10 Chapter 10: De Bois, King, and Appiah on Race and Racism

“Daily the Negro is coming more and more to look upon law and justice, not as protecting safeguards, but as sources of humiliation and oppression. The laws are made by men who have little interest in him; they are executed by men who have absolutely no motive for treating the black people with courtesy or consideration; and, finally, the accused law-breaker is tried, not by his peers, but too often by men who would rather punish ten innocent Negroes than let one guilty one escape.” –(WEB De Bois, The Souls of Black Folk, 1903)

In this chapter, we’ll be investigating the interplay between race, racism, and ethics through the philosophical contributions of three significant thinkers: W.E.B. Du Bois, Martin Luther King Jr., and Kwame Anthony Appiah. These thinkers have significantly shaped the discourse surrounding race, social justice, and ethical responsibility, providing tools to critically engage with these essential topics in our contemporary world.

We start with an in-depth exploration of Du Bois’s science fiction story “The Comet,” which deftly employs Afrofuturism to interrogate themes of race, class, and gender. By considering the narrative within its historical context and unpacking its allegorical elements, readers will gain valuable insights into Du Bois’s views on race and society.

Discussion questions following the story will guide readers in drawing out the thematic elements and ethical implications of Du Bois’s work. This will serve as a springboard into “Big Ideas: The Philosophy of W.E.B. Du Bois,” a comprehensive overview of Du Bois’s major concepts and ethical ideas. Here, we will discuss his conception of race, the influential idea of the “Talented Tenth,” and the intersections between race and class.

We then shift our focus to Kwame Anthony Appiah’s Anti-Realist Alternative. As a contemporary philosopher, Appiah provides a counterpoint to Du Bois’s views on race, offering a perspective that challenges our traditional understanding of racial identities. This section invites readers to critically engage with the differing philosophical perspectives on race and to consider how these views apply to current discussions on racial identity and racism.

Following our exploration of Du Bois and Appiah, we will delve into “Big Ideas: Martin Luther King on Civil Disobedience,” studying the influential Civil Rights leader’s philosophical ideas. We’ll consider King’s views on when civil disobedience is justified and the role of morality in the fight for social justice. This section will provide readers with an understanding of how King’s philosophical ideas guided his actions and fueled the Civil Rights Movement.

By the end of this chapter, you will have gained a deep understanding of the philosophical underpinnings of race, racism, and ethical responsibility. You’ll be better equipped to engage critically with these topics, understand their historical and philosophical context, and consider their relevance to our current socio-political climate. These three thinkers—Du Bois, King, and Appiah—help provide us with the some of the necessary tools to question, understand, and challenge the deeply ingrained systems of race and racism that pervade our societies.

Reading: The Comet (By WEB De Bois)

Background. “The Comet” is a science fiction short story written by W. E. B. Du Bois in 1920. It explores the themes of race, gender, and class through the relationship between Jim Davis, a Black man, and Julia, a wealthy white woman, who find themselves as the sole survivors in New York after a comet hits the city and unleashes toxic gases.

The story is a significant contribution to a paradigm known as Afrofuturism, which reimagines the past and future of African Americans to revise the historical and diasporic narrative. In “The Comet,” Du Bois situates Jim as the destiny of humankind, the man onto whom the responsibility to repopulate the earth is bestowed. This reimagining of the origin story, traditionally associated with Protestantism and whiteness, allows Du Bois to reclaim the beginning of a narrative that otherwise dismisses and disregards the Black experience.

The story also explores themes of religion, with Jim and Julia likened to Adam and Eve figures, seemingly the only people left alive in the world. This religious imagery is further enhanced when Julia’s father and fiancé show up, destroying her future with Jim and their plans to continue the line of the human race.

The class dynamics are evident in the story as well. Before the comet’s impact, Jim is relegated to the task of going deep underground to retrieve records from the bank vault. After the disaster, he becomes the vital source of human life, highlighting the shift in his social status

Story Text:

He stood a moment on the steps of the bank, watching the human river that swirled down Broadway. Few noticed him. Few ever noticed him save in a way that stung. He was outside the world—”nothing!” as he said bitterly. Bits of the words of the walkers came to him.

