JAMES W. C. PENNINGTON

“NEW YORK, SEPT. 15, 1838″

Upon receiving this certificate, and a five-dollarbill from Mr. Ruggles, I shouldered one part of ourbaggage, and Anna took up the other, and we setout forthwith to take passage on board of the steamboat John W. Richmond for Newport, on our wayto New Bedford. Mr. Ruggles gave me a letter to aMr. Shaw inNewport, and told me, in case mymoney did not serve me toNew Bedford, to stop inNewport and obtain further assistance; but upon our

*She was free.

+I had changed my name from Frederick BAILEYto that of JOHNSON.

arrival atNewport, we were so anxious to get to aplace of safety, that, notwithstanding we lacked thenecessary money to pay our fare, we decided to takeseats in the stage, and promise to pay when we gottoNew Bedford. We were encouraged to do this bytwo excellent gentlemen, residents ofNew Bedford,whose names I afterward ascertained to be JosephRicketson and William C. Taber. They seemed atonce to understand our circumstances, and gave ussuch assurance of their friendliness as put us fullyat ease in their presence. It was good indeed to meetwith such friends, at such a time. Upon reachingNewBedford, we were directed to the house of Mr.Nathan Johnson, by whom we were kindly received,and hospitably provided for. Both Mr. and Mrs.Johnson took a deep and lively interest in our welfare. They proved themselves quite worthy of thename of abolitionists. When the stage-driver foundus unable to pay our fare, he held on upon our baggage as security for the debt. I had but to mentionthe fact to Mr. Johnson, and he forthwith advancedthe money.

We now began to feel a degree of safety, and toprepare ourselves for the duties and responsibilitiesof a life of freedom. On the morning after our arrival atNew Bedford, while at the breakfast-table,the question arose as to what name I should becalled by. The name given me by my mother was,”FrederickAugustus Washington Bailey.” I, however, had dispensed with the two middle names longbefore I leftMarylandso that I was generally knownby the name of “Frederick Bailey.” I started fromBaltimore bearing the name of “Stanley.” When Igot toNew York, I again changed my name to “Frederick Johnson,” and thought that would be the lastchange. But when I got toNew Bedford, I found itnecessary again to change my name. The reason ofthis necessity was, that there were so many Johnsonsin New Bedford, it was already quite difficult todistinguish between them. I gave Mr. Johnson theprivilege of choosing me a name, but told him hemust not take from me the name of “Frederick.”I must hold on to that, to preserve a sense of myidentity. Mr. Johnson had just been reading the”Lady of theLake,” and at once suggested that myname be “Douglass.” From that time until now Ihave been called “Frederick Douglass;” and as I ammore widely known by that name than by either ofthe others, I shall continue to use it as my own.

I was quite disappointed at the general appearance of things inNew Bedford. The impressionwhich I had received respecting the character andcondition of the people of the north, I found to besingularly erroneous. I had very strangely supposed,while in slavery, that few of the comforts, andscarcely any of the luxuries, of life were enjoyed atthe north, compared with what were enjoyed by theslaveholders of the south. I probably came to thisconclusion from the fact that northern people ownedno slaves. I supposed that they were about upon alevel with the non-slaveholding population of thesouth. I knew ~they~ were exceedingly poor, and I hadbeen accustomed to regard their poverty as the necessary consequence of their being non-slaveholders.I had somehow imbibed the opinion that, in theabsence of slaves, there could be no wealth, and verylittle refinement. And upon coming to the north, Iexpected to meet with a rough, hard-handed, anduncultivated population, living in the most Spartanlike simplicity, knowing nothing of the ease, luxury,pomp, and grandeur of southern slaveholders. Suchbeing my conjectures, any one acquainted with theappearance ofNew Bedfordmay very readily inferhow palpably I must have seen my mistake.

In the afternoon of the day when I reached NewBedford, I visited the wharves, to take a view of theshipping. Here I found myself surrounded with thestrongest proofs of wealth. Lying at the wharves, andriding in the stream, I saw many ships of the finestmodel, in the best order, and of the largest size.Upon the right and left, I was walled in by granitewarehouses of the widest dimensions, stowed to theirutmost capacity with the necessaries and comfortsof life. Added to this, almost every body seemed tobe at work, but noiselessly so, compared with whatI had been accustomed to inBaltimore. There wereno loud songs heard from those engaged in loadingand unloading ships. I heard no deep oaths or horridcurses on the laborer. I saw no whipping of men;but all seemed to go smoothly on. Every man appeared to understand his work, and went at it witha sober, yet cheerful earnestness, which betokenedthe deep interest which he felt in what he was doing,as well as a sense of his own dignity as a man. To methis looked exceedingly strange. From the wharves Istrolled around and over the town, gazing with wonder and admiration at the splendid churches, beautiful dwellings, and finely-cultivated gardens; evincingan amount of wealth, comfort, taste, and refinement,such as I had never seen in any part of slaveholdingMaryland.

Every thing looked clean, new, and beautiful. Isaw few or no dilapidated houses, with povertystricken inmates; no half-naked children and barefooted women, such as I had been accustomed to seein Hillsborough, Easton, St. Michael’s, and Baltimore. The people looked more able, stronger, healthier, and happier, than those ofMaryland. I was foronce made glad by a view of extreme wealth, withoutbeing saddened by seeing extreme poverty. But themost astonishing as well as the most interesting thingto me was the condition of the colored people, agreat many of whom, like myself, had escapedthither as a refuge from the hunters of men. I foundmany, who had not been seven years out of theirchains, living in finer houses, and evidently enjoyingmore of the comforts of life, than the average ofslaveholders in Maryland. I will venture to assert,that my friend Mr. Nathan Johnson (of whom Ican say with a grateful heart, “I was hungry, and hegave me meat; I was thirsty, and he gave me drink;I was a stranger, and he took me in”) lived in aneater house; dined at a better table; took, paidfor, and read, more newspapers; better understoodthe moral, religious, and political character of thenation,–than nine tenths of the slaveholders in Talbot county Maryland. Yet Mr. Johnson was a working man. His hands were hardened by toil, and nothis alone, but those also of Mrs. Johnson. I found thecolored people much more spirited than I had supposed they would be. I found among them a determination to protect each other from the blood-thirstykidnapper, at all hazards. Soon after my arrival, Iwas told of a circumstance which illustrated theirspirit. A colored man and a fugitive slave were onunfriendly terms. The former was heard to threatenthe latter with informing his master of his whereabouts. Straightway a meeting was called among thecolored people, under the stereotyped notice, “Business of importance!” The betrayer was invited to attend. The people came at the appointed hour, andorganized the meeting by appointing a very religiousold gentleman as president, who, I believe, made aprayer, after which he addressed the meeting as follows: “~Friends, we have got him here, and I wouldrecommend that you young men just take him outside the door, and kill him!~” With this, a numberof them bolted at him; but they were interceptedby some more timid than themselves, and the betrayer escaped their vengeance, and has not beenseen in New Bedford since. I believe there havebeen no more such threats, and should there be hereafter, I doubt not that death would be the consequence.

I found employment, the third day after my arrival, in stowing a sloop with a load of oil. It wasnew, dirty, and hard work for me; but I went at itwith a glad heart and a willing hand. I was now myown master. It was a happy moment, the rapture ofwhich can be understood only by those who havebeen slaves. It was the first work, the reward ofwhich was to be entirely my own. There was no Master Hugh standing ready, the moment I earned themoney, to rob me of it. I worked that day with apleasure I had never before experienced. I was atwork for myself and newly-married wife. It was to methe starting-point of a new existence. When I gotthrough with that job, I went in pursuit of a job ofcalking; but such was the strength of prejudiceagainst color, among the white calkers, that they refused to work with me, and of course I could get noemployment.* Finding my trade of no immediatebenefit, I threw off my calking habiliments, and prepared myself to do any kind of work I could get todo. Mr. Johnson kindly let me have his wood-horseand saw, and I very soon found myself a plenty ofwork. There was no work too hard–none too dirty.I was ready to saw wood, shovel coal, carry wood,sweep the chimney, or roll oil casks,–all of which I

* I am told that colored persons can now get employmentat calking inNew Bedford–a result of anti-slavery effort.did for nearly three years inNew Bedford, before Ibecame known to the anti-slavery world.

In about four months after I went toNew Bedford, there came a young man to me, and inquiredif I did not wish to take the “Liberator.” I told himI did; but, just having made my escape from slavery,I remarked that I was unable to pay for it then. I,however, finally became a subscriber to it. The papercame, and I read it from week to week with suchfeelings as it would be quite idle for me to attemptto describe. The paper became my meat and mydrink. My soul was set all on fire. Its sympathy formy brethren in bonds–its scathing denunciations ofslaveholders–its faithful exposures of slavery–and itspowerful attacks upon the upholders of the institution–sent a thrill of joy through my soul, such asI had never felt before!

I had not long been a reader of the “Liberator,”before I got a pretty correct idea of the principles,measures and spirit of the anti-slavery reform. I tookright hold of the cause. I could do but little; butwhat I could, I did with a joyful heart, and never felthappier than when in an anti-slavery meeting. I seldom had much to say at the meetings, because whatI wanted to say was said so much better by others.But, while attending an anti-slavery convention atNantucket, on the 11th of August, 1841, I feltstrongly moved to speak, and was at the same timemuch urged to do so by Mr. William C. Coffin, agentleman who had heard me speak in the coloredpeople’s meeting at New Bedford. It was a severecross, and I took it up reluctantly. The truth was,I felt myself a slave, and the idea of speaking towhite people weighed me down. I spoke but a fewmoments, when I felt a degree of freedom, and saidwhat I desired with considerable ease. From thattime until now, I have been engaged in pleading thecause of my brethren–with what success, and withwhat devotion, I leave those acquainted with my labors to decide.

APPENDIX

I find, since reading over the foregoing Narrative,that I have, in several instances, spoken in such atone and manner, respecting religion, as may possibly lead those unacquainted with my religious viewsto suppose me an opponent of all religion. To remove the liability of such misapprehension, I deemit proper to append the following brief explanation.What I have said respecting and against religion, Imean strictly to apply to the ~slaveholding religion~ ofthis land, and with no possible reference to Christianity proper; for, between the Christianity of thisland, and the Christianity of Christ, I recognize thewidest possible difference–so wide, that to receivethe one as good, pure, and holy, is of necessity to reject the other as bad, corrupt, and wicked. To be thefriend of the one, is of necessity to be the enemyof the other. I love the pure, peaceable, and impartial Christianity of Christ: I therefore hate the corrupt, slaveholding, women-whipping, cradle-plundering, partial and hypocritical Christianity of this land.Indeed, I can see no reason, but the most deceitfulone, for calling the religion of this land Christianity.I look upon it as the climax of all misnomers, theboldest of all frauds, and the grossest of all libels.Never was there a clearer case of “stealing the liveryof the court of heaven to serve the devil in.” I amfilled with unutterable loathing when I contemplate the religious pomp and show, together with thehorrible inconsistencies, which every where surroundme. We have men-stealers for ministers, womenwhippers for missionaries, and cradle-plunderers forchurch members. The man who wields the bloodclotted cowskin during the week fills the pulpit onSunday, and claims to be a minister of the meek andlowly Jesus. The man who robs me of my earningsat the end of each week meets me as a class-leaderon Sunday morning, to show me the way of life,and the path of salvation. He who sells my sister,for purposes of prostitution, stands forth as the pious advocate of purity. He who proclaims it a religious duty to read the Bible denies me the rightof learning to read the name of the God who mademe. He who is the religious advocate of marriagerobs whole millions of its sacred influence, and leavesthem to the ravages of wholesale pollution. Thewarm defender of the sacredness of the family relation is the same that scatters whole families,–sundering husbands and wives, parents and children,sisters and brothers,–leaving the hut vacant, and thehearth desolate. We see the thief preaching againsttheft, and the adulterer against adultery. We havemen sold to build churches, women sold to supportthe gospel, and babes sold to purchase Bibles forthe POOR HEATHEN! ALL FOR THE GLORY OF GOD AND THEGOOD OF SOULS! The slave auctioneer’s bell and thechurch-going bell chime in with each other, and thebitter cries of the heart-broken slave are drownedin the religious shouts of his pious master. Revivalsof religion and revivals in the slave-trade go handin hand together. The slave prison and the churchstand near each other. The clanking of fetters andthe rattling of chains in the prison, and the piouspsalm and solemn prayer in the church, may beheard at the same time. The dealers in the bodiesand souls of men erect their stand in the presenceof the pulpit, and they mutually help each other.The dealer gives his blood-stained gold to supportthe pulpit, and the pulpit, in return, covers his infernal business with the garb of Christianity. Herewe have religion and robbery the allies of each other–devils dressed in angels’ robes, and hell presentingthe semblance of paradise.

“Just God! and these are they, Who minister at thine altar, God of right!Men who their hands, with prayer and blessing, lay OnIsrael’s ark of light.

“What! preach, and kidnap men? Give thanks, and rob thy own afflicted poor?Talk of thy glorious liberty, and then Bolt hard the captive’s door?

“What! servants of thy own Merciful Son, who came to seek and saveThe homeless and the outcast, fettering down The tasked and plundered slave!

“Pilate and Herod friends! Chief priests and rulers, as of old, combine!Just God and holy! is that church which lends Strength to the spoiler thine?”

The Christianity of America is a Christianity, ofwhose votaries it may be as truly said, as it was ofthe ancient scribes and Pharisees, “They bind heavyburdens, and grievous to be borne, and lay them onmen’s shoulders, but they themselves will not movethem with one of their fingers. All their works theydo for to be seen of men.–They love the uppermost rooms at feasts, and the chief seats in the synagogues, . . . . . . and to be called of men, Rabbi,Rabbi.–But woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees,hypocrites! for ye shut up the kingdom of heavenagainst men; for ye neither go in yourselves, neithersuffer ye them that are entering to go in. Ye devourwidows’ houses, and for a pretence make longprayers; therefore ye shall receive the greater damnation. Ye compass sea and land to make one proselyte, and when he is made, ye make him twofoldmore the child of hell than yourselves.–Woe untoyou, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye paytithe of mint, and anise, and cumin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment,mercy, and faith; these ought ye to have done, andnot to leave the other undone. Ye blind guides!which strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel. Woeunto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for yemake clean the outside of the cup and of the platter;but within, they are full of extortion and excess.-Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! forye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of deadmen’s bones, and of all uncleanness. Even so ye alsooutwardly appear righteous unto men, but withinye are full of hypocrisy and iniquity.”

Dark and terrible as is this picture, I hold it to bestrictly true of the overwhelming mass of professedChristians inAmerica. They strain at a gnat, andswallow a camel. Could any thing be more true ofour churches? They would be shocked at the proposition of fellowshipping a SHEEP-stealer; and at thesame time they hug to their communion a MANstealer, and brand me with being an infidel, if Ifind fault with them for it. They attend with Pharisaical strictness to the outward forms of religion, andat the same time neglect the weightier matters ofthe law, judgment, mercy, and faith. They are always ready to sacrifice, but seldom to show mercy.They are they who are represented as professing tolove God whom they have not seen, whilst they hatetheir brother whom they have seen. They love theheathen on the other side of the globe. They canpray for him, pay money to have the Bible put intohis hand, and missionaries to instruct him; whilethey despise and totally neglect the heathen at theirown doors.

Such is, very briefly, my view of the religion ofthis land; and to avoid any misunderstanding, growing out of the use of general terms, I mean by thereligion of this land, that which is revealed in thewords, deeds, and actions, of those bodies, north andsouth, calling themselves Christian churches, and yetin union with slaveholders. It is against religion, aspresented by these bodies, that I have felt it myduty to testify.

I conclude these remarks by copying the followingportrait of the religion of the south, (which is, bycommunion and fellowship, the religion of thenorth,) which I soberly affirm is “true to the life,”and without caricature or the slightest exaggeration.It is said to have been drawn, several years beforethe present anti-slavery agitation began, by a northern Methodist preacher, who, while residing at thesouth, had an opportunity to see slaveholding morals, manners, and piety, with his own eyes. “ShallI not visit for these things? saith the Lord. Shall notmy soul be avenged on such a nation as this?”

A PARODY

“Come, saints and sinners, hear me tellHow pious priests whip Jack and Nell,And women buy and children sell,And preach all sinners down to hell, And sing of heavenly union.”They’ll bleat and baa, dona like goats,Gorge down black sheep, and strain at motes,Array their backs in fine black coats,Then seize their negroes by their throats, And choke, for heavenly union.

“They’ll church you if you sip a dram,And damn you if you steal a lamb;Yet rob old Tony, Doll, and Sam,Of human rights, and bread and ham; Kidnapper’s heavenly union.

“They’ll loudly talk of Christ’s reward,And bind his image with a cord,And scold, and swing the lash abhorred,And sell their brother in the Lord To handcuffed heavenly union.

“They’ll read and sing a sacred song,And make a prayer both loud and long,And teach the right and do the wrong,Hailing the brother, sister throng, With words of heavenly union.

“We wonder how such saints can sing,Or praise the Lord upon the wing,Who roar, and scold, and whip, and sting,And to their slaves and mammon cling, In guilty conscience union.

“They’ll raise tobacco, corn, and rye,And drive, and thieve, and cheat, and lie,And lay up treasures in the sky,By making switch and cowskin fly, In hope of heavenly union.”They’ll crack old Tony on the skull,And preach and roar like Bashan bull,Or braying ass, of mischief full,Then seize old Jacob by the wool, And pull for heavenly union.

“A roaring, ranting, sleek man-thief,Who lived on mutton, veal, and beef,Yet never would afford reliefTo needy, sable sons of grief, Was big with heavenly union.

“‘Love not the world,’ the preacher said,And winked his eye, and shook his head;He seized on Tom, and Dick, and Ned,Cut short their meat, and clothes, and bread, Yet still loved heavenly union.

“Another preacher whining spokeOf One whose heart for sinners broke:He tied old Nanny to an oak,And drew the blood at every stroke, And prayed for heavenly union.

“Two others oped their iron jaws,And waved their children-stealing paws;There sat their children in gewgaws;By stinting negroes’ backs and maws, They kept up heavenly union.

“All good from Jack another takes,And entertains their flirts and rakes,Who dress as sleek as glossy snakes,And cram their mouths with sweetened cakes; And this goes down for union.”

