Like I said, but
Yeah. Its just a bit tiring with all the other informative things that some threads devolve to this. Happy to be here and I'd be in a stack with most if yall gladly
Most of this stuff is behind pay walls but it would not hurt for everyone to study Kipling.
A Summer of Reading
Kipling Knew What the U.S. May Now Learn
By
Edward Rothstein
''Take up the White Man's burden,'' was Rudyard Kipling's notorious prescription for the United States as it began to rule the Philippine Islands. That refrain, from an 1899 poem, eventually became a key exhibit in the case against the racism and exploitation of 19th-century imperialism. Kipling's attitudes toward ''new-caught, sullen peoples,/Half devil and half child'' permanently sullied his reputation.
The notion of ''White Man's burden'' once again seems peculiarly relevant in thinking about the war in Afghanistan. What are the goals of the Western powers as the region is transformed? What good can be expected and how can it be achieved?
For Kipling these issues were also personal. He was born in India, and though educated in England, he returned to India as a journalist. He hoped that his writing would reveal ''the whole sweep and meaning of things throughout the empire.'' And in fact, from 1886 to 1901 his tales (including ''The Man Who Would Be King''), his poems (including ''Barrack-Room Ballads'') and his 1901 novel, ''Kim,'' began to do just that.
In fact, assessments of Kipling's reputation and early works cannot be easily separated from evaluations of the British Empire. During his lifetime he was one of Britain's most renowned writers. He won the Nobel Prize, was praised by T. S. Eliot and became friends with King George V. For decades, films ranging from early silents to ''Gunga Din'' with Douglas Fairbanks Jr. celebrated Kipling's heroic vision.
But as the critic Edmund Wilson wrote, in literary circles the ''eclipse of the reputation of Kipling'' began as early as 1910. By 1941, when Wilson was writing, Kipling had ''dropped out of modern literature.'' In 1942 George Orwell wrote: ''During five literary generations every enlightened person has despised him'' as ''morally insensitive and aesthetically disgusting.'' And Lionel Trilling added to qualified literary praise a dismissal of Kipling's ''bullying, ruthlessness and self-righteousness.
''During the early 1960's more analytic treatment came into play in important essays and biographical studies by Noel Annan, Andrew Rutherford and other scholars. But Kipling became a specialized taste, alien to both the popular and political imaginations. Irving Howe's 1982 anthology, ''The Portable Kipling,'' tried to provide some resuscitation with a surprisingly sympathetic introduction. ''History has come to Kipling's rescue,'' Howe wrote, ''What has replaced imperialism has often been something much worse. ''But the academy seemed unimpressed until Kipling's injured literary corpse was used for postcolonial examinations of Western imperialism. More subtly, Edward Said wrote a perceptive analysis of ''Kim'' in his 1993 book, ''Culture and Imperialism,'' calling the novel ''rich and absolutely fascinating'' but ''profoundly embarrassing. ''It will be interesting to see how Kipling fares in a new biography, ''The Long Recessional'' by David Gilmour, to be published this spring by Farrar, Straus & Giroux. But the war in Afghanistan should spur yet another examination, particularly as the West becomes involved in nation building. In a region long scarred by tribal and religious massacres, invasions, poverty and corruption, the hope is that over $4 billion in aid will lead to a Western-style democracy, a Western-style justice system and a relatively free economy. But don't these ambitious humanitarian goals themselves require a form of imperialism not all that different from Britain's at its best? Don't these intentions unavoidably assert superiority? And may not these ambitions -- however fantastical -- possibly lead to varieties of exploitation and unexpected massacres now associated with the phrase ''White Man's burden''? How are burdens of imperial power to be borne as they arise in new incarnations?
Kipling's work helps shed more light on these knotty problems than it might seem, given his reputation. In much of the early fiction an empathetic imagination displaces jingoistic doctrine. The imperial enterprise, Kipling suggests, is not so easy to evaluate. It is tinged by generosity as well as venality, tragedy as well as evil.
In ''Kim,'' for example, the street urchin son of a low-life Irish soldier and a low-caste Indian mother learns to negotiate the teeming bazaar of Indian life, impersonating and conversing with sahibs (the ruling white men) along with Tibetans, Sikhs, Afghans and Muslims. But for Kim, social boundaries and hierarchies become porous.
These natives are not sullen half-men and half-children. They are rivalrous, brutish, generous, xenophobic, kind and corrupt -- very much like sahibs themselves. One central character says of the white rulers: ''It is with them as with all men.'' Another character says that sahibs who don't understand the land or its peoples are ''worse than the pestilence.'' The students in the elite sahib school where Kim is sent against his will are abusive, snobby, racist, part of a restrictive society that pales before Kim's experiences of India.
So the novel, far from celebrating imperial authority, dismantles it, as does Kipling's 1888 tale of perverse imperial designs, ''The Man Who Would Be King.'' Among the craggy peaks and isolated plains of a land beyond Afghanistan, two scruffy white con men conquer a series of primitive tribes. In the new kingdom, the tribes prosper; the rulers are seen as gods. But then one ''king'' violates the rules of a culture he does not understand. He is revealed as ''not a God nor a Devil'' but a fallible and deceptive man. The natives crucify him in expiation of no one's sins but his own.
The imperial project then, is fraught with dangers that claims of superiority cannot fend off. Kipling must have also recognized that one could never eliminate enmity or create loyalty by tempering the imperial project with good deeds and some prosperity. How is a sense of superiority, then, to be combined with the cultural respect latent in many of Kipling's tales?
Kipling, of course, was sure of Britain's cultural superiority -- as indeed, America is of its own when confronted with the Taliban. But Kipling suggests that the superiority also entails sacrifice. All ''profit and gain,'' he asserts in his poem, must be sought not for oneself but for the other. Famine and sickness must be eliminated. Battles for peace must be waged. But nothing should be expected in return. Even if the project succeeds -- something Kipling believed would never happen in India -- imperial power should expect only ''the blame of those ye better/The hate of those ye guard.'' In the poem's imagery, the end of naïve childhood for the conquered is also the weary end of naïve childhood for the conqueror.
This makes the burden seem impossibly heavy and the conflicts irresolvable. But Kipling may have come closest to an ideal resolution in ''Kim.'' Kim, a master of cultural masquerade, is gradually recruited into what was then known as the Great Game: he becomes a British agent, joining a multicultural espionage network intent on preventing a Russian invasion. Kim's support for the Game is taken for granted. Kim never even ponders why he plays the Game.
Many critics have pointed to this as the novel's failure. But the point is that for Kim, the Great Game is an abstract commitment, an enterprise so encompassing it has little to do with any particular identity, not even that of the sahibs. Kim is not all that different from the Tibetan lama he travels with, who seeks enlightenment by shedding all forms of identity. This may be the closest Kipling came to a utopian vision in which the tensions of imperialism are resolved.
Kipling himself could never live up to such an ideal; neither, perhaps, could Kim. Britain certainly didn't. Some modified version of the hope lies behind the establishment of the new Afghan government and the humanitarian ambitions of the West: a hope that somehow old identities will dissolve, that the conqueror will spur no resentment and that internal peace will reign. But as this Great Game becomes deadly serious, as a region resembling Kim's becomes better understood, and as new forms of imperialism take shape, Kipling's notorious and tragic burden begins to seem unavoidable. So does the likelihood that there will be no utopian resolution of its latent contradictions.
A Summer of Reading
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Kipling Knew What the U.S. May Now Learn - The New York Times (nytimes.com)