“The comet?”

“The comet——”

Everybody was talking of it. Even the president, as he entered, smiled patronizingly at him, and asked:

“Well, Jim, are you scared?”

“No,” said the messenger shortly.

“I thought we’d journeyed through the comet’s tail once,” broke in the junior clerk affably.

“Oh, that was Halley’s,” said the president; “this is a new comet, quite a stranger, they say—wonderful, wonderful! I saw it last night. Oh, by the way, Jim,” turning again to the messenger, “I want you to go down into the lower vaults today.”

The messenger followed the president silently. Of course, they wanted him to go down to the lower vaults. It was too dangerous for more valuable men. He smiled grimly and listened.

“Everything of value has been moved out since the water began to seep in,” said the president; “but we miss two volumes of old records. Suppose you nose around down there,—it isn’t very pleasant, I suppose.”

“Not very,” said the messenger, as he walked out.

“Well, Jim, the tail of the new comet hits us at noon this time,” said the vault clerk, as he passed over the keys; but the messenger passed silently down the stairs. Down he went beneath Broadway, where the dim light filtered through the feet of hurrying men; down to the dark basement beneath; down into the blackness and silence beneath that lowest cavern. Here with his dark lantern he groped in the bowels of the earth, under the world.

He drew a long breath as he threw back the last great iron door and stepped into the fetid slime within. Here at last was peace, and he groped moodily forward. A great rat leaped past him and cobwebs crept across his face. He felt carefully around the room, shelf by shelf, on the muddied floor, and in crevice and corner. Nothing. Then he went back to the far end, where somehow the wall felt different. He sounded and pushed and pried. Nothing. He started away. Then something brought him back. He was sounding and working again when suddenly the whole black wall swung as on mighty hinges, and blackness yawned beyond. He peered in; it was evidently a secret vault—some hiding place of the old bank unknown in newer times. He entered hesitatingly. It was a long, narrow room with shelves, and at the far end, an old iron chest. On a high shelf lay the two missing volumes of records, and others. He put them carefully aside and stepped to the chest. It was old, strong, and rusty. He looked at the vast and old-fashioned lock and flashed his light on the hinges. They were deeply incrusted with rust. Looking about, he found a bit of iron and began to pry. The rust had eaten a hundred years, and it had gone deep. Slowly, wearily, the old lid lifted, and with a last, low groan lay bare its treasure—and he saw the dull sheen of gold!

“Boom!”

A low, grinding, reverberating crash struck upon his ear. He started up and looked about. All was black and still. He groped for his light and swung it about him. Then he knew! The great stone door had swung to. He forgot the gold and looked death squarely in the face. Then with a sigh he went methodically to work. The cold sweat stood on his forehead; but he searched, pounded, pushed, and worked until after what seemed endless hours his hand struck a cold bit of metal and the great door swung again harshly on its hinges, and then, striking against something soft and heavy, stopped. He had just room to squeeze through. There lay the body of the vault clerk, cold and stiff. He stared at it, and then felt sick and nauseated. The air seemed unaccountably foul, with a strong, peculiar odor. He stepped forward, clutched at the air, and fell fainting across the corpse.

He awoke with a sense of horror, leaped from the body, and groped up the stairs, calling to the guard. The watchman sat as if asleep, with the gate swinging free. With one glance at him the messenger hurried up to the sub-vault. In vain he called to the guards. His voice echoed and re-echoed weirdly. Up into the great basement he rushed. Here another guard lay prostrate on his face, cold and still. A fear arose in the messenger’s heart. He dashed up to the cellar floor, up into the bank. The stillness of death lay everywhere and everywhere bowed, bent, and stretched the silent forms of men. The messenger paused and glanced about. He was not a man easily moved; but the sight was appalling! “Robbery and murder,” he whispered slowly to himself as he saw the twisted, oozing mouth of the president where he lay half-buried on his desk. Then a new thought seized him: If they found him here alone—with all this money and all these dead men—what would his life be worth? He glanced about, tiptoed cautiously to a side door, and again looked behind. Quietly he turned the latch and stepped out into Wall Street.