Sincerely and earnestly hoping that this little bookmay do something toward throwing light on theAmerican slave system, and hastening the glad dayof deliverance to the millions of my brethren inbonds–faithfully relying upon the power of truth,love, and justice, for success in my humble efforts–and solemnly pledging my self anew to the sacredcause,–I subscribe myself,

FREDERICK DOUGLASSLYNN, ~Mass., April~ 28, 1845.

THE END

 

It is not fair picking qustions for students classroom test/assessment in any way. A teacher should be creative in the particular enviroment.

Test Questions for Intro. to Philosophy (Phil 251):
Philosophy in General, Socrates, and Plato

Answers at end.

True/False (True=A, False=B)

1.  To say that philosophy encourages the adoption of a questioning attitude means that philosophic thinking encourages people to deny the existence of God or traditional moral beliefs.

2. In philosophy the purpose of rational self-examination is to develop arguments that correct or support beliefs in ways that could be persuasive even to people with different backgrounds.

3. Though philosophy is defined as the pursuit of wisdom, it does not investigate what it means to ask questions in the first place.

4. As the pursuit of wisdom, philosophy raises questions about almost everything except what it means to question in the first place.

5. Because philosophy requires that we question our beliefs, it cannot provide reasons why one set of beliefs should be preferred over another.

6. One of the primary aims of philosophy is to see how our beliefs compare with those of others who can and do raise objections against those beliefs.

7. Philosophy attempts to answer questions such as “Why do we exist?” by examining what it means to ask such questions and to evaluate whether proposed answers to such questions are justified.

8. Philosophical questions are generally more concerned with identifying how beliefs differ among persons or cultures than with how those different beliefs can be justified.

9. Myth provides the vocabulary and grammar in terms of which both philosophical questions and their answers are intelligible.

10.  By giving us a sense of purpose and moral value, myth indicates our place in nature and explains in general why things are the way they are.

11.  The point of the Socratic method is to determine the truth of a belief by means of dialectical exchange (questions and answers, hypothesis and counter-example).

12. Socrates’s comment that “the unexamined life is not worth living” is an example of his ironic technique of saying something that means just the opposite.

13. In the Socratic method of enquiry, one asks questions aimed at discovering the nature, essence, or fundamental principles of the topic under consideration.

14. Socratic ignorance is the same as complete skepticism because Socrates admits he knows nothing, not even whether his method of enquiry is appropriate.

15. Like the social sciences (e.g., psychology or sociology), philosophy discovers truths by identifying what people in fact believe instead of judging whether those beliefs are justified.

16. To say that philosophy is a “second order” discipline means that it investigates the presuppositions, criteria, and methods assumed by other disciplines.

17. To say that philosophy is more concerned with “second-order” or meta-level topics means that it is concerned more with facts and beliefs than with their presuppositions.
 

Multiple Choice

18. “Is there anything you would be willing to die for?” is a philosophical question insofar as:
  (a) it does not have any right or wrong answer because it is a meaningless question.
  (b) it is a meaningless question because everyone could have a different answer to it.
  (c) it forces us to articulate and justify our beliefs about what we know and ought to do.
  (d) it is more concerned with one’s religious beliefs than with factual claims about the world.

19. One of the aims of philosophy is to think critically about whether there are good reasons for adopting our beliefs.  Reasons are considered “good reasons” if they are consistent with everyday experience and:
  (a) are part of a set of religious, moral, or political beliefs that an individual feels deeply about.
  (b) are considered good by at least one culture, sub-culture, or individual.
  (c) cannot be interpreted in different ways by different people or cultures.
  (d) take into account objections, are acceptable to impartial third parties, and avoid undesirable consequences.

20. If the world that we individually perceive is limited to an internal perspective, then there is no way that we could determine whether our own perspective is useful, true, or valuable because:
  (a) we know whether our internal perspective is correct only by comparing it with an objective, external perspective (the “real” world).
  (b) whatever we appeal to in order to prove that our perspective is right itself would be part of the standard we use in evaluating that perspective.
  (c) scientific research that reveals facts about the world would cause us to challenge our perceptions in a dreamworld of our own making.
  (d) without limiting our perspective to an internal dreamworld, we cannot achieve any objective, external knowledge of the real world.

21. Philosophy is concerned primarily with identifying beliefs about human existence and evaluating arguments that support those beliefs.  These activities can be summarized in two questions that drive philosophical investigations:
  (a) why should we bother? and what are the consequences of our believing one thing over another?
  (b) what do you mean? and how do you know?
  (c) who really believes X? and how can we explain differences in people’s beliefs?
  (d) how do philosophers argue? and are their differences important?

22. One of the tasks of philosophy is to test conceptual frameworks for depth and consistency.  It does this through (1) expressing our ideas in clear, concise language and (2) supporting those ideas with reasons and with overcoming objections to them.  Philosophy thus emphasizes the need to:
  (a) pose questions that can be resolved not by reasoning but only by faith or personal belief.
  (b) show why the beliefs adopted by most people in a culture are preferable since more people understand those beliefs and see no reason to raise objections to them.
  (c) articulate what we mean by our beliefs and to justify our beliefs by arguments.
  (d) develop a set of ideas about the nature of society (i.e., an ideology) that can be used to support a religious conceptual framework.

23. The philosophic insistence on providing a logos for the world and our experience of it might itself rely ultimately on adopting a certain mythos, insofar as:
  (a) philosophy assumes that it is possible and meaningful to reason about the world and experience.
  (b) the myths of philosophy are really lies that are told to make so-called philosophic enquiries sound more respectable.
  (c) philosophy is based on logic, whereas myths are not based on logic.
  (d) mythos refers to the philosophic understanding of the world, whereas logos refers to the philosophic understanding of our experience of the world.

24. “There is no rationale for myth because it is through myth that reason itself is defined.”  This means that:
  (a) mythos is ultimately based on logos, just as myth is ultimately based on reasoning or thinking.
  (b) myth does not “explain” how things are related as much as it simply reveals them as related.
  (c) metaphysicians are justified in reasoning as they do because there is only one true answer about being.
  (d) myth and reason are the same: “myth” defines “reason,” and “reason” defines “myth.”

25. Whereas the social sciences (e.g., psychology, sociology, economics) ask questions about how people think and act, philosophy is the study of:
 (a) how people with different beliefs or backgrounds disagree with one another.
 (b) what beliefs mean and whether people with different beliefs are justified in having them.
 (c) the reasons why philosophic questions never have better or worse answers.
 (d) questions that can be answered better by appealing to scientific experiments.

26. To say that “philosophy” (like “love” or “art”) is not a closed concept means that we cannot state the necessary and sufficient conditions by which it is defined.  Rather, philosophic issues are identifiable as having “family resemblances” with one another.  In other words:
  (a) there is no one distinguishing feature that identifies an issue as philosophic, only an overlapping of issues roughly associated with one another.
  (b) the way we come to think about philosophy, love, or art really depends on how we were raised by our families to identify things as resembling one another.
  (c) the necessary and sufficient condition for something to be considered philosophic is that it answers either of these questions: What does it mean? and How do you know?
  (d) philosophy is not a closed discipline insofar as it is willing to accept any answer suggested by the “human family” as being true.

27. According to Socrates, just as there is a difference between what an ironic statement says and its true meaning, so also appearances differ from reality.  Even though societies or individuals appear to differ about what is required for the good life, that in no way contradicts the fact that:
 (a) what is right or wrong, true or false varies from one culture to another.
 (b) appearances are the only real way we have for knowing reality.
 (c) the distinction of appearance and reality is the basis for the dialectical discovery of truth.
 (d) there are objective principles for thought and action that are required for the good life.

28. According to Socrates, an unexamined life is not worth living; and it certainly could not be a virtuous life.  Why not?
  (a) Because if someone did not know how to act virtuously, he or she would still be considered virtuous by others who also did not know the principles for good living.
  (b) Because since Socrates was a philosopher, he of course thought that people who examined their lives philosophically were more virtuous than those who did not.
  (c) Because without knowing the rationale for why one should act in a particular way, one does not know whether actions are justified and ought to be repeated.
  (d) Because a virtuous life would be one in which someone does what the rest of the society says is right, and that means examining views other than one’s own.

29. In spite of the fact that Socrates claims to be ignorant of the essence or nature of certain things like justice, he is wise insofar as he recognizes that without such knowledge actions are rationally unjustified.  That is, his wisdom consists in his recognition not only that he is ignorant of such essences but also that:
  (a) justice, like knowledge, requires that we admit that we know nothing and never will.
  (b) he knows what he is supposed to be looking for–knowledge of the essences of things.
  (c) knowledge of the essences of things is impossible, because that would require that we know what we are looking for before we know what it is we are looking for.
  (d) his method of asking questions about essences is itself unjustified because he does not know why he engages in such a practice.

30. According to Socrates, the value or quality of one’s life depends on understanding the principles of, or basic rationale for human existence.  Without such knowledge (he suggests) life lacks virtue, because:
  (a) acting virtuously means acting in way that is informed about what one is doing and why.
  (b) someone who does not understand existence philosophically could never do anything right.
  (c) to have the power or ability to do anything at all requires that we know what we are doing.
  (d) not only is virtue knowledge but also the unexamined life is not worth living.

31. According to Socrates, it is important that we discover what makes a particular action (e.g., a merciful or just act) the kind of action that it is, because without such knowledge:
  (a) no one in society will ever do any action that really is merciful or just, only those actions that they think are merciful or just.
  (b) the primary purpose of human existence–which is to think and to know–is replaced by a focus on morality (acting and doing).
  (c) we can refer only to how people characterize actions without knowing why such actions should be characterized that way.
  (d) there would be no way to distinguish one kind of action (e.g., a merciful action) from another kind of action (e.g., a just action).

32.  For Socrates, the belief that “virtue is knowledge” is related to his claim that “the unexamined life is not worth living,” because he believes that:
  (a) the unexamined life is one in which we live day to day without asking questions about who we are and why we are here in the first place.
  (b) the Delphic oracle identified Socrates as the wisest person on earth because he claimed to know nothing.
  (c) by questioning traditional beliefs, we learn to recognize how some answers seem to be more satisfactory than others.
  (d) the only way to be a good or worthwhile person is to know how human beings should behave based on universal norms or values.

33. Socrates’ claim that “the unexamined life is not worth living” is often cited as a central theme in the activities of philosophy.  By it, Socrates is typically understood to mean that:
  (a) it is sometimes simply not worth all the effort of examining life and its problems in great detail; sometimes it is better simply to “go with the flow.”
  (b) while taking a reflective attitude toward life is interesting and even sometimes important, most of what makes life worth living is not worth examining.
  (c) simply doing whatever everyone else does without thinking about why we should do what we do can hardly be thought of as worthwhile, noble, or admirable.
  (d) it is a waste of time to sit around thinking about whether life is worth living; we should leave such reflection to talk-show hosts, political figures, and religious leaders.

34.  According to Socrates, the task of the wise and virtuous person is not simply to learn various examples of just or virtuous actions but to learn the essence of justice or virtue, because:
  (a) by knowing enough examples of justice or virtue, we will live a worthwhile life even if we do not know what makes them examples of justice or virtue.
  (b) knowledge of individual examples alone would not prepare someone for situations of justice or virtue to which the examples do not immediately apply.
  (c) what makes an action just or virtuous can be known only by asking people for their opinions and respecting each answer as equally valuable.
  (d) justice and virtue are universal goals of all human beings, even if people do not always agree on how to achieve those ends.

35.  Plato indicates that the knowledge of pure reason is preferable to conceptual understanding, because knowing that something is a certain kind of thing is not as good as knowing:
  (a) how we come to learn what to call a thing in virtue of our own experiences.
  (b) the logos or rationale of the thing, that is, why it is the way it is.
  (c) why we differ among ourselves about what we claim to know.
  (d) the difference between knowledge and opinion as outlined in Plato’s divided line image.

36. Like most rationalists, Plato defines knowledge as justified true belief.  In terms of this definition, we might be able to claim to know something as true which might actually be false, but it is impossible for us really to know something that is false.  Why?
 (a) Because to know something that is false is to know no real thing, nothing (i.e., not to know at all).
 (b) Because what we know as true is ultimately based on what we claim to know as true.
 (c) Because we cannot give a justification or reason for believing in something that is false.
 (d) Because in contrast to our knowledge of the unchanging Forms, beliefs about particular objects can change.

37. Plato distinguishes knowledge from mere belief or opinion by saying that knowledge must be a true belief for which one can give a justification, a rationale, or “logos.”  In terms of his image of the Divided Line, for Plato, knowledge is attained only when our sensible experience is:
  (a) grounded ultimately in what our senses reveal to us about the world of becoming.
  (b) based on images of the good, beauty, and truth obtained from particular objects and on which the concepts and Forms depend.
 (c) replaced by what we sincerely believe is true or have come to believe based on our upbringing.
  (d) understood in terms of concepts or innate ideas (Forms) that are perceived as rationally ordered.

38. According to Plato, we can attain knowledge only by seeing beyond this world of particular, changing objects to the true essences or Forms in terms of which things in this world are intelligible.  For example, we know what triangularity is not from comparing sensible triangles but by thinking of the ideal of triangularity in terms of which these sensible figures are recognized as triangles.  From this Plato concludes that all knowledge (as opposed to opinion) is innate, because:
  (a) from the moment we are born we know what things are in the world in terms of ideas that we get through our senses.
  (b) since we are born with senses (that is, our senses are innate), we can know things about the sensible world with certainty as long as we rely on the senses alone.
  (c) our knowledge of the world is not really of the sensible world itself but of the world grasped mathematically and ideally.
  (d) since our absolutely certain knowledge of things cannot be based on the changing things in sensible experience, it must merely be triggered by sensible experience.

39. In Plato’s idealism, the unchanging Ideas or “Forms” in terms of which sensible objects both exist and are known must transcend (that is, exist beyond) the changing realm of appearances; because if Forms changed, then:
  (a) the only things in the sensible world that we could ever experience would be concepts.
  (b) the sensible realm (in contrast to the intelligible realm) would consist only of copies of real things.
  (c) nothing in the experienced world could be or be identified as one determinate thing or another.
  (d) the sensible world would consist of unchanging Forms.

40. For Plato, ordinary sensible objects exist and are knowable as examples or instances of Ideas or “Forms” that do not exist in our ordinary sensible world.  Forms do not exist in the sensible world because:
  (a) in the sensible world only mathematical objects (e.g., triangles) can be known using hypotheses which are recollected when we are asked the right kinds of questions.
  (b) unlike everything in the sensible world, Forms are not individual things but rather the universal essences or natures by which individual things are what they are and are known.
  (c) nothing in the sensible, experienced world could exist or be identified as one particular thing or another unless there were a “Sensible World” Form (like the Form of beauty or justice).
  (d) the sensible world consists of changing Forms that exist and are known in terms of other changing Forms, which in turn exist and are known in terms of yet others in an endless regress.

41. “When a person starts on the discovery of the absolute by the light of reason only, and without any assistance of sense, and perseveres until by pure intelligence he arrives at the perception of the absolute good, he at last finds himself at the end of the intellectual world. . . . Dialectic, and dialectic alone, goes directly to the first principle and is the only science which does away with hypotheses in order to make her ground secure.”  Here Plato indicates how hypothetical knowledge cannot provide the foundation of dialectical knowledge, insofar as hypotheses simply:
  (a) explain sense experiences in terms of general concepts which themselves are not explained.
  (b) show how particular objects of experience cause us to recall innate ideas.
  (c) describe sense experience without providing an explanation for dialectical methods.
  (d) reject the use of reason, preferring instead dialectic, to achieve knowledge.

42. Plato’s suggestion that knowledge is innate or remembered as a result of being triggered by experience is in response to a paradox he sets up for himself.  The paradox, now referred to as Meno’s Paradox, has to do with the question of:
  (a) how a person can remember anything about the realm of the Forms after the shock of being born into this world.
  (b) how knowledge of the Forms can ever be anything other than a generalization of experience.
  (c) how anyone can recognize the correct answer to a question without already knowing the answer.
  (d) how concepts bound to the realm of becoming have meaning only when associated with the realm of Being.

43.  In his discussion of the Divided Line, Plato says that, in contrast to mere belief or opinion, knowledge is a belief for which we give reasons or justifications by appealing:
  (a) to what our senses reveal to us about how things appear to us, not how they  really are.
  (b) beyond the Forms to images of goodness, beauty, and truth obtained from particular objects.
  (c) to what we sincerely believe is true about the Forms based on our experiences in the world.
  (d) beyond sense experience to unchanging ideas (Forms) that are perceived as rationally ordered.

 

 

44. Aristotle says  that what makes things be what they are–their essence–does not exist apart from individ-uals that exist in the world.  So if all the members of a species were destroyed, then their essence or form:

 (a) would likewise be destroyed.
  (b) would be destroyed only if there were no one around to remember the species.
  (c) would continue existing (as with Plato’s Forms) in some other realm of being.
  (d) would not be destroyed because there was no essence or form originally to be destroyed; there are only individuals, not universal essences or natures of things.
 

Answers:
 
 

1. B
2. A
3. B
4. B
5. B
6. A
7. A
8. B

9. A
10. A
11. A
12. B
13. A
14. B
15. B
16. A

17. B
18. C
19. D
20. B
21. B
22. C
23. A
24. B
 

 25. B
26. A
27. D
28. C
29. B
30. A
31. C
32. D

33. C
34. B
35. B
36. A
37. D
38. C
39. C
40. B
 

41. A
42. C
43. D
44. A

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Phil 251: Intro. to Philosophy (Daniel) Test Questions: Ethics

True/False (True=A; False=B)

 1. To the extent that ethics, political philosophy, and aesthetics raise questions about judgments relating to value, they are concerned with axiology.

 2. The philosophical attempt of ethics to provide a standard for evaluating laws, religions, customs, and individual preferences is itself based on each philosopher’s personal values.

 3. In the retributive notion of justice, the purpose of punishment is to change the person’s character so that he or she does not commit such offenses again.

 4. As a utilitarian justification for capital punishment, the reform theory recommends the reform of society at large through the elimination of threatening individuals in the community.

 5. Because retribution serves a purpose–namely, giving someone what is due to him or her–it is generally considered a utilitarian justification for punishment.

