Terror, Practical and Impractical (September 1995 | Volume: 46, Issue: 5)

Terror, Practical and Impractical

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Authors: Geoffrey C. Ward

Historic Era: Era 4: Expansion and Reform (1801-1861)

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September 1995 | Volume 46, Issue 5

At Oberlin College one day in the autumn of 1961, I happened to find myself at the same lunch table with my classmate Rennie Davis. He was a quiet government major then, close-cropped, bespectacled, a former 4-H Club member, but already caught up in the romance of revolution. As I took my seat, he and a friend whose name I no longer recall were animatedly drawing up a plan to shut the college down. I listened, fascinated, as they discussed the pros and cons of occupying the president’s office, blocking the doors to the administration building, and employing passive resistance to confound the town cops, should the administration dare call them in.

By the time the dessert plates had been cleared away, my fellow diners both seemed satisfied with their plan, but for one thing. “Now,” Davis said, smiling as he gathered up his books for his next class, “all we need is an issue.” The Vietnam War would soon provide him with one, of course; he went on to become a prime mover in Students for a Democratic Society (SDS), vowed to “turn the sons and daughters of the ruling class in this country into Vietcong,” and, as one of the Chicago Seven, was tried for having incited a riot during the 1968 Democratic Convention (and ultimately found innocent).

 

The memory of that long-ago lunch and Davis’s boyish glee at the idea of revolution for its own sake came back to me while reading Edward J. Renehan, Jr.'s fascinating new study The Secret Six: The True Tale of the Men Who Conspired With John Brown. On the surface, the half-dozen men who armed John Brown and encouraged him to pursue his suicidal mission at Harpers Ferry were equally implausible revolutionaries: a pair of liberal-minded Protestant clergymen, Theodore Parker and Thomas Wentworth Higginson; two wealthy philanthropists, Gerrit Smith and George Luther Stearns; Dr. Samuel Gridley Howe, best known for his work among the blind; and Franklin Sanborn, a schoolteacher from Concord, Massachusetts. They were comfortable, book-loving men, for the most part, more accustomed to the tea table than the battlefield, who became so infatuated with the idea of destroying slavery by bringing on a civil war that they refused to recognize either Brown’s true character or the utter hopelessness of his self-appointed task. And, after the shooting had died away, as Higginson, the most steadfast of the conspirators, later admitted, “Although there was no Judas among us, there were six Peters, all of whom denied John Brown at least once … before the cock crowed.”

As Renehan reminds us, Brown’s cause was wholly good, but he was himself mostly bad. Convinced that God had anointed him to destroy the evil of slavery, he lied, stole, and sometimes murdered without compunction. Even his anti-slavery allies in Bleeding Kansas grew wary of him, and with good reason: At least one of his victims, an unarmed settler named James Doyle whom Brown and his