Representation in Let Us Now Praise Famous Men and The Grapes of Wrath
James Agee raises an important question one hundred pages into Let Us Now Praise Famous Men: “how am I to speak of you as ‘tenant’ ‘farmers,’ as ‘representatives’ of your ‘class,’ as social integers in a criminal economy, or as individuals, fathers, wives, sons, daughters, and as my friends as I ‘know’ you?” Agee raises issues of representation, asserting that terms such as ‘class’ and ‘representatives’ are problematic. To ascribe and reduce individuals to such terms would be to see them as numbers—‘integers’—instead of the complex people they are in reality. Agee shies away from pity, however. He backs away from his sociological lens, claiming the members of the family are fathers, wives, sons, and daughters. And yet, Agee does not really ‘know’ these individuals; he admits that his observational scope is limited and therefore his ability to speak is as well.
No such authorial reflection appears so explicitly in The Grapes of Wrath, but a good deal of social commentary on the ‘criminal economy’ that Agee refers to exists. Steinbeck writes from the perspective of a businessman: “They [farm workers] don’t need much. They wouldn’t know what to do with good wages. Why, look at how they live. Why, look what they eat. And if they get funny—deport them” (232). In six short sentences Steinbeck is able to conjure images of slavery and exploitation through wages. Although perhaps Steinbeck’s view of businessmen may be one-sided, the fact that he provides voices from each side—tenant and owner—provides a kind of objectivity that is powerful. The Grapes of Wrath, while drawing upon sentiment, educates readers on the loss that has occurred in the Great Depression: the owners “no longer worked on their farms” (232). Perhaps that is precisely what is criminal to Steinbeck: that ownership of something could be so divorced from a olfactory and tactile sense of what it is. It is impossible to farm on paper, Steinbeck says, not only because ownership involves love, but also because words can only say so much about the suffering that is.
It is difficult, I say, to be happy. And perhaps we can conjure up images of bubbly personalities and tell ourselves that we can be that way. But we know that true happiness is not imagined—it is real—and it is the byproduct of hard work, always, always. To mention this criminal economy is to mention the persons who do not allow it to function. It is criminal to swindle and to deceive. Making money for the sake of making money is criminal because it deprives everybody of your talent. You have a talent, all you bankers and consultants, and somehow you've sold it to the firm of your choice. But real talent and real intelligence is something you cannot sell; it is innate and it is developed over time; true intelligence never feels it necessary to belittle others—true intelligence is honored by the contributions of the giants whose shoulders we stand upon. It cannot be measured; it can only be felt.
I'm thinking about the chills you get when you hear a line that is so resoundingly true. For example, Chris Rock argues, "Are we[the American public] so desperate that we fall for a trickless magician [David Blaine]? What's his latest trick? 'I'm in a box, and I ain't gonna eat.' That ain't no trick. That's called living in the projects."
How resoundingly true. I'm reminded of Carlin's bit on homelessness: "People don't want anything near them. We got something in this country, it's called NIMBY. Not in my backyard. You try to build a halfway house for addicts, or a home for some disabled folks to work their way back in the community: NOT IN MY BACKYARD. Part of that great American spirit of generosity we talk about—great big American spirit of generosity."
Here I mention the kind of humility that will change the world: intelligent compassion. Neither can exist without the other; any ontological theory of knowledge must mention how to live compassionately as well as organize the kinds of knowledge that prove most useful to society. It is quiet humility in action that builds infrastructure, farms, houses, and other things we need. Generosity in the form of your time can empower communities. But your intelligence is what is needed at the end of the day. Your intelligence is drawn to the dream of a better future; your intelligence understands that if we do not leave the world a better place than how we found it, then we have failed.
How resoundingly true. I'm reminded of Carlin's bit on homelessness: "People don't want anything near them. We got something in this country, it's called NIMBY. Not in my backyard. You try to build a halfway house for addicts, or a home for some disabled folks to work their way back in the community: NOT IN MY BACKYARD. Part of that great American spirit of generosity we talk about—great big American spirit of generosity."
Here I mention the kind of humility that will change the world: intelligent compassion. Neither can exist without the other; any ontological theory of knowledge must mention how to live compassionately as well as organize the kinds of knowledge that prove most useful to society. It is quiet humility in action that builds infrastructure, farms, houses, and other things we need. Generosity in the form of your time can empower communities. But your intelligence is what is needed at the end of the day. Your intelligence is drawn to the dream of a better future; your intelligence understands that if we do not leave the world a better place than how we found it, then we have failed.
So we pray, and we pray earnestly and in the most sincere way possible: teach us to be happy, and teach us to be angry against injustice. Instill in us intelligence that allows us to appreciate and not ignore others. Humble us, and give us imagination that see beyond what is and toward what could be.
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