 6. According to the retributivist, the execution of criminals is a form of respect shown to them as beings capable of making free choices for which they should take responsibility.

  7. According to Socrates and Plato, we should act virtuously for the sake of others, regardless of whether acting morally improves our ability to discern what is good or to control our passions.

  8. According to Socrates and Plato, we can be truly happy only if we allow our reason or intellect to guide our emotions and appetites.

  9. The point of Plato’s story of the ring of Gyges is this: only a fool would act morally if he or she could get away with acting immorally.

  10. In responding to the story of the ring of Gyges, Plato argues that immorality can never be in someone’s ultimate self-interest because immoral people are never truly happy.

  11.  In Plato’s theory of the state, justice is ultimately achieved when the ruling class is able to do away with social inequalities by driving the military and working classes out of society.

  12.  For Plato, the moral balance or harmony of the three parts of the soul is a parallel to the condition of political harmony one must seek in the state.

  13.  According to Plato, the soul achieves balance or harmony only when reason controls both the spirited (or courageous) part of the soul and the soul’s appetites.

  14. According to Plato, moral goodness is achieved by eliminating the activities of the lower parts of the soul and acting solely on the basis of reason.

 15. In Epicurus’ version of hedonism, all decisions about how to live should be based on whether or not one’s actions will produce pleasure and avoid pain.

 16. For Epicurus, since death is the end of sensation (and therefore the end of all pain), death is a positive good that we should look forward to.

 17. Hedonism is a form of teleological ethical theory insofar as it recommends that we act so as to produce happiness (pleasure) as the consequence of our actions.

 18. The egoistic hedonist says that, if producing the greatest amount of pleasure for ourselves means that we have to take into account the pleasure of others, then we are under a moral obligation to do so.

 19. Stoics note that we accumulate power and wealth by restricting our desires to things over which we have control.

 20. According to the Stoics, the only way to fulfill our duty to live in harmony with the universe is to yield to our passions, desires, and emotions.

 21. For the Stoic, the reason one does one’s duty is that it is the only way that a person can achieve true happiness.

 22.  According to Aristotle, because moral virtues are habits, they cannot be taught but only learned in living according to them.

 23.  According to Aristotle, in a good or happy life someone is able to fulfill himself or herself through behavior that combines moderation, good fortune, and wisdom.

 24. According to Aristotle, because happiness is not only the goal of all human beings but also defined by anyone as he/she sees fit, there is no ultimate standard of ethics.

 25. In Aristotle’s virtue ethics, moral value is a purely private matter, unconnected to how people interact with others in the community.

 26. Because hedonism is a consequentialist way of thinking, it is more properly identified as a form of ethical egoism rather than as a form of psychological egoism.

27. Teleological theories of ethics determine the moral value of actions in terms of their consequences.
 
 28. Though both Epicurus and Bentham agree that we should do that which produces pleasure or happiness, they differ on whose pleasure or happiness should be taken into account.

29. If psychological egoism is true, then no ethical position (including ethical egoism) is possible.

 30.  Because ethical egoism claims that we are incapable of doing anything other than promoting our self-interests, it violates the moral dictum “ought implies can.”

 31. For the utilitarian, the whole purpose of ethics and virtuous behavior is the production and increase of happiness.

 32. According to the utilitarian principle of morality, one should always act so as to produce the greatest overall and long-term amount of happiness for the greatest number of people.

 33. Utilitarians claim that actions have value and thus are morally good insofar as they produce happiness (good consequences) for the greatest number of people.

 34.  Since utilitarianism is really a form of social hedonism, it cannot be considered as a consequentialist theory of morality.

 35. Because Bentham’s hedonistic calculus does not consider the pleasures or pains that other people experience as a result of a person’s action, it is more egoistic than Mill’s version of utilitarianism.

 36.  According to Mill, the proof that happiness is good (and thus desirable) is that human beings desire it.

 37. Utilitarians argue that, because all moral values are relative to cultural or individual choice, no universally valid moral principles hold for all human beings.

 38. According to J. S. Mill, the quantity (as opposed to the quality) of pleasures is determined by how well those pleasures enhance human fulfillment and well-being.

 39. A deontological ethical theory is one that makes judgments about the morality of actions based on the ends, purposes, or consequences of the actions.

 40. A person who has a moral obligation to do something is not physically able or free to do anything else.

 41. Kant rejects all forms of hypothetical imperatives because (he claims) no rational agent can ever be obligated to act morally.

 42. Kant’s categorical imperative states that we should always act for the sake of doing our duty except when doing our duty conflicts with deeply held personal or religious values.

 43.  To act virtuously, Kant argues, means to act for the sake of doing one’s duty—even if that means going against one’s religious beliefs.

 44. In Kantian ethics (following Hume), “ought implies can” refers to the claim that no one can be morally obligated to do something unless he or she is able to do it.

 45. “Ought implies can” summarizes the moral principle that if someone is physically able to do an action, he or she is morally obligated to do it.

 46. To say that a moral imperative is categorical means (for Kant) that the demand should be obeyed without exception, regardless of the negative consequences of acting on it.

 47. Teleological ethical theories characterize moral obligation in terms of categorical rather than hypothetical imperatives.

 48. From Kant’s perspective, utilitarian consequentialism assumes that ethical reasoning is and should be based on a categorical (rather than a hypothetical) imperative.

 49. According to Kant, I can be morally obligated to do an action only if everyone else in the same type of situation is likewise obligated.

 50. A maxim is a subjective principle of action or working rule which, according to Kant, we are morally bound or obligated to obey.

 51. According to Kant, we should treat people as ends-in-themselves (and never as means alone) because they produce good consequences through their actions.

 52. According to Hume and Moore, ethical theories fall into a naturalistic fallacy when they derive moral obligations (“should” or “ought”) from factual states (“is”).

 53. Utilitarians commit a “naturalistic fallacy” by thinking that certain behavior is morally desirable because it has consequences that are desired.

 54. According to emotivism (or “positivism”) value judgments are simply expressions of positive or negative feelings about something and thus are neither true nor false.

 55.  For Sartre, belief in God permits individuals to depend on a standard of morality for which they are not responsible and for which they are not accountable.

 56.  According to Sartre, nothing that a human being does, not even acting in “bad faith,” allows that person to transcend human subjectivity.

 57.  Moral systems—even those that value humility and passivity—are expressions (Nietzsche maintains) of the will to power, the will to overcome.

 58.  According to Nietzsche, moral systems are attempts by the masses of weak people to keep strong individuals from exercising their creativity and passion.

 59.  Nietzsche rejects utilitarianism because it gives equal value to all individuals, even those who do not deserve it.

 60. Nietzsche rejects moral theories such as Christian, utilitarian, and Kantian ethics because they fail to treat all human beings as essentially equal.

61. Ethical relativists claim that cultures ultimately share the same basic ethical principles.

 62. Ethical relativists claim that even though cultures seem to differ on ethical standards, they ultimately share the same basic ethical principle–namely, moral goodness is that which produces happiness.

 63  Ethical relativists argue that, because all moral values are relative to cultural or individual choice, no universally valid moral principles hold for all human beings.

 64.  For the cultural relativist, if a moral code of a society says that a certain action is right, it is right (at least within that society).

65.  If moral objectivism is true, then homosexuality must be morally wrong.

 66. According to Kohlberg, the highest stage of moral development–the postconventional acceptance of rational, objective principles–is a stage in which people become slaves to rules, laws, or traditions.

 67. According to Carol Gilligan, the ethic of care characteristic of feminist ways of thinking emphasizes the obligation not to interfere in the lives of others.

 68. Feminine moral development, according to Carol Gilligan, occurs as a person moves from (1) caring only for herself, through (2) caring for others, to (3) adopting care as a universal moral principle.

 69. Sarah Hoagland argues that male-dominated ethics emphasizes competing interests, sacrifice and compromise, and duty instead of caring.
 

 

Multiple Choice

70. Ethics, political philosophy, and aesthetics are areas of philosophy that address topics that are likewise addressed in fields like psychology, political science, sociology, and anthropology.  But instead of concentrating on what different people call the good life, moral duties, social obligations, or beauty, these areas of philosophy search for:
 (a) reasons why different people should or should not think about such topics as they do.
 (b) the personal or social causes of why different people think about such topics as they do.
 (c) ways of getting people to question and ultimately to reject ways they have been raised.
 (d) a basic principle or logos by which both philosophy and the social sciences can be reduced to the physical sciences (especially physics).

71. Ethics and law have sometimes been distinguished in the following way:  the law attempts to resolve conflict in society by regulating behavior, whereas ethics is concerned with determining the rules for resolving conflict both in belief and in the behavior or action based on those beliefs.  Ethics thus emphasizes:
  (a) the reasons that can be given as to why certain beliefs should be adopted and certain actions done.
  (b) the ways in which individuals can be excused from being held responsible for their actions.
  (c) how a rational resolution of conflicting beliefs is unattainable due to the different backgrounds of people.
  (d) the difference between an individual’s religious training and the requirements of the laws of his state and nation.

72. From a philosophical perspective, religious teachings or revelations cannot (by themselves) serve as standards of morality because:
  (a) the appeal to the will of God as the reason for one’s behavior cannot provide a motive for acting morally or immorally, even for religious believers.
  (b) interpretations of religious revelations often conflict with one another and thus provide no definite basis for making moral judgments and have no persuasive power for non-believers.
  (c) some religious beliefs (even those based on the Scriptures) are not only factually wrong but, if followed, would result in immoral behavior.
  (d) religious teachings are usually interpreted and enforced through civil laws that become the bases for personal or social morality.

73. According to Plato, no one would choose to act immorally if he/she knew how acting immorally is really not in his/her self-interest.  But it is apparent that evil people appear (at least on the surface) to benefit from their immorality.  So how can acting morally really be in one’s own self-interest?  Plato’s answer:
  (a) Immoralbehavior may in fact be in one’s own self-interest; but morality is not immediately concerned with the individual as much as with society.
  (b) Harmonious integration or balance of the parts of one’s personality is what makes someone truly happy and constitutes human excellence and moral virtue.
  (c) Since there is no objective moral standard (as the ring of Gyges story shows), whatever someone believes is in his or her self-interest is morally acceptable.
  (d) Virtue is the ability to do what one does well, so if someone is able to promote his or her self interest (even through immorality), then that person is virtuous.

74. According to Plato, we never consciously choose to do that which we know to be immoral, because to do so would be to act contrary to our own self-interests.  Knowing what is in our own self-interest, however, requires that we recognize which things are truly in our best interests; and that requires that we recognize:
  (a) how those in power determine what is moral or immoral depending on whatever they choose to believe.
  (b) how personal integrity (i.e., getting the parts of our soul into harmony) is linked to knowing our function in society.
  (c) how wisdom is possible only for the ruling class, courage is possible only for the military or law enforcers, and moderation is possible only for the working class.
  (d) how morality is less concerned with doing what is actually right than with doing what seems to be right according to one’s society: that is what the Gyges ring story is about.

75. For most Greeks, the question “why be moral?” is much more important than the question “what is moral?”  Plato’s parallel between the parts of the soul and the parts of society collapses the two questions into one by:
  (a) showing why someone should care about having an integrated personality or contributing to the harmonious operation of society.
  (b) understanding how ethics is more concerned with intellectual judgments about actions and their consequences, and less with moral motivation.
  (c) recognizing that personal morality has little or nothing to do with social morality; that is, one’s private moral judgments have no social parallels.
  (d) indicating how the judgments of society concerning who is happy and who is not should be used in telling who is moral and who is not.

76. To say that Plato’s question “Why be moral?” is not a moral, but rather a meta-ethical question means that it is a question about:
  (a) what makes certain actions moral or immoral.
  (b) how individuals should or should not be held responsible for the ways in which their consciences have been formed.
  (c) why someone should behave in certain ways, even when he agrees that it is the morally acceptable way to act.
  (d) why someone chooses to act in ways that conflict with the recommendations of others.

77. “Why be moral?” is a metaethical question rather than an ethical question insofar as it is concerned with:
  (a) why someone would want to have a balanced personality or be a superior individual.
  (b) non-moral reasons for why someone should be moral.
  (c) how it is morally wrong for someone to be immoral.
  (d) what makes actions moral or immoral, right or wrong.

78. Epicurus proposes that, even though decision-making should be based on the pursuit of pleasure, not all pleasures ought to be pursued equally, because:
  (a) pleasures are the fulfillment of our desires; and insofar as we are determined by nature to fulfill our desires, we must seek after pleasure.
  (b) we ought not to get pleasure out of fulfilling certain desires.
  (c) we cannot make decisions based on whether our actions produce pleasure without knowing beforehand whether we are justified in doing so.
  (d) simple pleasures (as opposed to extreme pleasures) are easier to satisfy, less prone to disappointment, and make us appreciate luxuries all the more.

79.  Every time we succeed in any endeavor, we experience pleasure in having accomplished our goals.  But what if our goals involve causing harm to oneself or to others?–Wouldn’t that indicate that the hedonistic pursuit of pleasure is wrong and should not be the basis of a moral system?  To this a hedonist like Epicurus would reply:
  (a) hedonism is not a way of life or a way of deciding how to act morally; it is merely a way of thinking.
  (b) if pursuing certain goals causes someone pleasure, that is all that matters; how others are affected or how they respond to the individual’s acts is unimportant.
  (c) hedonism recommends that those kinds of endeavors that cause pain or unhappiness be avoided; it does not say that any successful effort whatsoever is desirable.
  (d) no one intentionally pursues or should pursue pleasure for its own sake; we should avoid worrying about morality as well.

80. Though Epicurean hedonism is similar in certain respects to modern Western capitalism, it emphasizes a point that Marx says characterizes his position as well, namely, the belief that:
  (a) we should not trouble ourselves about things (e.g., economic systems) over which we have no control.
  (b) happiness should not be defined in terms of material things, since in the afterlife they mean nothing.
  (c) only the material world is real and life has meaning only in terms of this world; there is no afterlife.
  (d) work is a necessary evil one has to endure to obtain the means to develop friendships and gain wisdom.

81. Critics have claimed that Hobbes’ egoistic theory of human motivation (including his denial that anyone can ever act in a purely altruistic way) is not properly a scientific theory because it fails to fulfill Popper’s falsifiability criterion for scientific theories.  Specifically, in order for Hobbes’ position to be considered a legitimate theory:
 (a) it must be shown to be false.
 (b) it would allow for the possibility that it could be false.
 (c) it must be able to explain all behavior in terms of self-interest.
 (d) it would have to show how believing in the theory is in one’s self-interest.

82. Though systems of belief such as fatalism, determinism, and egoism provide their supporters with ways of explaining experience, these ways of thinking cannot be considered acceptable theories of human behavior because they violate the falsifiability criterion for legitimate theorizing.  They cannot be proven false because:
 (a) such systems of belief are simply true–as the failure of all attempted falsifications of them shows.
 (b) people who believed in them would be determined by fate to act always in their own self-interest.
 (c) there are no explanations of human behavior other than those proposed by these systems of belief.
 (d) any attempt to falsify them would be explained in their terms, supposedly confirming their truth.

83. According to Ayn Rand’s version of ethical egoism, it is not only possible for us to act in ways that beefit others; it is important that we do so, but only to the extent that:
 (a) our own self-interests are promoted through the promotion of the interests of others.
 (b) we act compassionately, not always seeking to promote our interests over others.
 (c) we act altruistically.
 (d) our lives incorporate the goals of asceticism (that is, simplicity and self-denial).

84. If psychological egoism is true, then no ethical system (including ethical egoism) is possible because:
  (a) ethics would then be merely a means by which individuals impose their values on others–exactly as Nietzsche says happens in Christianity.
  (b) if we are determined to act only in our self-interest, then it makes no sense to say we ought to act either in our self-interest or, for that matter, in any other way either.
  (c) psychological egoism is a theory of why people are motivated to act morally, whereas ethical egoism is a theory of how moral distinctions are determined.
  (d) without some means to decide which acts are morally good or bad, there is no way to explain why people act the way they do.
 
85. Stoics like Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius describe the good life in terms of a rational understanding of the law of nature, because insofar as we understand natural law:
 (a) we can change nature to accommodate our interests.
 (b) we can get pleasure out of the pure act of knowing.
 (c) we can limit our desires to things within our control.
 (d) we can remain indifferent about what we choose to do.

86. For the Stoic a meaningful life is one in which she commits herself to do her duty, whatever it might be.  Limiting herself to doing her duty (regardless of what that entails) means:
  (a) recognizing how her freedom is limited by what she chooses to desire.
  (b) passively resigning herself to accept whatever happens as out of her control and unaffected by her action.
  (c) committing herself with all her power to take responsibility for what she does as her own.
  (d) not caring what she does or how she does it, as long as she thinks she won’t be disappointed by taking unnecessary chances.

87. Epictetus’ Stoic claim that we should be happy with whatever life offers us differs from Epicureanism in that:
  (a) Epicureanism says that happiness consists in the unrestrained pursuit of pleasure (hedonism), whereas Stoicism says that we can achieve pleasure only by desiring things that will not disappoint us.
  (b) Epicureanism says that life can be meaningful only if we are happy (regardless of whether we satisfy our desires), but Stoicism says that we can be happy only if we satisfy our desires.
  (c) Epicureanism says that only those things that benefit us can make us happy, whereas Stoicism says only by doing things that benefit others can we be happy.
  (d) Epicureanism says we should desire things that do not disappoint us, whereas Stoicism says that we cannot be disappointed in life if we do not desire anything.

88. Existentialism differs significantly from Stoicism concerning why we should care about the specifics of what we choose as values.  The Stoic says we should care about doing our duty; but what that duty might be is something, the Stoic claims, is ultimately due to nature.  This is where the existentialist would object, claiming:
  (a) in spite of the fact that nature restricts what we can choose to do, we can still have an effect on human values by the choices we make.
  (b) values established in nature guide our choices and indicate what our duties are, but they do not force us to act in accord with those values.
  (c) freedom requires that we respond with scornful and grudging acceptance of the values implicit in the structure and laws of nature.
  (d) nature itself has meaning for humans only insofar as we choose to consider it as valuable, so our choices are not determined by nature.

Phil 251: Intro to Philosophy (Daniel) Test Questions: Ethics

Answers at end.

