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J. G. Huckenpöhler, Ph.D., 2122 California Street, N.W., Washington, D. C. 20008 - e-mail: jhuckenp@aol.com
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SOME REFLECTIONS 20 June 1995 (Reprinted in The National Capital Panthans Journal #35, 2000)
One of the major innovations of the "enlightenment" of the eighteenth century was the idea, first propounded by the French philosopher Jean Jacques Rousseau, that man in "a state of nature" was good, and that it was only the distorting influence of civilization and government that brought about crime. The idea, of course, ran directly counter to both religious and philosophical concepts previously held. Almost all Christian sects still held to the doctrine of "original sin," which teaches than man is inherently weak and only through grace can withstand temptation; on the secular side, Thomas Hobbes, in his Leviathan, had described the state of nature as "No Arts; no Letters; no Society; and which is worst of all, continuall feare, and danger of violent death; And the life of man, solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short."Dime Lecture Series reprint and editorial sidebar Copyright © 2001
On this side of the water, where real savages were encountered, there developed a curious dichotomy between the philosophic and practical sides of the matter. James Fenimore Cooper's "Leatherstocking Tales" presented the Indian in the mold of Rousseau's "noble savage," while on the real frontier sporadic warfare between settlers and Indians continued from the first settlements in the XVII. century until the end of the XIX. century. A typical example of the two extremes can be found in the War of 1812, when the Creek chieftain Tecumseh allied his people with the British while Pushmataha of the Choctaws fought alongside the U.S. troops. Tecumseh's raids on frontier settlements brought about William Henry Harrison's bloodbath at Tippecanoe, which gave him his nickname, while Pushmataha was made a brigadier general in the U.S. army, and was honored in Washington during his visit in 1824. Thus it appears that whether an Indian was a "noble savage" or a "vicious redskin" depended upon whether he was friendly or antagonistic.
So where exactly did Burroughs stand on the concept of the noble savage? To answer this question, we must examine the entire corpus of Burroughs' work. In the Tarzan books, of course, he created perhaps the archetypical noble savage (or savage noble, if you want to turn the concept on its head). But in Tarzan of the Apes we find also the tribe of Mbonga, of whom Burroughs says, "Their yellow teeth were filed to sharp points, and their great protruding lips added still further to the low and bestial brutishness of their appearance." Hardly "noble savages," these!
From the foregoing analysis, it appears that Burroughs is typical of American writers in the duality of his perception of savage peoples. The key to answering the question can only be found when we realize that for Burroughs, savages (like civilized people) are first and foremost individuals. The contrast between Tars Tarkas and Tal Hajus, between Mbonga and Mugambi, and between Ghak and Hooja is mirrored in the contrast between Hauptmann Fritz Schneider and Erich von Harben, or between Nikolai Rokoff and Zora Drinov.
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