True/False (True=A, False=B)

1.  To the extent that ethics, political philosophy, and aesthetics raise questions about judgments relating to value, they are concerned with axiology.

2.  The philosophical attempt of ethics to provide a standard for evaluating laws, religions, customs, and individual preferences is itself based on each philosopher’s personal values.

3.  Because ethics studies moral values and obligations, it is concerned with consequences of action, not motives.

4.  According to Socrates and Plato, we should act virtuously for the sake of others, regardless of whether acting morally improves our ability to discern what is good or to control our passions.

5.  According to Socrates and Plato, we can be truly happy only if we allow our reason or intellect to guide our emotions and appetites.

6.  According to Socrates, because an immoral person is unable to integrate the various parts of his/her character or personality, no immoral person can really be happy.

7.  According to Socrates and Plato, even though an immoral person is unable to integrate the various parts of his/her character or personality, he or she can still really be happy.

8.  The characters in Plato’s Republic appeal to the story of the ring of Gyges to make the point that only a fool would act morally if he or she could get away with acting immorally.

9.  In responding to the story of the ring of Gyges, Plato argues that immorality can never be in someone’s ultimate self-interest because immoral people are never truly happy.

10.  In Plato’s theory of the state, justice is ultimately achieved when the ruling class is able to do away with social inequalities by driving the military and working classes out of society.

11.  For Plato, the moral balance or harmony of the three parts of the soul is parallel to the condition of political harmony one must seek in the state.

12.  According to Plato, the soul achieves balance or harmony only when reason controls both the spirited (or courageous) part of the soul and the soul’s appetites.

13.  According to Plato, moral goodness is achieved by eliminating the activities of the lower parts of the soul and acting solely on the basis of reason.

14.  Teleological theories of ethics determine the moral value of actions in terms of their consequences.

15.  In Epicurus’ hedonism, moral decisions should be based on whether actions produce pleasure and avoid pain.

16.  Hedonism is a form of teleological ethical theory insofar as it recommends that we act so as to produce happiness (pleasure) as the consequence of our actions.

17.  The egoistic hedonist says that, if producing the greatest amount of pleasure for ourselves means that we have to take into account the pleasure of others, then we are under a moral obligation to do so.

18.  If psychological egoism is true, then no ethical position (including ethical egoism) is possible.

19.  To say that egoism is non-falsifiable (and thus not a legitimate philosophical theory) means that it is impossible for everyone to be an egoist.

20.  Because ethical egoism claims that we are incapable of doing anything other than promoting our self-interests, it violates the moral dictum “ought implies can.”

21.  To say that “ought implies can” means that a person can be under a moral obligation to do something only if that person is able to do otherwise.

22.  “Ought implies can” summarizes the moral principle that if someone is physically able to do an action, he or she is morally obligated to do it.

23.  Because ethical egoism is concerned only with the pleasure or happiness of the person doing the action, it is not a form of teleological ethics.

24.  The ethical egoist says that, since it is impossible for us to do anything other than promote our own self-interest, it is pointless for us to develop a moral theory that indicates what we “ought” to do.

25.  For the utilitarian, the whole purpose of ethics and virtuous behavior is the production and increase of happiness.

26.  According to the utilitarian principle of morality, one should always act so as to produce the greatest overall and long-term amount of happiness for the greatest number of people.

27.  Utilitarians claim that actions have value and thus are morally good insofar as they produce happiness (good consequences) for the greatest number of people.

28.  Since utilitarianism is really a form of social hedonism, it cannot be considered as a consequentialist theory of morality.

29.  Like egoism, utilitarianism is a form of teleological ethics because it emphasizes using consequences as the basis for determining the morality of actions.

30.  Though both Epicurus and Bentham agree that we should do that which produces pleasure or happiness, they differ on whose pleasure or happiness should be taken into account.

31.  Because Bentham’s hedonic calculus does not consider the pleasures or pains that other people experience as a result of a person’s action, it is more egoistic than Mill’s version of utilitarianism.

32.  According to Mill, the proof that happiness is good (and thus desirable) is that human beings desire it.

33.  According to J. S. Mill, we should focus on the quality of happiness produced by acts and ignore the quantity.

34.  According to J. S. Mill, the quantity (as opposed to the quality) of pleasures is determined by how well those pleasures enhance human fulfillment and well-being.

35.  According to Mill, the decision about which pleasures are qualitatively desirable should be made by people familiar with different kinds of pleasures based on what they generally desire.

36.  John Stuart Mill claims that what makes happiness desirable (and thus the basis for what ought to be desired) is the fact that happiness is desired.

37.  Utilitarians argue that, because all moral values are relative to cultural or individual choice, no universally valid moral principles hold for all human beings.

38.  Act utilitarians point out that, because violating a moral rule sometimes causes more happiness than following the rule, we are not only allowed to violate the rule, but we are morally obligated to violate it.

39.  Rule utilitarians claim that we should follow moral rules even if we think that violating them would yield better results, because following moral rules generally yields more overall happiness.

40.  Utilitarianism is a form of deontological ethics because it uses consequences to determine the morality of acts.

41.  Teleological ethical theories characterize moral obligation in terms of categorical rather than hypothetical imperatives.

42.  A deontological ethical theory is one that makes judgments about the morality of actions based on the ends, purposes, or consequences of the actions.

43.  Divine-command ethical theorists claim that what makes actions moral or immoral is God’s command that we act or refrain from acting in certain ways.

44.  According to critics of divine-command theory, to say that God is good is redundant because any being who commands another destroys the other’s ability to act freely.

45.  A person who has a moral obligation to do something is not physically able or free to do anything else.

46.  Kant rejects all forms of hypothetical imperatives because (he claims) no rational agent can ever be obligated to act morally.

47.  According to Kant, morality presumes that I, as a rational being, am able to do what is morally right because it is morally right.

48.  According to Kant, my actions are morally good only if my motives or intentions in so acting are for the sake of or because it is my duty to act in those ways.

49.  According to Kant, before we can decide what is morally valuable, we must decide what we are obligated to do.

50.  Kant’s categorical imperative states that we should always act for the sake of doing our duty except when doing our duty conflicts with deeply held personal or religious values.

51.  For Kant, the only time someone is morally permitted to act contrary to the dictates of a moral law is when such a universalizable maxim comes into conflict with one’s deeply held religious beliefs.

52.  To act virtuously, Kant argues, means to act for the sake of doing one’s duty—even if that means going against one’s religious beliefs.

53.  Because the categorical imperative does not admit of any exceptions, Kant concludes that it is impossible for anyone to do anything that would violate it.

54.  Even though the categorical imperative does not admit of any exceptions, Kant acknowledges that it is possible for people to violate it (that is, to be immoral).

55.  In Kantian ethics (following Hume), “ought implies can” refers to the claim that no one can be morally obligated to do something unless he or she is able to do it.

56.  “Ought implies can” summarizes the moral principle that if someone is physically able to do an action (e.g., kill someone), he or she is morally obligated to do it.

57.  To say that a moral imperative is categorical means (for Kant) that the demand should be obeyed without exception, regardless of the negative consequences of acting on it.

58.  From Kant’s perspective, utilitarian consequentialism assumes that ethical reasoning is and should be based on a categorical (rather than a hypothetical) imperative.

59.  According to Kant, an action which has a motive or intention that cannot be successfully universalized might be moral or immoral depending on whether the action is done freely.

60.  According to Kant, I can be morally obligated to do an action only if everyone else in the same type of situation is likewise obligated.

61.  A maxim is a subjective principle of action or working rule which, according to Kant, we are morally bound or obligated to obey.

62.  According to Kant, a good will is a will to do what is what we are morally obligated to do (that is, our duty) regardless of the consequences.

63.  For Kant, I determine whether I am morally obligated to act a certain way by seeing whether the motive of my action can be universalized without contradiction or without being unacceptable to some people.

64.  According to Kant, we should treat people as ends-in-themselves (and never as means alone) because of the good consequences of doing so.

65.  According to Hume and Moore, ethical theories fall into a naturalistic fallacy when they derive moral obligations (“should” or “ought”) from factual states (“is”).

66.  Utilitarians commit a “naturalistic fallacy” by thinking that certain behavior is morally desirable because it has consequences that are desired.

67.  According to emotivism (or “positivism”) value judgments are simply expressions of positive or negative feelings about something and thus are neither true nor false.

68.  According to logical positivists, ethical judgments are meaningful (and thus can be justified) because they describe a fact about the world–namely, certain actions produce happiness and ought to be done.

69.  For Sartre, individuals who believe in God depend on a standard of morality for which they are not responsible and for which they are not accountable.

70.  According to Sartre, every time I do something, I identify that kind of action as a standard of morality for all human beings.

71.  According to Sartre, nothing that a human being does, not even acting in “bad faith,” allows that person to transcend human subjectivity.

72.  According to existentialist ethics, because there is no absolute foundation upon which moral judgments are based, we cannot justifiably be held responsible for our choice of any set of values.

73.  Moral systems—even those that value humility and passivity—are expressions (Nietzsche maintains) of the will to power, the will to overcome.

74.  Even though Nietzsche suggests that all reality is interpreted, he does not claim that truth itself is an expression of the will to power.

75.  According to Nietzsche, moral systems are attempts by the masses of weak people to keep strong individuals from exercising their creativity and passion.

76.  For Nietzsche, because morality is an expression of a slave mentality, no creative (“master”) individual can really be called excellent, honorable, or noble.

77.  Nietzsche claims that those who adopt the master morality promote the common good and peace in society in order to develop all forms of life as expressions of the will to power.

78.  Nietzsche rejects utilitarianism because it gives equal value to all individuals, even those who do not deserve it.

79.  Nietzsche rejects moral theories such as Christian, utilitarian, and Kantian ethics because they fail to treat all human beings as essentially equal.

80.  Nietzsche claims that religion stands in the way of true human development to the extent that religious beliefs prevent us from making the authentic commitment to God necesssary for true salvation.

81.  Ethical relativists claim that cultures ultimately share the same basic ethical principles.

82.  Ethical relativists claim that even though cultures seem to differ on ethical standards, they ultimately share the same basic ethical principle–namely, moral goodness is that which produces happiness.

83.  Ethical relativists argue that, because all moral values are relative to cultural or individual choice, no universally valid moral principles hold for all human beings.

84.  For the cultural relativist, if a moral code of a society says that a certain action is right, it is right (at least within that society).

85.  Cultural relativism commits the “naturalistic fallacy” to the extent that it assumes that, because cultures differ about moral judgments, they are justified in holding their beliefs.

86.  According to conventional ethical relativism, we should tolerate the values of other cultures because there is no independent basis for criticizing those values.

87.  According to ethical subjectivists, moral values are based solely on an individual’s beliefs.

88.  An ethical relativist cannot be a moral objectivist.

89.  It is impossible for an ethical absolutist to be a moral relativist.

90.  If moral objectivism is true, then homosexuality must be morally wrong.

91.  According to Carol Gilligan, the ethic of care characteristic of feminist ways of thinking emphasizes the obligation not to interfere in the lives of others.

92.  Feminine moral development, according to Carol Gilligan, occurs as a person moves from (1) caring only for herself, through (2) caring for others, to (3) adopting care as a universal moral principle.

93.  Sarah Hoagland argues that male-dominated ethics emphasizes competing interests, sacrifice and compromise, and duty instead of caring.

94.  Drawing on insights like those developed in ancient Greek virtue ethics, feminists point out that the aim of ethics should be to protect individual rights and to treat everyone in the same impartial, just way.

95.  According to Aristotle, because moral virtues are habits, they cannot be taught but only learned in living according to them.

96.  According to Aristotle, in a good or happy life someone is able to fulfill himself or herself through behavior that combines moderation, good fortune, and wisdom.

97.  According to Aristotle, because happiness is not only the goal of all human beings but also defined by anyone as he/she sees fit, there is no ultimate standard of ethics.

98.  In Aristotle’s virtue ethics, moral value is a purely private matter, unconnected to how people interact with others in the community.

99.  According to virtue ethics, moral behavior is a balance of reason and emotional sensitivity to the needs and relations of individuals that does not aim at the indifferent application of abstract principles.

100.  According to deep ecologists, we are justified in promoting our own self-realization by using natural resources however we want because God has given us everything in the world for our benefit.

101.  Deep ecologists argue that all forms of life are valuable—but only insofar as they promote human well-being.
 

Multiple Choice

102.  Ethics, political philosophy, and aesthetics are areas of philosophy that address topics that are likewise addressed in fields like psychology, political science, sociology, and anthropology.  But instead of concentrating on what different people call the good life, moral duties, social obligations, or beauty, these areas of philosophy search for:
  (a) reasons why different people should or should not think about such topics as they do.
  (b) the personal or social causes of why different people think about such topics as they do.
  (c) ways of getting people to question and ultimately to reject ways they have been raised.
  (d) a basic principle or logos by which both philosophy and the social sciences can be reduced to the physical sciences (especially physics).

103.  Ethics and law have sometimes been distinguished in the following way:  the law attempts to resolve conflict in society by regulating behavior, whereas ethics is concerned with determining the rules for resolving conflict both in belief and in the behavior or action based on those beliefs.  Ethics thus emphasizes:
  (a) the reasons that can be given as to why certain beliefs should be adopted and certain actions done.
  (b) the ways in which individuals can be excused from being held responsible for their actions.
  (c) how a rational resolution of conflicting beliefs is unattainable due to the different backgrounds of people.
  (d) the difference between an individual’s religious training and the requirements of the laws of his state and nation.

104.  Unlike religion, law, social custom, or personal preference, ethics is not concerned with describing our behavior in terms of faith, social order, or individual likes and dislikes.  Instead, it focuses on:
  (a) describing how each person’s background and upbringing affects his or her beliefs about moral issues.
  (b) showing how religion, law, and social custom are culturally relative, but personal preference is subjective.
  (c) showing how motives are more crucial in making moral judgments than consideration of consequences, character, or the act itself.
  (d) explaining why we might or might not be justified in applying those other sets of beliefs to moral issues.

105.  From a philosophical perspective, religious teachings or revelations cannot (by themselves) serve as standards of morality because:
  (a) the appeal to the will of God as the reason for one’s behavior cannot provide a motive for acting morally or immorally, even for religious believers.
  (b) interpretations of religious revelations often conflict with one another and thus provide no definite basis for making moral judgments and have no persuasive power for non-believers.
  (c) some religious beliefs (even those based on the Scriptures) are not only factually wrong but, if followed, would result in immoral behavior.
  (d) religious teachings are usually interpreted and enforced through civil laws that become the bases for personal or social morality.

106.  According to Plato, no one would choose to act immorally if he/she knew how acting immorally is really not in his/her self-interest.  But it is apparent that evil people appear (at least on the surface) to benefit from their immorality.  So how can acting morally really be in one’s own self-interest?  Plato’s answer:
  (a) Immoralbehavior may in fact be in one’s own self-interest; but morality is not immediately concerned with the individual as much as with society.
  (b) Harmonious integration or balance of the parts of one’s personality is what makes someone truly happy and constitutes human excellence and moral virtue.
  (c) Since there is no objective moral standard (as the ring of Gyges story shows), whatever someone believes is in his or her self-interest is morally acceptable.
  (d) Virtue is the ability to do what one does well, so if someone is able to promote his or her self interest (even through immorality), then that person is virtuous.

107.  For Plato, acting morally benefits society at the same time as it promotes our own self-interest because:
  (a) those who are in power determine morality depending on what they choose to believe benefits them.
  (b) personal integrity (i.e., harmonizing the parts of our soul) is based on knowing our function in society.
  (c) only the rulers (vs. law enforcers or workers) can really be moral since only the rulers act on reason.
  (d) morality is less concerned with doing what is actually right than with doing what seems to be right according to one’s society: that is what the Gyges ring story is about.

108.  For most Greeks, the question “why be moral?” is much more important than the question “what is moral?”  Plato’s parallel between the parts of the soul and the parts of society collapses the two questions into one by:
  (a) showing why someone should care about having an integrated personality or contributing to the harmonious operation of society.
  (b) understanding how ethics is more concerned with intellectual judgments about actions and their consequences, and less with moral motivation.
  (c) recognizing that personal morality has little or nothing to do with social morality; that is, one’s private moral judgments have no social parallels.
  (d) indicating how the judgments of society concerning who is happy and who is not should be used in telling who is moral and who is not.

109.  To say that Plato’s question “Why be moral?” is not a moral, but rather a meta-ethical question means that it is a question about:
  (a) what makes certain actions moral or immoral.
  (b) how individuals should or should not be held responsible for the ways in which their consciences have been formed.
  (c) why someone should behave in certain ways, even when he agrees that it is the morally acceptable way to act.
  (d) why someone chooses to act in ways that conflict with the recommendations of others.

110.  “Why be moral?” is a metaethical question rather than an ethical question insofar as it is concerned with:
  (a) why someone would want to have a balanced personality or be a superior individual.
  (b) non-moral reasons for why someone should be moral.
  (c) how it is morally wrong for someone to be immoral.
  (d) what makes actions moral or immoral, right or wrong.

111.  Epicurus proposes that, even though decision-making should be based on the pursuit of pleasure, not all pleasures ought to be pursued equally, because:
  (a) pleasures are the fulfillment of our desires; and insofar as we are determined by nature to fulfill our desires, we must seek after pleasure.
  (b) we ought not to get pleasure out of fulfilling certain desires.
  (c) we cannot make decisions based on whether our actions produce pleasure without knowing beforehand whether we are justified in doing so.
  (d) simple pleasures (as opposed to extreme pleasures) are easier to satisfy, less prone to disappointment, and make us appreciate luxuries all the more.

112.  Epicurus says that the pursuit of pleasure is good, but not all pleasures ought to be pursued equally because:
  (a) not everyone agrees that beauty, prudence, honor, justice, courage, or knowledge are pleasurable.
  (b) some pleasures (e.g., satisfaction of vain desires) are associated with pain (e.g., disappointment).
  (c) even pleasures such as courage and knowledge have as much pain associated with them as vain desires.
  (d) pain and pleasure is always relative to the individual.

113.  Every time we succeed in any endeavor, we experience pleasure in having accomplished our goals.  But what if our goals involve causing harm to oneself or to others?–Wouldn’t that indicate that the hedonistic pursuit of pleasure is wrong and should not be the basis of a moral system?  To this a hedonist like Epicurus would reply:
  (a) hedonism is not a way of life or a way of deciding how to act morally; it is merely a way of thinking.
  (b) if pursuing certain goals causes someone pleasure, that is all that matters; how others are affected or how they respond to the individual’s acts is unimportant.
  (c) hedonism recommends that those kinds of endeavors that cause pain or unhappiness be avoided; it does not say that any successful effort whatsoever is desirable.
  (d) no one intentionally pursues or should pursue pleasure for its own sake; we should avoid worrying about morality as well.

114.  Critics have claimed that Hobbes’ egoistic theory of human motivation (including his denial that anyone can ever act in a purely altruistic way) is not properly a scientific theory because it fails to fulfill Popper’s falsifiability criterion for scientific theories.  Specifically, in order for Hobbes’ position to be considered a legitimate theory:
 (a) it must be shown to be false.
 (b) it would allow for the possibility that it could be false.
 (c) it must be able to explain all behavior in terms of self-interest.
 (d) it would have to show how believing in the theory is in one’s self-interest.

115.  Though systems of belief such as fatalism, determinism, and egoism provide their supporters with ways of explaining experience, these ways of thinking cannot be considered acceptable theories of human behavior because they violate the falsifiability criterion for legitimate theorizing.  They cannot be proven false because:
  (a) such systems of belief are simply true–as the failure of all attempted falsifications of them shows.
  (b) people who believed in them would be determined by fate to act always in their own self-interest.
  (c) there are no explanations of human behavior other than those proposed by these systems of belief.
  (d) any attempt to falsify them would be explained in their terms, supposedly confirming their truth.

116.  If psychological egoism is true, then no ethical system (including ethical egoism) is possible because:
  (a) ethics would then be merely a means by which individuals impose their values on others–exactly as Nietzsche says happens in Christianity.
  (b) if we are determined to act only in our self-interest, then it makes no sense to say we ought to act either in our self-interest or, for that matter, in any other way either.
  (c) psychological egoism is a theory of why people are motivated to act morally, whereas ethical egoism is a theory of how moral distinctions are determined.
  (d) without some means to decide which acts are morally good or bad, there is no way to explain why people act the way they do.

117.  Ethical egoists dismiss psychological egoism because (they say) psychological egoism undermines the possibility for any ethical behavior by ignoring one of the basic principles of ethical reasoning, namely:
  (a) is implies ought.
  (b) the end never justifies the means.
  (c) the naturalistic fallacy.
  (d) ought implies can.

118.  Stoics like Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius describe the good life in terms of a rational understanding of the law of nature, because insofar as we understand natural law:
 (a) we can change nature to accommodate our interests.
 (b) we can get pleasure out of the pure act of knowing.
 (c) we can limit our desires to things within our control.
 (d) we can remain indifferent about what we choose to do.

119.  For the Stoic a meaningful life is one in which she commits herself to do her duty, whatever it might be.  Limiting herself to doing her duty (regardless of what that entails) means:
  (a) recognizing how her freedom is limited by what she chooses to desire.
  (b) passively resigning herself to accept whatever happens as out of her control and unaffected by her action.
  (c) committing herself with all her power to take responsibility for what she does as her own.
  (d) not caring what she does or how she does it, as long as she thinks she won’t be disappointed by taking unnecessary chances.

120.  Epictetus’ Stoic claim that we should be happy with whatever life offers us differs from Epicureanism in that:
  (a) Epicureanism says that happiness consists in the unrestrained pursuit of pleasure (hedonism), whereas Stoicism says that we can achieve pleasure only by desiring things that will not disappoint us.
  (b) Epicureanism says that life can be meaningful only if we are happy (regardless of whether we satisfy our desires), but Stoicism says that we can be happy only if we satisfy our desires.
  (c) Epicureanism says that only those things that benefit us can make us happy, whereas Stoicism says only by doing things that benefit others can we be happy.
  (d) Epicureanism says we should desire things that do not disappoint us, whereas Stoicism says that we cannot be disappointed in life if we do not desire anything.

121.  Existentialism differs significantly from Stoicism concerning why we should care about the specifics of what we choose as values.  The Stoic says we should care about doing our duty; but what that duty might be is something, the Stoic claims, is ultimately due to nature.  This is where the existentialist would object, claiming:
  (a) in spite of the fact that nature restricts what we can choose to do, we can still have an effect on human values by the choices we make.
  (b) values established in nature guide our choices and indicate what our duties are, but they do not force us to act in accord with those values.
  (c) freedom requires that we respond with scornful and grudging acceptance of the values implicit in the structure and laws of nature.
  (d) nature itself has meaning for humans only insofar as we choose to consider it as valuable, so our choices are not determined by nature.

122.  Bentham’s utilitarianism is different from J. S. Mill’s version in virtue of Mill’s emphasis on:
  (a) the happiness of all creatures affected by actions, versus the happiness experienced by humans.
  (b) how actions done to achieve happiness are in fact desired as opposed to being desirable.
  (c) the concern for the qualitative character of happiness versus simply the quantitative.
  (d) the number of people affected versus the intensity of pleasure experienced by those affected.

123.  Though J. S. Mill agrees with Bentham that happiness is the goal of ethical behavior, he points out that “it is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied.”  By this remark he indicates how:
  (a) some kinds of happiness are more desirable or valuable than others for social or cultural reasons.
  (b) according to the utilitarian principle, the greatest happiness is determined by the greatest number.
  (c) happinessought to be desired (and thus is desirable) because people, in fact, desire to be happy.
  (d) uncultivated people are as competent to judge what happiness is as are cultivated people.

124.  According to J. S. Mill, “Of two pleasures, if there be one to which all or almost all who have experience of both give a decided preference, that is the more desirable pleasure.”  The decision about which pleasures are qualitatively desirable should thus be made by those familiar with different kinds of pleasures based on:
  (a) whether the pleasures are egoistic (benefitting only the individual) or altruistic (benefitting others).
  (b) each person’s doing his or her moral duty.
  (c) what those persons generally desire.
  (d) whether doing that which produces happiness is also doing that which produces pleasure.

125.  In deciding how far we have to calculate the consequences of our actions, Mill says that the utilitarian recommends that we should realistically consider only:
  (a) the rules of desire determined by the person of practical wisdom.
  (b) those persons most likely to be affected by our actions.
  (c) how our behavior follows necessarily from human nature itself.
  (d) the motive of the agent, and not necessarily the consequences of our actions.

126.  Which of the following IS NOT a typical argument raised against utilitarian ethical theories?
   (a) Utilitarianism permits treating individuals unjustly if more happiness is produced by doing so.
   (b) It is difficult (if not impossible) to compare and calculate the happiness produced by alternative acts.
   (c) Utilitarians are unaware of the distinction between actual, foreseeable, and intended consequences.
   (d) For utilitarians, expediency is the fundamental moral principle: the ends justify the means.

127.  Which of the following IS NOT an objection critics raise against the utilitarian use of happiness as a criterion for making moral judgments?
  (a) Happiness cannot be used as a criterion for morality because no one makes moral judgments that way.
  (b) There is no easy way to compare different types of happiness to calculate the “greatest amount.”
  (c) Utilitarians cannot calculate happiness because future consequences of actions are never fully known.
  (d) Utilitarianism rewards doing what is expedient, even if it is unjust: the end justifies the means.

128.  One objection raised against utilitarianism is that we can never know what we are morally obliged to do since we can never know all the consequences of our actions.  Mill and other utilitarians reply to this by:
  (a) pointing out that no moral theory is ever able to indicate what we should not do.
  (b) agreeing that we may not know perfectly what the consequences will be, but we can determine them well enough to know what to do.
  (c) rejecting the claim: we, in fact, can know all of the consequences of our actions if we investigate the matter well enough.
  (d) redefining “consequences” so that they are limited to what we intend to do and not to what actually happens.

129.  Some theorists argue that the utilitarian claim that we are morally obligated to contribute to famine relief ignores one central fact about human nature, namely, that we are more inclined to help members of our own family or culture than others, and therefore should not be expected to do what we are not inclined to do in the first place.  To this the utilitarian responds:
  (a) taking care of those near us produces more overall happiness than taking care of others.
  (b) the amount of need in some cultures is greater than in others; our own needs are greatest.
  (c) while such feelings may be significant psychologically, they are irrelevant morally.
  (d) our moral obligations to promote the happiness of our family, friends, and immediate culture are more important than even obligations to protect the lives of others.

130.  One consequentialist argument against famine relief notes that feeding famine victims is not our moral responsibility, because it causes more harm than good insofar as it wastes our own resources, makes the starving more dependent on us, and creates conditions for more famine in the future.  Which of the following IS NOTa response utilitarian supporters of famine relief would typically give in return?
  (a) Feeding both the starving and ourselves would require us to become more efficient, knowledgeable, and industrious (all beneficial effects).
  (b) We have a responsibility to other human beings to save them from starvation regardless of future consequences; after all, we do not know what those consequences may be.
  (c) In feeding the starving we can–indeed, we are morally required to–demand that cultures receiving the food adopt farming and distribution programs to prevent future famine.
  (d) Recipients of food can be required to adopt social changes (e.g., birth control programs) in order to support themselves and not have to rely on others.

131.  Some critics of utilitarianism have argued that injustices against minorities would be permitted under utilitarian principles, since the violation of the rights of a few might produce more overall happiness than respecting those rights.  Utilitarians respond that, on the contrary, injustices against minorities would not be encouraged under their principles, because:
  (a) according to utilitarian principles, minorities have no rights.
  (b) if unjust practices became the rule in a society, there would be more unhappiness.
  (c) minorities do not experience happiness and unhappiness in the same way as the majority of society.
  (d) calculation of the greatest amount of happiness for the greatest number of people does not necessarily have to include consideration of all members of a society.

132.  Act utilitarians point out that sometimes violating a moral rule causes more happiness than following the rule.  In such cases, they argue, violating the rule is permitted:
  (a) only if no other violations of the rule occur again.
  (b) as long as no one affected by the action experiences any unhappiness.
  (c) as long as the person’s intention or motive is to do his/her duty regardless of the consequences.
  (d) and even morally required by the utilitarian principle itself.

133.  Act utilitarians say that we should always do that specific action that produces the greatest happiness, even if this means violating moral rules.  Rule utilitarians challenge this, arguing that we should follow moral rules even if we think that violating them would yield better results, because:
  (a) following moral rules generally yields more overall happiness than the unhappiness created by allowing for the rare exceptions to rules.
  (b) we should not become slaves to any moral rules; morality is a matter of personal choices.
  (c) acting in general to produce the greatest amount of happiness for the greatest number of people is not always the morally right thing to do.
  (d) even if we follow moral rules, we will always cause unhappiness to someone.

134.  Critics sometimes claim that, for utilitarianism, motive seems to have nothing to do with the morality of an action.  Mill responds to this by pointing out that:
  (a) good consequences cannot follow from an act done by someone with an evil motive.
  (b) bad consequences often follow from actions which are done with the best motives in mind.
  (c) consequences determine the morality of an action; the person’s motive affects only our judgment of the person doing the act, not the act itself.
  (d) the only way to determine what motive I have in acting is to determine the consequences of my action.

135.  In reply to those who object that utilitarianism permits lying if it produces happiness, J. S. Mill responds in what is now called a rule utilitarian way: “Any, even unintentional deviation from truth weakens the trustworthiness of human assertion, which is the principal support of all social well-being, civilization, virtue, and everything on which human happiness on the largest scale depends.”  Mill’s basic point is that:
  (a) insignificant (“white”) lies sometimes do cause happiness, so they are morally permissible.
  (b) even occasional white lies are immoral because they cause more harm than good in the long run.
  (c) we would be morally obligated to tell the truth even if, as a rule, it did not cause happiness.
  (d) lying is immoral because it generally causes unhappiness; but if someone who is qualified to judge the difference between happiness and unhappiness approves the lie, it is OK.

136.  Rule utilitarians have argued that injustices against minorities would be permitted under act utilitarian principles, since the violation of the rights of a few might produce more overall happiness in certain situations than respecting those rights.  They argue that, by contrast, under rule utilitarianism injustices against minorities would not be encouraged because:
  (a) individuals and minorities have rights only in deontological ethics, not in teleological ethics.
  (b) rule utilitarianism indicates how to act in general, not how to act in specific situations.
  (c) if unjust practices became the rule in a society, there would be more unhappiness.
  (d) calculation of the greatest amount of happiness for the greatest number of people does not necessarily have to include consideration of all members of a society.

137.  Rule utilitarians argue that we should always do those things that as a rule promote happiness.  In a specific case where following the rules would probably cause unhappiness, rule utilitarians say:
  (a) people follow rules that promote their own happiness more than rules promoting general happiness.
  (b) we should abide by rules because it is our duty, not because of the consequences of following rules.
  (c) the long-term effect of violating moral rules would be more unhappiness, so we should follow the rule.
  (d) we should follow rules in specific cases only if happiness results; otherwise we should violate rules.

138.  Rule utilitarians argue that we should always do those things that, as a rule, promote happiness.  In specific cases where following the rules would be unjust and cause unhappiness, rule utilitarians point out that:
  (a) any act of injustice will cause someone unhappiness, and therefore violations of rules are still immoral.
  (b) actual consequences of our actions are often unforeseen, so we have to rely on the intended consequences.
  (c) exceptions can be built into the rules to allow for occasional short-term injustice and long-term happiness.
  (d) the only people who can make a judgment about what is just/unjust are those who know which actions promote, as a rule, happiness.

139.  The deontological theory of ethics called divine law theory is sometimes confused with natural law theory because both often refer to God.  But unlike in natural law theory, a person is, in fact, morally obligated to act in a certain way under divine law theory:
  (a) if he/she believes that it is what God commands.
  (b) if God should require him/her to act in certain ways.
  (c) if acting in accord with the person’s nature is morally correct.
  (d) if God really does command it, regardless of whether it conflicts with human nature.

140.  Divine command theorists point out that every ethical theory must have two components: a theory of value and a theory of obligation.  In the case of divine command theory, value is determined by:
  (a) what God wills, and obligation is determined by God’s rewards and punishment.
  (b) God’s will that we be happy, and obligation is determined by our acceptance of God’s will.
  (c) our interpretation of God’s will, and obligation is determined by social agreement with our interpretation.
  (d) what we believe God wills for us, and obligation is determined by what we know God wills for us.

141.  Critics of the divine-command theory of ethics raise a number of objections against it.  Which of the following IS NOT one of those objections?
  (a) If God’s command is the basis for determining what is moral, then it makes no sense to say that God’s commands are good; that is, God’s commands are arbitrary.
  (b) Because secular (non-religious) moral systems do not provide a motive or reason for acting morally, they are able to identify what is moral in a way that the divine command theory does not.
  (c) Religion is not only unnecessary for morality but is even a hindrance, because it creates false hopes and distracts people from doing good things for one another for its own sake.
  (d) Acting in a certain way simply because it is required by God does not encourage people to see why they should do what they do, and in this sense religious ethics is not as deep-seated as secular ethics.

142.  Which of the following IS NOT an objection Kant raises against consequentialism?
  (a) If we are inclined to do an act because we naturally seek good consequences (happiness), then we do not act freely and are not morally responsible.
  (b) The task of ethics is to make judgments about what people intend to do when they act, regardless of the consequences.
  (c) Because people disagree about what happiness is, good consequences cannot provide an ultimate criterion for making moral judgments.
  (d) The consequences of our actions are often out of our control, so we cannot be held responsible for them or have our actions judged based on them.

143.  Kant claims that moral obligation cannot be based on a “hypothetical imperative” such as “if you want to be happy, then you must do X,” because:
  (a) a moral imperative or command must be directed to a specific individual and require a specific action.
  (b) what people want to do is never really connected with what they actually do.
  (c) happiness can vary from person to person, is often out of our reach, and is not a freely-desired goal.
  (d) a good will acts  for the sake of doing one’s duty (which is always to produce happiness however it is defined).

144.  According to Kant, virtuous actions are those that are done for the sake of doing one’s duty–which means acting for the right reason or with the right motive or intention.  Kant limits the discussion of the moral character of actions to motives or intentions and does not consider consequences crucial, because:
  (a) the consequences are often out of our control and are valued differently by different people.
  (b) only those actions based on universalizable motives are moral actions.
  (c) moral decisions are conditioned by one’s culture and by how one is raised.
  (d) every time someone acts, he or she has a motive; but there are not always consequences to acts.

145.  According to Kant, morality presumes that I, as a rational being, am able to do what is morally right because it is morally right.  So, unless doing my duty is my motive in acting, my action is not morally good, because:
  (a) actions that are done solely for the sake of doing my duty do not promote happiness as much as actions done because they are morally right.
  (b) acting with motives other than doing my duty–for example, acting out of instinct, passion, or interest–is not universalizable and thus cannot be the basis for rational behavior.
  (c) if my motive in acting is that I am willing to take responsibility for the consequences of my action, then my action is morally good.
  (d) sometimes doing my duty conflicts with doing the right thing–especially when doing the right thing involves acting in accord with my religious beliefs.

146.  According to Kant, an action which has a motive or intention that cannot be successfully universalized:
  (a) might be moral or immoral, depending on the consequences of the action.
  (b) might be moral or immoral, depending on whether the act is considered acceptable in the person’s society.
  (c) is immoral.
  (d) might be moral or immoral, depending on whether the action is done freely.

147.  Kant claims that I can determine whether all other rational beings are obligated to do what I am obligated to do by trying to see whether:
  (a) certain practices are universally accepted throughout different cultures.
  (b) other examples of my action yield good consequences.
  (c) the action would be universally good for all individuals.
  (d) the motive of my action can be universalized without contradiction or without being unacceptable to some people.

148.  For Kant, the morality of an action is determined by the one thing over which we have control, namely, motive.  Specific actions cannot be universalized, and consequences of actions cannot determine morality because they are often out of our control.  Only motive can be the basis for moral judgments, and the only pure moral motive is:
   (a) doing that which we think is going to produce the greatest amount of happiness for the most people.
   (b) acting in a way that is consistent with our religious beliefs and conscience.
   (c) choosing to have as our motive that which other people often have as their motive in acting.
   (d) willing to do that which all other rational beings could accept and will without contradiction.

149.  According to Kant, acting morally means acting on an intention that a reasonable person could will all persons to adopt as the motive for their actions.  Critics claim that this makes Kant a consequentialist, insofar as universalizability considers the consequences of everyone acting that way.  Kant rejects this by pointing out that:
  (a) to say that an intention must be universalizable does not mean that everyone’s intentions need to be considered, only the intentions of those who are going to be affected by the action.
  (b) theintended consequences of actions are often not the same as their actual consequences.
  (c) intentions, not consequences, identify moral actions; if an intention cannot be universalized for any reason (including unacceptable consequences), it cannot be the basis for a moral act.
  (d) if people actually did their moral duty, then the consequences of their doing so would be better than if they only intended to do their duty.

150.  Kant suggests that the maxim upon which an action is based, and not the individual action itself, is the key for determining whether an action is morally good, because:
  (a) a specific action is, by definition, not universalizable.
  (b) our actions are always based on some maxim or other.
  (c) without maxims we would not know what to do.
  (d) our maxims are subjective rules of behavior upon which actions are based.

151.  Kant argues that acting in accordance with duty does not make an action morally worthwhile; rather it is acting for the sake of or because it is one’s duty that makes the act morally worthy.  He makes this distinction to indicate how:
  (a) the consequences of one’s actions might be good or bad depending on how much happiness is produced.
  (b) actions that are done freely are always morally good actions.
  (c) the moral value of an action is determined by one’s motives, not by the consequences of one’s actions.
  (d) acting in a self-interested way differs from acting based on maxims.

152.  Which of the following IS NOT an objection raised against Kant’s ethical theory?
  (a) Just because someone is concerned with promoting happiness instead of doing his/her duty, that does not mean that his/her action lacks moral value.
  (b) Just because I am naturally inclined to pursue happiness, that does not mean that I can’t act from duty.
  (c) Just because the exact consequences of actions are unknown or are not in our complete control, that does not mean that we are not responsible for or should not consider those consequences.
  (d) In moral dilemmas, rules often conflict; in such cases, Kantian ethics is of no help.

153.  According to existentialist ethics, there is no absolute foundation upon which moral judgments are based; we are free to adopt any moral system we choose.  As Sartre notes, however, we are responsible for choosing that set of values.  Any system of moral values that is established by some means other than human choice, then:
  (a) contradicts the principle on which the ability to make moral distinctions is based.
  (b) ought to be grounded in the will of God or in generally accepted social practices.
  (c) in fact never are used by people (even mistakenly) to make moral judgments.
  (d) is immoral if the consequences are bad for us.

154.  When Sartre says that “there is no human nature,” what he means is that:
  (a) as self-conscious beings, we can and do determine the kinds of beings that we are.
  (b) there can be no basis for deciding between anguish and despair.
  (c) human beings do not have genetic characteristics that identify them biologically as members of a species.
  (d) existentialism can accept the existence of God only as the a priori foundation of ethical judgments.

155.  Sartre claims that, for human beings, “existence precedes essence”; in other words:
  (a) when human beings are rational, they fulfill their essence of being human.
  (b) human beings are essentially determined to exist according to certain God-given directives.
  (c) human beings are free to choose even not to act in any way whatsoever.
  (d) human beings are condemned to be free and to become anything they choose through their actions.

156.  If, as Sartre’s existentialism claims, “man is responsible for his passion,” then no matter what we as human beings do, we do it:
  (a) against our wills.
  (b) without thought.
  (c) freely.
  (d) out of scorn for God.

157.  Nietzsche argues that the task of true morality is to indicate how human beings, as part of nature, can move “beyond good and evil” by means of the attempt to:
  (a) overcome and gradually do away with our natural inclinations of aggression and struggle.
  (b) show our nobility through self-restraint and compassion for the less fortunate.
  (c) accept tolerantly our own weaknesses as indications of our place within God’s plan.
  (d) make moral distinctions the explicit products of the exercise of human will.

158.  According to Nietzsche, members of the herd endorse the slave values of sympathy, kindness, and the “common” good because:
  (a) they feel that they should be treated kindly and compassionately since they are not responsible for their lack of power.
  (b) they believe that, if they treat the master-morality overmen kindly, those noble individuals will not harm them.
  (c) they fear that a lack of sympathy or kindness, or failure to consider the common good, will cause the men of nobility to feel threatened by them.
  (d) they prefer following God’s will rather than struggling against it (like the overmen are constantly having to do).

159.  Critics of morality (e.g., Callicles or Nietzsche) argue that recommending that people act morally (that is, with self-restraint, moderation, or concern for others) is itself an attempt by “common” people to impose their will on their superiors.  They conclude, therefore, that doing something because it is moral makes no sense, since:
  (a) even common people admit that no one should act morally unless it produces happiness for him or her.
  (b) only a personality that harmonizes the competing interests of reason, emotion, and appetite is moral.
  (c) the “all too human” values of ordinary people do not provide any guidance for how people should act.
  (d) that would require us to affirm our power to decide values by restricting that power.

160.  The “first principle” of Nietzsche’s version of humanism is this: “The weak and the failures shall perish.  They ought even to be helped to perish.  What is more harmful than vice?–Practical sympathy and pity for all the failures and all the weak: Christianity.”  In Nietzsche’s trans-valuation of humanism, Christianity is:
  (a) Nietzsche’s attempt to reintroduce values into his theory of the will to power.
  (b) an afterlife project that Nietzsche endorses as promoting the overman.
  (c) the means by which noble aims filter down from masters to slaves.
  (d) that which frustrates the prospects of human advancement.

161.  Nietzsche claims that “because life is precisely Will to Power,” the attempt to bend all wills to a common good, avoiding violence and exploitation in order to achieve peace in society, is:
  (a) “the fundamental principle of society” and the necessary means for the development of all life.
  (b) the goal of the noble class.
  (c) “the Will to the denial of life,” which itself invites dissolution and decay.
  (d) the dark night of barbarism in which “all who are born after us belong to a higher history than any history hitherto.”

162.  According to Nietzsche, everything that exists or happens is an expression of the will to power—even the resentment of weak people toward creative, self-determining individuals.  What Nietzsche objects to about “slave” resentment is not its effort but rather:
  (a) its unwillingness to acknowledge itself as the active source of its values.
  (b) its ability to destroy the will to power by promoting values of passivity and weakness.
  (c) its willingness to think that the will to power is more important than the will to truth.
  (d) its inability to free itself from the external forces that determine it to say “No” to creativity.

163.  Nietzsche’s critique of “slave morality” includes an attack on the belief in the existence of God, because as long as God exists:
  (a) human beings will continue to experience guilt for their failing to live up to God’s call for them to improve themselves in accord with His law.
  (b) there will always be the possibility that God could aid the individuals of the slave or herd mentality against the noble individual (the overman).
  (c) human beings will always have someone to fall back on and blame for their failings, rather than take responsibility for their destiny.
  (d) there is always the possibility that God may bring peace to the world and thus destroy the need for the overman.

164.  Anti-foundationalists (AFs) reject both teleological and deontological ethical theorizing because they (AFs):
  (a) deny that there is any one set of values, practices, or principles that should guide our moral decisions.
  (b) deny that anyone can justifiably make a moral decision that is not always already self-interested.
  (c) agree with logical positivists: moral judgments are merely expressions of feeling or emotion.
  (d) think that teleological and deontological theories ultimately do not appeal to any moral principles.

165.  Moral virtue, for Aristotle, entails acting in accord with the dictates of reason as determined by:
  (a) an objective, shared standard of right and wrong equally applicable to all people.
  (b) a mean or point of moderation between the extremes of morally good and morally evil behavior.
  (c) the mean or point of moderation between the extremes of possible alternative ways of acting.
  (d) the denial of one’s own interests in favor of the good of one’s community.

166.  According to Aristotle, a happy life is a life of virtue, one in which the individual contributes to the good of his or her community and is respected for such contributions.  At the heart of his description of the morally good life is one’s honor in a society, because being an honorable individual means being someone who:
  (a) recognizes how his or her own well-being is intimately linked to the good of the community.
  (b) appreciates how moral values vary from culture to culture and from individual to individual.
  (c) can live a life of moderation without having be sensitive to or involved in social or civic affairs.
  (d) contemplates philosophical principles in order to understand the truths of nature.

167.  For Aristotle, “Moral states are the results of activities like the states themselves.  It is our duty, therefore, to keep a certain character in our activities, since our moral states depend on the differences in our activities.”  This “certain character” is:
  (a) activity in accordance with reason (i.e., sensitive to the social and personal dimensions of human existence).
  (b) the point at which the individual’s “golden mean” rule cancels out the society’s own definition of “moderation.”
  (c) neither excess nor deficiency, but rather the alternation of the two (where one takes over sometimes, and the other at other times).
  (d) the point of moderation in action between virtue and vice, the individual’s good as opposed to the social definition of the good.

168.  Ethical judgments are usually distinguished from judgments of personal preference, taste, or prejudice by means of showing that ethical judgments:
 (a) can be explained in terms of the particular customs or practices of a group or culture.
 (b) are intended primarily to rationalize already accepted practices in a society.
 (c) serve only as ideals and cannot be the bases upon which people live daily.
 (d) need to be supported by reasons that should be universally intelligible or acceptable.

169.  Because absolutists argue that the quality or value of something is independent of being designated or recognized as such, they treat ethical judgments:
 (a) as relative to one’s own conscience or set of values.
 (b) as true or false depending on one’s society or on how one is raised.
 (c) as inaccessible to the human mind, ultimately unknowable and practically meaningless.
 (d) as facts about the world which are true or false regardless of human judgments.

170.  Which of the following characterizations is FALSE?
 (a) It is possible for a subjectivist to be a relativist.
 (b) It is possible for a relativist to be an objectivist.
 (c) It is possible for an absolutist to be a subjectivist.
 (d) It is possible for an objectivist to be an absolutist.

171.  Critics claim that subjective relativism is practically unacceptable and theoretically contradictory.  It is practically unacceptable in that no society could survive unless its members shared the values needed to maintain the society.   Subjective relativism is theoretically contradictory insofar as it:
  (a) assumes that individuals choose their own values and are responsible for their choice of values.
  (b) claims that moral judgments express only how someone feels about an action.
  (c) assumes a universal value (viz., freedom to decide one’s values) should be respected by others.
  (d) argues that the reasons it gives for acting morally are metaethical, not normative.

172.  According to the cultural relativist Ruth Benedict, “The very eyes with which we see a problem are conditioned by the long traditional habits of our own society.”  Because of this, she concludes:
  (a) without some perspective upon which to base claims, no observer can justifiably criticize another culture.
  (b) claims about cultural differences are as judgmental as they are descriptive.
  (c) all cultural differences can be reduced to basic differences in human nature.
  (d) organizedbehavior within a particular society prevents its own members from seeing when they have problems.

173.  According to the cultural relativist, the attempt to evaluate the moral beliefs of one’s own culture is bound to fail because:
  (a) obviously some cultures have better systems of moral beliefs than others.
  (b) values are not determined by one’s culture as much as they are by the individual’s personal beliefs and prejudices.
  (c) even within a particular culture’s belief system, no actions are really ever identified as good or bad.
  (d) in order to make such an evaluation, one has to use the very values which are themselves being judged.

174.  Critics argue that if moral relativism is correct, some beliefs and practices would not make sense—specifically:
  (a) we could not hope to resolve moral disputes, all toleration and criticism of moral beliefs would be unjustified, and there could be no real moral reform or progress.
  (b) we could not individually make judgments about what we should or should not do, present arguments to support our beliefs, or for that matter even have moral beliefs.
  (c) we could not tolerate people who have beliefs different from our own, we would have to force our values on others, and any moral reform or progress would be purely private or subjective.
  (d) we could not reduce suffering or consider the welfare of non-human beings as morally significant.

175.  Which of the following IS NOT a reason typically proposed to explain why people endorse moral relativism?
  (a) It is obvious that different cultures have different beliefs; relativism is a proper response to ethnocentrism.
  (b) There is ultimately only one right way to think about morality, one fact of the matter that does not vary from person to person: namely, relativism.
  (c) Relativism is the only viable alternative to the absolutist belief that there is only one moral standard.
  (d) With the decline of religion, fewer people believe that there is an objective set of beliefs or truths about what is right and wrong.

176.  Which of the following IS NOT an objection that can be raised against ethical relativism?
  (a) If relativism is correct, then we will not be able to resolve ethical disputes by appealing to arguments.
  (b) If relativism is correct, then we as individuals cannot believe that moral behavior reduces suffering.
  (c) If relativism is correct, then neither criticism, moral progress, nor toleration are morally justifiable.
  (d) Because it is difficult to identify the “cultures” an individual belongs to, it is not helpful to say that an individual’s values are determined by his or her culture.

177.  Ethical relativists often base their position on cultural value differences.  Such a strategy is flawed because:
  (a) the subjective, personal beliefs of an individual cannot be the basis for any moral theory.
   (b) even though cultural relativism is an absolutist position, it is not an objectivist position.
  (c) the fact that moral beliefs differ among cultures does not imply that moral beliefs ought to differ.
  (d) moral rules intended to reduce suffering and promote human flourishing are adopted in all cultures.

178.  Suppose that human well-being is the correct standard for evaluating ethical theories and judgments.  Would this mean that we have to reject the cultural relativist’s claim that each culture has a right to decide its own values?
  (a) No: no culture can impose its values on any other culture, even if those values promote human well-being.
  (b) No: all cultures are different in what they value (indeed, that is what makes them different in the first place); so the destruction of cultural differences would mean the end of cultures.
  (c) Yes: but each culture would have to decide whether “promoting well-being” for its members is really what it wants.
  (d) Yes: any culture that would not satisfy basic material and social needs of all of its members would not be as good as it should be.

179.  “Even if people have similar needs, sentiments, emotions, and attitudes, there is still the question of whether these should or should not be satisfied or accepted as legitimate.”  How is such a claim intended as a criticism of personal or cultural relativism?
  (a) The fact that people agree in their moral beliefs does not make the beliefs justified or correct.
  (b) Since people in different cultures hold different beliefs, they try to satisfy their needs differently.
  (c) Even if people agree on what they believe, it is difficult (if not impossible) to get them to live according to what they believe.
  (d) Only those beliefs which have universal support should be accepted as true.

180.  According to the cultural or subjective relativist, the fact that moral values vary from culture to culture or from individual to individual implies that no absolute or objective moral standards should be applied to all people in all times or cultures.  The problem with this line of argument is that:
  (a) it ignores the fact that not all cultures and individuals respect and tolerate the rights and values of others.
  (b) it assumes that no set of moral values can be the basis for behavior unless its absolute principles are fixed and cannot be changed or modified.
  (c) it commits the naturalistic fallacy by reasoning from the fact that values differ to the claim that people are morally justified in acting on their cultural or individual beliefs.
  (d) it endorses the logical positivist claim that moral statements are neither analytic (true by definition) nor synthetic (true by empirical observation).

181.  Relativists think that if we recognize how moral values differ from individual to individual or culture to culture, we will see that there is no neutral, objective, or universal moral standard.  From this they conclude that we should tolerate the value systems of others.  But this conclusion seems to contradict their fundamental belief because it:
  (a) suggests that tolerating different viewpoints has value only for relativists, not objectivists.
  (b) assumes that all persons universally ought to value toleration, even those who do not actually do so.
  (c) fails to indicate how toleration can be a value only for consequentialists, not deontologists.
  (d) treats toleration as a value that no one ought to adopt, even though most individuals and cultures in fact do.

182.  Critics of ethical relativism often note that cultures seldom differ on certain basic values: only their belief systems differ.  In other words:
  (a) each culture determines the basic values necessary for the culture’s existence.
  (b) no culture can exist very long unless it establishes practices that distinguish it from others.
  (c) prejudices within our own society often determine our moral views.
  (d) cultures differ in how more or less universal values are implemented in practices.

183.  “My thesis about traditional ethics is this: (1) The focus and direction of traditional ethics, indeed its function, has not been individual integrity and agency (ability to make choices and act) but rather social organization and control.  (2) The values around which traditional ethics revolves are antagonistic, the values of dominance and subordination.  As a result, (3) traditional ethics undermines rather than promotes individual moral ability and agency.  And (4) these aspects of traditional ethics combine to legitimize oppression by redefining it as social organization.  Appeal to rules and principles is at the heart of this endeavor.”  In this passage:
  (a) Sarah Hoagland shows how male-dominated ethics emphasizes competing interests, sacrifice and compromise, and duty instead of caring.
  (b) Plato points out how totalitarian political systems value traditions more highly when those traditions focus on domination and oppression.
  (c) Kant portrays ethical values as products of the antagonism between those who emphasize motives and those who emphasize consequences.
  (d) Ayn Rand expresses disappointment in ethical systems that value the rights of the individual over the rights of the State.

184.  Feminists have argued that the emphasis of virtue ethics on making moral judgments on a case-by-case basis is more in keeping with the spirit of morality than (masculine) emphases on abstract principles of justice, because:
  (a) virtue requires that we make moral judgments without considering the circumstances or situations.
  (b) morality is about doing what is right, which means doing that which can be defended universally.
  (c) ethics should be about doing our duty, which (as Kant notes) varies from person to person.
  (d) a full life balances reason and the emotional particularities of caring for others and our relationships.

185.  Progress through the feminine stages of knowing described by Mary Field Belenky and others is marked, in part, by a movement from subjective experience and intuition through a stage of shared experience and empathy.  Though this latter stage includes intuition, it is considered just as objective as masculine proof strategies, since:
  (a) it relies on communication with others to determine whether one’s personal feelings are justified.
  (b) it, like masculine strategies of reasoning, begins with accepting the testimony of experts as the truth.
  (c) it, like the masculine model, acknowledges that rationality and knowledge are ultimately subjective.
  (d) it emphasizes objective logic and reasoning instead of emotion, feeling, or personal experience.

186.  Masculine and feminine models of thinking differ about the importance of an individual’s intuition.  In the masculine model, knowledge is abstract and universal: individual intuition is either merely an example of general knowledge or a threat to it.  But in the feminine model, individual intuition is necessary because knowledge is:
  (a) arrived at only after critically examining the facts and discarding irrelevant personal testimony.
  (b) inherently and unavoidably a product of insights and feelings shared by individuals with one another.
  (c) based on what an individual learns from authorities, tradition, or his or her society.
  (d) whatever an individual personally feels is correct, regardless of what others may say or feel.

187.  According to Carol Gilligan, feminine ways of thinking about moral decisions are based on an “ethics of care” rather than (male) impersonal, abstract principles.  That is, women think of ethical situations:
  (a) as opportunities to deny that there is any right or wrong way to act and to show how the very act of making ethical distinctions is itself a form of male domination.
  (b) not as questions with true or false answers, but as conflicts that need to be resolved in order to maintain stable interpersonal relationships.
  (c) as opportunities to replace so-called universal abstract principles of ethical judgment with more specific abstract principles (e.g., principles that apply only to one’s culture).
  (d) not as gender (masculine-feminine) conflicts, but as problems that can be solved by calculating the foreseen consequences for those affected by actions.

188.  According to the (feminist) ethics of care, emotional involvement and sensitivity to the differing needs of other people in different situations are necessary elements in making objective moral judgments because:
  (a) morality is based on nothing more than how each individual feels about things.
  (b) sensitivity and caring are subjective expressions of rational, objective, unemotional ways of thinking.
  (c) particular needs and situations seem to differ, but they are similar enough for general moral judgments.
  (d) without sympathetic, emotional involvement, we cannot understand exactly what action occurs or why it is done.

189.  Critics of feminist ethics point out that, while an ethics of care might sound nice, it is less useful than an ethics of justice for addressing problems generated in modern Western societies.  To this criticism, feminists reply that:
  (a) without being able to rely on traditional ethical theories (e.g., utilitarianism, Kantian duty ethics), we would not know how to make moral decisions.
  (b) social practices should focus on cultivating relations with others rather than encouraging competition and self-interested individualism.
  (c) marketplace competition and rational self-interested behavior are matters of economic and political concern and are thus not issues that are of ethical significance.
  (d) being responsible for or caring for others in our society is best accomplished by encouraging competition and self-interested individualism.
 

Answers:
 
 

1.  A
2.  B
3.  B
4.  B
5.  A
6.  A
7.  B
8.  A
9.  A
10.  B
11.  A
12.  A
13.  B
14.  A
15.  A
16.  A
17.  A
18.  A
19.  B
20.  B
21.  A

22.  B
23.  B
24.  B
25.  A
26.  A
27.  A
28.  B
29.  A
30.  A
31.  B
32.  A
33.  B
34.  B
35.  A
36.  A
37.  B
38.  A
39.  A
40.  B
41.  B
42.  B

43.  A
44.  B
45.  B
46.  B
47.  A
48.  A
49.  A
50.  B
51.  B
52.  A
53.  B
54.  A
55.  A
56.  B
57.  A
58.  B
59.  B
60.  A
61.  B
62.  A
63.  A

64.  B
65.  A
66.  A
67.  A
68.  B
69.  A
70.  A
71.  A
72.  B
73.  A
74.  B
75.  A
76.  B
77.  B
78.  A
79.  B
80.  B
81.  B
82.  B
83.  A
84.  A

85.  A
86.  A
87.  A
88.  B
89.  A
90.  B
91.  B
92.  A
93.  A
94.  B
95.  A
96.  A
97.  B
98.  B
99.  A
100.  B
101.  B
102.  A
103.  A
104.  D
105.  B

106.  B
107.  B
108.  A
109.  C
110.  B
111.  D
112.  B
113.  C
114.  B
115.  D
116.  B
117.  D
118.  C
119.  C
120.  D
121.  D
122.  C
123.  A
124.  C
125.  B
126.  C

127.  A
128.  B
129.  C
130.  B
131.  B
132.  D
133.  A
134.  C
135.  B
136.  C
137.  C
138.  C
139.  D
140.  A
141.  B
142.  B
143.  C
144.  A
145.  B
146.  C
147.  D

148.  D
149.  C
150.  A
151.  C
152.  B
153.  A
154.  A
155.  D
156.  C
157.  D
158.  A
159.  D
160.  D
161.  C
162.  A
163.  C
164.  A
165.  C
166.  A
167.  A
168.  D

169.  D
170.  C
171.  C
172.  B
173.  D
174.  A
175.  B
176.  B
177.  C
178.  C
179.  A
180.  C
181.  B
182.  D
183.  A
184.  D
185.  A
186.  B
187.  B
188.  D
189.  B

 

PHIL 251: Intro. to Philosophy (Daniel) Test Questions:
Epistemology (Theory of Knowledge)

Answers given at end.

True/False (True=A; False=B)

1. Epistemology is the study of the origin, structure, and extent of reality.

2. Empiricism is the study of the nature, extent, origin, and justification of knowledge.

3. Empiricism is not a legitimate “epistemological” approach, because it is not really concerned with the study of the nature, sources, and limits of knowledge.

4. When I say I know something, I do not always have to believe what I claim to know.

5. Even though only true propositions can be known, it is possible to believe a proposition that is false.

6. According to Plato, the eternal Forms or Ideas are the universal characteristics by which things are what they are and are known as what they are.

 7. According to Plato, our knowledge about things in the sensible world is not based on sense experience but on our a priori apprehension of the Forms.

 8. In Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, the figures that cast shadows on the back wall of the cave are supposed to be understood as the Forms in terms of which things outside of the Cave are intelligible.

 9. According to Plato, the Form of the Good is the ultimate cause or rationale for every meaningful or intelligible thing.

 10. Because rationalism does not rely on sense experience for knowledge, it is inappropriate to speak of a “rationalist epistemology.”

11. Because rationalism does not rely on sense experience, it cannot account for how we know anything.

12. For Plato, all knowledge (as opposed to opinion) is innate insofar as it is based on reasoning that cannot have been obtained through sense experience.

13. According to Plato, to understand a thing means being able to conceive the thing in terms of the concept or logos by which it is intelligible.

14. According to Descartes, we cannot say that we know things about the world based on sense experience because we can be deceived by our senses or might simply be dreaming.

15.  An a priori statement is one whose truth/falsity is known without having to appeal to experience.

16.  The point of Descartes’ appeal to an “evil genius” is to raise doubts about his knowledge of a posteriori propositions.

17.  The point of Descartes’ appeal to an “evil genius” is to raise doubts about his knowledge of a priori propositions.

18.  Descartes uses the methodic doubt to show that there is at least one thing that can be known with absolute certainty, namely, that he exists.

19. By means of his “methodic doubt,” Descartes is able to show that there is one thing we can know with absolute certainty–namely, that we cannot know anything with certainty.

20.  Dualists (like Descartes) argue that human beings are composed of immaterial bodies and material souls or minds.

21. In order for the self to exist, Descartes argues, there must be an infinite being (God) as the background that makes possible the cogito’s knowledge of itself as a finite existence.

22. In order to know that he exists, Descartes first has to prove that his bodily senses can be trusted when they reveal to him that he is behaving in a thinking manner.

23. The methodic doubt by which Descartes hopes to achieve certainty and a foundation for claims of knowledge is, for him, both a real and reasonable doubt about the existence of things.

24. Descartes’ “methodic doubt” is intended to raise doubts about illusions, dreams, and occasionally sense experiences–but not about beliefs concerning the self, God, or one’s own body.

25. According to Descartes, since sense experience is sometimes deceiving, it cannot be the ultimate and indubitable (undoubtable) basis for knowledge.

26. By means of his wax example Descartes wants to show how our ideas of substance and identity are not based on sense experience.

27. Philosophical skepticism claims that nothing exists.

28. Epistemology does not consider skepticism as a legitimate theory because skepticism claims that we can never be completely justified in our beliefs.

29. A solipsist is someone who doubts whether anything else exists other than his or her own mind.

30. According to Descartes, no all-good God would permit us ever to make mistakes about what we claim to know about the world using our senses.

31. According to Descartes, the criteria or principles for determining whether a claim is true are clarity and distinctness.

32. By assuming that knowledge is possible by reasoning alone, rationalists conclude that the only things we ever know to exist are our minds and their ideas.

33. An a priori statement is one whose truth/falsity is known without having to appeal to experience.

34. An a posteriori statement is one whose truth/falsity is known without having to appeal to experience.

35. Even though a posteriori propositions can sometimes be universal, they are never necessary (that is, they are always contingent).

36. In place of Descartes’ psychological criteria for determining truth and certainty, Leibniz substitutes logical criteria (such as whether most people believe a statement to be true).

37. Because supporters of extrasensory perception do not limit claims of knowledge to data provided by the five senses, they are considered rationalists, relying on reason alone for knowledge.

38. To say that Locke is a representational realist means that he believes that at least some of our ideas actually represent things outside of the mind.

39. In Locke’s representationalist theory of perception, external objects in the world cause us to have ideas from which we infer the existence of things.

40. According to Locke, ideas of sensation and reflection are innate because they are based on primary rather than secondary qualities.

41. By referring to the mind as a tabula rasa, Locke emphasizes the empiricist position that prior to experience the mind is blank or empty.

42.  In Locke’s causal theory of perception, external objects in the world cause us to have ideas from which we infer the existence of things.

43. According to Locke, we know about abstract general ideas like humanity or blueness because there are such general things in the world to which such ideas correspond.

44. Primary qualities, for Locke, are characteristics of things (e.g., being solid, taking up space, being in motion or at rest) which resemble the ideas we have of those characteristics.

45.  To distinguish primary and secondary qualities, Locke assumes that we can compare those characteristics of things that exist in objects themselves with characteristics that exist only in our minds.

46. According to Berkeley, because we can never know anything outside of our own minds, we must conclude that there is no such thing as a real world.

47. According to Berkeley, because we can never know anything outside of our own minds, the only defensible philosophic position is solipsism.

48. For Berkeley, “To be is to be perceived or to perceive” means that the only things that are real are ideas and the minds that have those ideas.

49. Berkeley recognizes that to his claim “to be is to be perceived” he has to add “or to perceive” in order to allow for the existence of minds (which are not perceived).

50. According to Berkeley, since only a mind can actually perceive ideas, and ideas are not real things, then only minds really exist.

51. According to Hume, because our ideas are copies of sense impressions, we cannot form ideas of anything (even imaginary creatures) without drawing ultimately on sense experiences.

52. “All human beings think clearly” is an example of a tautology.

53. For Hume causal relations are properly described by means of a posteriori statements.

54.  David Hume argues that, because things are nothing more than clusters of ideas, there is no meaningful way to talk about an external world which causes our ideas.

55. Mathematical propositions (e.g., 7+5=12) are known a priori because their truth or falsity can be known without having to appeal to sense experience.

56. According to Kant, all synthetic a priori judgments are false.

57. It is possible to believe something that is false and still do so rationally (i.e., with good reasons).

58. According to typically masculine ways of thinking, the proper way to philosophize is to defend one’s beliefs against those of others by showing how other beliefs are wrong or contradictory.

59. Because feminist philosophy competes with, confronts, and criticizes masculine forms of reasoning, it claims to be the correct way to think, not just a strategy for appreciating alternative ways of thinking.

60.  A statement is true, according to the coherence theory of truth, if it is consistent with facts in the world that are independent of our beliefs.

61. Because they differ on what it means to say that a statement is true, a coherence theorist and a pragmatist would also differ on which statements are true and which are false.

62. According to James’s pragmatism, a proposition is true if, when acted upon, it satisfies our expectations.

63. According to Francis Bacon, the task of science is to discover the hidden causes or “forms” of phenomena in order to be able to manipulate things to satisfy human needs.

64. In saying that scientific observations must conform to reason’s own laws, Kant indicates how the experiments are really guided tests and not random or indifferent observations.

65. According to Popper’s falsifiability criterion of science, theories proven to be false must not really have been scientific in the first place.

66. According to Kuhn, scientific progress is possible only because there is a growing base of theory-neutral data.

67. In Kuhn’s account, the correctness of a scientific theory is ultimately determined by whether it describes nature, regardless of whether it is accepted by the scientific community.
 

Multiple Choice

68. Which of the following IS NOT a necessary characteristic for saying that Mary knows that today is Monday?
  (a) It must be, in fact, true that today is Monday.
  (b) Mary must be able to give a reason or justification for thinking that today is Monday.
  (c) Mary could not have been tricked into thinking that today is any day other than Monday.
  (d) Mary must believe that today is Monday.

69. To say that you know that there is life on other planets necessarily implies that you believe there is life on other planets, that you have reasons to back up your belief, and that:
  (a) life on other planets is perhaps vastly different from what we are used to.
  (b) you can trust your senses when you see extraterrestrial life forms.
  (c) you have experienced life on other planets personally.
  (d) there is, in fact, life on other planets.

70. In order for me to know that birds fly, it must be true that birds do fly, because:
  (a) if it were not the case that birds fly, then I would know that which is not true; in short, I would know no thing: I     would not know.
  (b) whenever I claim to know something, I have to rely on what I have been taught.
  (c) if it is true that birds fly (as it, in fact, is), then I cannot be mislead into thinking otherwise.
  (d) unless I have seen birds fly I will not believe others when they tell me that birds do, in fact, fly.

71. According to Descartes, illusions and dreams often appear as real as ordinary sense experience, but they obviously cannot provide us with any certainty about the world.  Because sense experience is also often mistaken, it too cannot provide a dependable ground for knowledge.  Given such a situation, he concludes, the most responsible thing that a true searcher for truth can do is to engage in methodic doubt–that is, a doubt about:
 (a) those things for which we have good reason to doubt.
 (b) only those things for which we have no good reason to doubt.
 (c) contingent but not necessary truths.
 (d) everything, even if such a doubt seems unreasonable.

72. Descartes’ appeal to the device of the evil genius to make sure that we do not uncritically accept a priori propositions without first allowing for the remote possibility that we might be in error about them.  Why?
  (a) Unlike a posteriori propositions that depend for their truth or falsity on experience, a priori propositions are known as true or false prior to experience.
  (b) A priori propositions are both necessary and universal, whereas a posteriori propositions are not.
  (c) If there is the slightest possibility that we could be in error about the foundation of our knowledge, then everything based on that foundation is questionable.
  (d) The evil genius is Descartes’ way of ensuring that he does not forget how his whole project of methodic doubt is itself prior to any experiences (and thus a priori).

73. As the product of his methodic doubt, the proposition “I think, therefore I am” provides Descartes with exactly what he as a rationalist needs to develop an epistemology, namely:
 (a) a criterion or rule by which to distinguish a priori from a posteriori propositions.
 (b) an indubitable, certain principle on which to ground all other claims of knowledge.
 (c) a way of distinguishing empiricist principles from rationalist principles of knowledge.
 (d) the basis for an a posteriori proof for the existence of God.

74. Descartes argues that the cogito is the necessary foundation for all subsequent knowledge insofar it:
  (a) provides an indubitable principle on which all other claims of knowledge can be based.
  (b) is the first step in Descartes’ method of doubt.
  (c) is not really known to be true but is rather something that everyone believes.
  (d) can be doubted just as much as anything else we might claim to know.

75. According to the “epistemological turn” epitomized by Descartes’ philosophy, epistemology takes precedence over metaphysics.  In other words, in Descartes’ philosophy:
 (a) that which is real is more important than that which is imaginary.
 (b) before we can know what exists, we must know what we can know and what knowing means.
 (c) knowing something to be true comes after believing something to be true.
 (d) nothing exists without first being known by human beings to exist.

76. In order to know anything with certainty about the world or about whether he even has a body, Descartes first has to prove that God exists, because:
  (a) as the most important thing in the world, God is the first thing that must be shown to exist.
  (b) if God’s existence is doubtful, so is Descartes’ existence; so he has to prove that God exists.
  (c) if an all-good, all-powerful God exists, He would not allow us to be mistaken when we have clear and distinct ideas of the world.
  (d) without God there is no reasonable hope for an afterlife and thus no reason to act morally.

77. Descartes’ wax example indicates how we can know what a thing (e.g., wax) is:
 (a) in purely mathematical terms, without having to rely on what our senses tell us about it.
 (b) only after it has changed into something which it originally is not.
 (c) in terms about which even the evil genius could not have tricked us.
 (d) without having to relate scientific truth to religious belief.

78. Descartes’ wax example is intended to show that the wax is the same substance before and after it is melted, and this observation indicates how:
  (a) our senses portray the physical characteristics of wax in purely non-sensible ways.
  (b) our knowledge of sensible objects is based on what reason (not sense) identifies as wax.
  (c) without sense experiences, we would not know whether the wax before and after melting is the same.
  (d) knowing that something is wax is the same thing as sensibly experiencing something as wax.

79. Descartes would say that empiricists confuse the criteria of truth with the sources of knowledge when they claim that sense experience should be the means for determining whether a statement is true or false.  Descartes rejects this way of thinking because (as he notes):
  (a) any sense experience may itself be mistaken, so sensation cannot be used to judge truth.
  (b) the criteria for deciding whether a statement is true are based on sense experience.
  (c) what we know (i.e., what our knowledge is about) is given to us by reason; sense experience provides us with the justification for claiming that we know.
  (d) though sensation cannot be trusted to provide knowledge, it is all we have for knowing.

80.  Both Plato and Descartes are often identified as rationalists because they agree generally on a series of beliefs that distinguish them from empiricists.  Which of the following IS NOT a typical rationalist claim?
 (a) Sense experience cannot be trusted to provide knowledge.
 (b) There is a constant, intelligible order underlying the changes in the world we experience.
 (c) Knowledge is based ultimately on innate ideas and a priori principles.
 (d) Though sense experience is sometimes deceptive, it is necessary for true knowledge.

81. Leibniz claims that some propositions (what he calls “truths of reason”) can be known to be true or false without having to appeal to sense experience.  Knowledge about them is based on two laws or principles:
  (a) the law of divine explanation and the principle of sufficient reason.
  (b) the principle of sufficient reason and the principle of harmony.
  (c) the principle of doubt and the law of methodic doubt.
  (d) the law of contradiction and the law of excluded middle.

82. Which of the following is a contingent proposition?
  (a) Something cannot exist and not-exist at the same time in the same respect.
  (b) A whole is always greater than any one of its parts.
  (c) If A = B, and B = C, then A = C.
  (d) All cultures agree fundamentally on what is true or false.

83. Which of the following is an a priori proposition?
  (a) All material objects are extended (that is, they take up space).
  (b) Some material objects are heavier than others.
  (c) All physical objects are seen sometime or other by some human being.
  (d) Some material objects are living creatures.

84. According to critics of foundationalist epistemology (like Richard Rorty), evidence for one’s beliefs can be conclusive without being necessarily conclusive or based on some indubitable (undoubtable) principle such as Descartes’ cogito.  That is, it is sometimes legitimate to say that we “know” something even when:
 (a) we don’t believe it.
 (b) what we know is not based on any evidence.
 (c) all evidence contradicts our belief.
 (d) we might still be wrong.

85. Empiricists charge that if claims of knowledge are limited to things we know with logical certainty, we will never be able to know anything about existing things in the world, because:
 (a) the actual existence of things in the world is known only through experience, not reason.
 (b) simply by thinking or reasoning we can know specifically which things exist and how.
 (c) things in the world cannot be known to exist unless they exist previously in some mind.
 (d) the existence of things depends on their having been created by some prior cause, God.

86. According to empiricists, though the kind of information provided by analytic a priori propositions is indubitable, it is not very useful in expanding our knowledge about the world, because:
  (a) the world is nothing other than what we experience it to be.
  (b) such propositions are concerned with the world as it is in itself, not with how we experience the world.
  (c) any information provided by such propositions is ultimately based on someone’s personal experience.
  (d) such propositions are true (or false) by definition and do not describe any facts about the world.

87. Rationalists (like Descartes) and empiricists (like Locke and Berkeley) differ on what they see as the primary topic with which epistemology should be concerned, in that rationalists:
  (a) doubt that there is anything that can be known with certainty; whereas empiricists doubt we can ever make mistakes when we appeal to the senses.
  (b) emphasize the origin and extent of knowledge, and empiricists emphasize its nature and justification.
  (c) emphasize the nature and justification of knowledge; empiricists emphasize its origin and extent.
  (d) say that reasoning is based on sense experience; empiricists say that sense experience is based on reasoning.

88. In his assault on innate ideas, Locke notes that some thinkers argue that maybe all people (including children) have such innate ideas but simply are not aware of knowing such truths.  To this particular point Locke responds:
 (a) it makes no sense to say that we know something that we do not know.
 (b) even children know what they know only by means of experience.
 (c) even if all people agreed about a belief, that would not necessarily make it innate.
 (d) because we should limit our assent to the evidence, we should believe in innate ideas only to the extent that we have evidence for them.

89. In calling the mind a “tabula rasa,” Locke wants to emphasize that all knowledge, even knowledge of mathematical truths, is based on solely on:
 (a) innate ideas.                                 (b) experience.
 (c) formal training or education.          (d) language.

90. “The particular bulk, number, figure, and motion of the parts of fire or snow are really in them, whether anyone’s senses perceive them or not; and therefore they may be called real qualities, because they really exist in those bodies.  But light, heat, whiteness, or coldness, are no more really in them than sickness or pain is in manna [bread].”  In this passage Locke locates the distinction between primary and secondary qualities in the difference between:
  (a) the parts of bodies that we cannot sense and the parts that we can sense.
  (b) qualities of bodies that exist independently of sensation and qualities that rely on sensation.
  (c) the power to perceive things in our own bodies and the power to perceive things in other bodies.
  (d) those qualities that no one ever perceives and those qualities that we always perceive.

91. Substance, Locke claims, is that “I know not what” in which the primary qualities of a thing inhere.  Without assuming the existence of substance and primary qualities, Locke would not be able to conclude that his knowledge is in any way:
 (a) the same as the knowledge that God has in coordinating events in the universe.
 (b) the same as the knowledge that God has in ordering our sense data into specific things.
 (c) the same as other people have when they have his experiences.
 (d) based or grounded in a reality apart from experience.

92. In his critique of Locke, Berkeley notes that primary qualities cannot legitimately be distinguished from secondary qualities, because:
  (a) primary qualities exist in the mind of God, whereas secondary qualities exist only in human minds.
  (b) neither primary nor secondary qualities can be known except insofar as they exist outside of or beyond all minds (finite or infinite).
  (c) primary qualities depend as much on the mind’s perspective as do secondary qualities.
  (d) the primary qualities of things (such as solidity, extension, motion/rest) are different from secondary qualities (such as colors, scents, sounds).

93. Berkeley suggests that his theory prevents the skeptic from denying the existence of God, because in Berkeley’s philosophy the existence of God is necessary to show why:
  (a) we feel that something external to us causes us to have particular perceptions.
  (b) theskeptical attitude towards knowledge undermines the doctrine of secondary qualities but not that of primary qualities.
  (c) the laws of nature are human generalizations of our experiences.
  (d) our interest in perception is one which has a religious or theological character.

94. According to Berkeley, even if you and I do not have the same mental experiences when we think “red,” we are still able to agree on what red is because:
 (a) as a secondary quality, the color red is something that is purely private and individual.
 (b) we learn to associate our experiences with words that we agree upon intersubjectively.
 (c) we in fact do have the same mental experience, even if we don’t know it.
 (d) red is a simple idea, whereas redness is an abstract idea.

95. Instead of saying that we often perceive what really exists, Berkeley argues that:
  (a) what really exists is what we or some other minds perceive.
  (b) that which really perceives is all that really exists.
  (c) that which is perceived is that which does the perceiving.
  (d) we seldom perceive what really exists; when we do, we do not recognize it as such.

96. Berkeley expands his definition of the meaning of real things to include perceivers as well as things perceived because:
 (a) we can perceive our own minds but not the minds of others.
 (b) God perceives those things which no other minds perceive.
 (c) we can perceive each others’ minds but not our own.
 (d) nothing can be perceived without its being perceived by some mind(s).

97. Plato’s objective idealism differs from Berkeley’s subjective idealism in that:
  (a) for Plato, ideas or Forms are real; for Berkeley, ideas are mere fictions and therefore unreal.
  (b) for Plato, ideas or Forms exist outside of minds; for Berkeley, ideas exist only in minds.
  (c) for Plato, ideas or Forms are immaterial entities; for Berkeley, ideas are material entities.
  (d) for Plato, ideas or Forms are conceptual generalizations; for Berkeley, ideas are spiritual or immaterial copies of spiritual realities.

98. If all I ever know is that I exist and have ideas, but cannot be sure about whether those ideas refer to anything outside of myself, then I am trapped in my own consciousness.  Such a position is referred to as:
  (a) conceptualism.   (b) phenomenalism.
  (c) solipsism.           (d) representational realism.

99. “There is no question of importance whose decision is not comprised in the science of man; and there is none which can be decided with any certainty before we become acquainted with that science.”  Here Hume notes that since everything is known through our ideas and reasoning, then:
  (a) an empiricist epistemology is better than a rationalist epistemology insofar as empiricism gives us knowledge of the world and rationalism gives us knowledge of ourselves.
  (b) by acknowledging that certainty is unachievable, we show the fruitlessness of trying to develop a philosophy of human nature.
  (c) to know anything about human nature with any certainty, we first have to know about the world apart from our ideas and processes of reasoning.
  (d) by understanding human nature (which includes how our ideas of things are ordered), we can understand everything that is knowable.

100. Hume points out that, if all our ideas are based on experience, then our idea that every event has a cause would likewise have to be based on experience of every event.  But we have not had experiences of future events, nor have we had experiences even of every past event.  So how can we be sure that all (even future) events have causes?  Hume’s answer:
  (a) since past events are going to be like future events, we can be sure they will all have causes.
  (b) we can’t be sure: all we do is “imagine” events will have causes, we develop that habit.
  (c) there is no such thing as a future event or (for that matter) a past event, only present events.
  (d) it is impossible even to imagine an event without imagining it as having had a cause.

101. According to Hume, I cannot know (or predict with any certainty or high probability) that things in the future will occur in particular ways, because:
  (a) I know that the future will not resemble the past: that is what distinguishes the future from the past.
  (b) to have an idea of the future, I would have to have an idea of my future self (which is impossible).
  (c) knowledge of the future would require an infinite intellect; for Hume, only God knows the future.
  (d) I have no experience on which to base the claim that the future will resemble the past.

102. Hume’s analysis of cause and effect undermines any claim to know that our ideas are caused by things in the world, because (according to Hume):
  (a) even though we cannot know that our ideas are caused by things in the world, we can at least believe that things in the world cause our ideas.
  (b) the very notion of cause is unintelligible because it is not based on any sense experience.
  (c) we have no experience of any necessary connection between ideas and the things outside of our ideas that supposedly cause them.
  (d) even if I can know exactly what it is that I am experiencing at a particular moment, that does not mean that what I am experiencing actually exists in the world as the cause of that experience or idea.

103. According to Kant, the way to respond to Hume’s critique of causality is to show that certainty about propositions like “every event has a cause” is possible in virtue of the fact that:
  (a) our experience of events itself is caused by something apart from all experience.
  (b) the “law” of causality (every event has a cause) is merely an inductive generalization.
  (c) even though every “effect” has a cause, not every “event” has a cause.
  (d) the mind (reason) structures all (even future) experiences in determinate, unchanging ways.

104. In order to avoid Hume’s conclusion that we cannot know that things in the future will always have causes, Kant argues that we know that all events in the future will have causes because:
  (a) our belief that future events will have causes is so strong that it alone is sufficient to guarantee that future events will, in fact, have causes.
  (b) all minds are organized in such a way that, in order for events (including future events) to be experienced at all, they must always be experienced as having a cause.
  (c) cause-and-effect is a law of nature independent of human experience; regardless of whether we or any other minds experience them, events in the future will have causes.
  (d) future events themselves are caused by past and present events; so we know that if future events occur at all, they will have been caused by something.

105. According to Logical Positivists, only those statements that can be tested by experience or are true by definition are meaningful.  The most that one would be able to say about ethical or religious claims would be:
 (a) they report on how we feel about something, but they do not express any truth.
 (b) such claims may be true or false; it’s just that we may not know whether our beliefs are justified.
 (c) they are purely logical truths–that is, truths of reason (or by definition), not matters of fact.
 (d) they have meaning insofar as they provide the hypothetical or theoretical bases for thought.

106. According to phenomenalism, the meaning of a sentence consists in its being either a tautology or understandable in terms of past or predicted sense experiences.  In other words, a sentence (like “God exists”) is meaningful only if:
 (a) for the person who utters it, the sentence has meaning, regardless of what others think.
 (b) it represents the truth, even if we don’t know which experiences to believe.
 (c) it is true by definition or is testable by appeal to sense experience.
 (d) it expresses a belief that is innate, known to all rational beings.

107. Phenomenalists claim that physical things are simply constructs of sense data that we talk about in ways different from those things that we identify as mental or spiritual things.  Specifically, to say that a thing is a physical object means that:
 (a) it is proper to speak about the thing in terms of dimensionality, size, and shape.
 (b) the thing’s primary qualities (extension, shape, and solidity) do not depend on the mind.
 (c) appearances of the thing, even in hallucinations or dreams, must be accepted as real.
 (d) claims about it are ultimately understandable as being tautologies.

108. According to the psychological atomism implicit in phenomenalism, our knowledge of the world is built up from discrete sensory impressions.  However, as gestalt theorists point out, perceptions are not intelligible simply as isolated data but rather depend for their intelligibility on:
 (a) other equally isolated sense data that are themselves intelligible as innate ideas.
 (b) whether ideas are caused by substances in the world or by God directly.
 (c) logical constructs of neutral (neither mental nor physical) sense experiences.
 (d) the linguistic background or social field of expectations by which they are identified.

109. Rorty’s critique of phenomenalism is based on his rejection of the presupposition that knowledge requires a foundation in either innate ideas or sense data.  Instead of thinking of knowledge as a relation between a belief and a fact about the world, we should think of knowledge (he claims) as a relation between:
  (a) what we think we know and what we actually do know.
  (b) a belief and the social, historical arguments given to support it.
  (c) our sense perceptions and our innate ideas.
  (d) the way the mind organizes experiences according to the surface grammar of language and the way that language itself is structured by the deep grammar of neurology.

110.  In the correspondence theory of truth, the proposition “There is a desk in this room” is true only if:
 (a) I think there is a desk in this room.
 (b) it is reasonable to think that there is a desk in this room.
 (c) there is a desk in this room.
 (d) if I try to sit on what I think is the desk, it will support me.

111. Some critics argue that, because the correspondence theory of truth assumes that facts are simply “out there” and uninterpreted, the correspondence theory makes it impossible to know whether a proposition is ever true or false, because:
  (a) regardless of what we may believe, there is something external to us serves as the criterion for whether our beliefs are true or false.
  (b) even though we cannot know uninterpreted facts, we must believe that they exist, because they are the means by which we generate interpreted facts.
  (c) as long as what we know about the world is limited to our beliefs, then we cannot compare those beliefs to some standard outside of us.
  (d) no proposition about the world can both be true and false without violating rules of logic that hold not only for what we believe but also for the structure of the world.

112. Critics charge that the coherence theory of truth is unable to explain falsehood, because if truth is defined as the coherence of a proposition or belief with other propositions or beliefs, then are not all coherent systems of belief true?  That is, if a belief is true because it is consistent with other beliefs in a system, then:
  (a) how do we tell whether a proposition is inconsistent with other beliefs in that same system?
  (b) can’t a belief be false and yet the whole system with which it is consistent still be true?
  (c) why can’t judgments that are consistent with many other beliefs still be false within the same system of beliefs?
  (d) couldn’t the whole set of consistent beliefs be false?

113. Kierkegaard notes that the truth about the “objective uncertainties” of human existence is not knowable in the same way  as other facts about the world, because those “facts” do not concern things about which we really care.  What makes a belief true, though, is not only that we care about it but also that:
  (a) they are based on an objective, impersonal relation between the belief and the world.
  (b) even after adopting the belief we acknowledge that we still might be in error.
  (c) after adopting the belief we no longer worry that we could be in error.
  (d) faith in God allows us to believe anything we want and that will make it true.

114. Feminist epistemology denies that so-called objective “facts” (e.g., about atoms, genetic characteristics of illnesses, or even logical ways of reasoning ) are independent of personal and socio-political interests, because:
  (a) the only “facts” about the world and ourselves that are really objective are those that are discovered and confirmed by legitimate authorities and experts.
  (b) it is impossible for anyone to identify anything as a “fact” without first knowing which personal or socio-political interests are affecting his or her observations and reasoning.
  (c) by investigating things in certain ways, we use intuitions, emotions, and shared expectations to focus our attention, guide our thoughts, and influence our observations about “facts.”
  (d) unlike “facts” relating to the physical world (e.g., atoms, illness), matters that concern psychological, social, and political relations are not really facts at all.

115. Masculine and feminine models of thinking differ about the importance of an individual’s intuition.  In the masculine model, knowledge is abstract and universal: individual intuition is either merely an example of general knowledge or a threat to it.  But in the feminine model, individual intuition is necessary because knowledge is:
  (a) arrived at only after critically examining the facts and discarding irrelevant personal testimony.
  (b) inherently and unavoidably a product of insights and feelings shared by individuals with one another.
  (c) based on what an individual learns from authorities, tradition, or his or her society.
  (d) whatever an individual personally feels is correct, regardless of what others may say or feel.

116. Progress through the feminine stages of knowing described by Mary Field Belenky and others is marked, in part, by a movement from subjective experience and intuition through a stage of shared experience and empathy.  Though this latter stage includes intuition, it is considered just as objective as masculine proof strategies, since:
  (a) it relies on communication with others to determine whether one’s personal feelings are justified.
  (b) it, like masculine strategies of reasoning, begins with accepting the testimony of experts as the truth.
  (c) it, like the masculine model, acknowledges that rationality and knowledge are ultimately subjective.
  (d) it emphasizes objective logic and reasoning instead of emotion, feeling, or personal experience.

117. Though they claim to be arguing rationally, supporters and opponents of creation science disagree about the limits of what science properly can say about the origin of the universe and life.  That difference can be summarized this way:
  (a) creation scientists explain the origin of the universe and life by explicit reference to the Bible, whereas their opponents claim that science rejects the teachings of the Bible.
  (b) in contrast to scientists, creationists do not really propose their position as a scientific theory but only as a religious attitude that one can adopt to complement scientific beliefs.
  (c) creation scientists argue that since science is limited to experiments and testing, no theory about creation can be properly called scientific.
  (d) creationists consider the creation of the universe and life as supernatural events that explain the natural world; opponents limit science to claims about natural events.
 

Short Essay: How do rationalism and empiricism–and epistemology in general–accept the Socratic claim that the intelligibility of anything requires that it be based on an ultimate foundation (or logos)?

Rationalism and empiricism assume that, without a basis for thinking (either in the ways we reason or in sense experience), we could not justify claims of knowledge–since justification must involve appeal to some foundation rather than simply a web of beliefs.
 

Answers:
 
 

1.  B
2.  B
3.  B
4.  B
5.  A
6.  A
7.  A
8.  B
9.  A
10.  B
11.  B
12.  A
13.  A
14.  A
15.  A
16.  B
17.  A

18.  A
19.  B
20.  B
21.  A
22.  B
23.  B
24.  B
25.  A
26.  A
27.  B
28.  B
29.  A
30.  B
31.  A
32.  A
33.  A
34.  B

35.  A
36.  B
37.  B
38.  A
39.  A
40.  B
41.  A
42.  A
43.  B
44.  A
45.  A
46.  B
47.  B
48.  A
49.  A
50.  B
51.  A

52.  B
53.  A
54.  A
55.  A
56.  B
57.  A
58.  A
59.  B
60.  B
61.  B
62.  A
63.  A
64.  A
65.  B
66.  B
67.  B
68.  C

69.  D
70.  A
71.  D
72.  C
73.  B
74.  A
75.  B
76.  C
77.  A
78.  B
79.  A
80.  D
81.  D
82.  D
83.  A
84.  D
85.  A
 

86.  D
87.  C
88.  A
89.  B
90.  B
91.  D
92.  C
93.  A
94.  B
95.  A
96.  D
97.  B
98.  C
99.  D
100.  B
101.  D
102.  C
 

103.  D
104.  B
105.  A
106.  C
107.  A
108.  D
109.  B
110.  C
111.  C
112.  D
113.  B
114.  C
115.  B
116.  A
117.  D

 

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