How silent the street was! Not a soul was stirring, and yet it was high-noon—Wall Street? Broadway? He glanced almost wildly up and down, then across the street, and as he looked, a sickening horror froze in his limbs. With a choking cry of utter fright he lunged, leaned giddily against the cold building, and stared helplessly at the sight.

In the great stone doorway a hundred men and women and children lay crushed and twisted and jammed, forced into that great, gaping doorway like refuse in a can—as if in one wild, frantic rush to safety, they had rushed and ground themselves to death. Slowly the messenger crept along the walls, wetting his parched mouth and trying to comprehend, stilling the tremor in his limbs and the rising terror in his heart. He met a business man, silk-hatted and frock-coated, who had crept, too, along that smooth wall and stood now stone dead with wonder written on his lips. The messenger turned his eyes hastily away and sought the curb. A woman leaned wearily against the signpost, her head bowed motionless on her lace and silken bosom. Before her stood a street car, silent, and within—but the messenger but glanced and hurried on. A grimy newsboy sat in the gutter with the “last edition” in his uplifted hand: “Danger!” screamed its black headlines. “Warnings wired around the world. The Comet’s tail sweeps past us at noon. Deadly gases expected. Close doors and windows. Seek the cellar.” The messenger read and staggered on. Far out from a window above, a girl lay with gasping face and sleevelets on her arms. On a store step sat a little, sweet-faced girl looking upward toward the skies, and in the carriage by her lay—but the messenger looked no longer. The cords gave way—the terror burst in his veins, and with one great, gasping cry he sprang desperately forward and ran,—ran as only the frightened run, shrieking and fighting the air until with one last wail of pain he sank on the grass of Madison Square and lay prone and still.

When he rose, he gave no glance at the still and silent forms on the benches, but, going to a fountain, bathed his face; then hiding himself in a corner away from the drama of death, he quietly gripped himself and thought the thing through: The comet had swept the earth and this was the end. Was everybody dead? He must search and see.

He knew that he must steady himself and keep calm, or he would go insane. First he must go to a restaurant. He walked up Fifth Avenue to a famous hostelry and entered its gorgeous, ghost-haunted halls. He beat back the nausea, and, seizing a tray from dead hands, hurried into the street and ate ravenously, hiding to keep out the sights.

“Yesterday, they would not have served me,” he whispered, as he forced the food down.

Then he started up the street,—looking, peering, telephoning, ringing alarms; silent, silent all. Was nobody—nobody—he dared not think the thought and hurried on.

Suddenly he stopped still. He had forgotten. My God! How could he have forgotten? He must rush to the subway—then he almost laughed. No—a car; if he could find a Ford. He saw one. Gently he lifted off its burden, and took his place on the seat. He tested the throttle. There was gas. He glided off, shivering, and drove up the street. Everywhere stood, leaned, lounged, and lay the dead, in grim and awful silence. On he ran past an automobile, wrecked and overturned; past another, filled with a gay party whose smiles yet lingered on their death-struck lips; on past crowds and groups of cars, pausing by dead policemen; at 42nd Street he had to detour to Park Avenue to avoid the dead congestion. He came back on Fifth Avenue at 57th and flew past the Plaza and by the park with its hushed babies and silent throng, until as he was rushing past 72nd Street he heard a sharp cry, and saw a living form leaning wildly out an upper window. He gasped. The human voice sounded in his ears like the voice of God.

“Hello—hello—help, in God’s name!” wailed the woman. “There’s a dead girl in here and a man and—and see yonder dead men lying in the street and dead horses—for the love of God go and bring the officers——” And the words trailed off into hysterical tears.

He wheeled the car in a sudden circle, running over the still body of a child and leaping on the curb. Then he rushed up the steps and tried the door and rang violently. There was a long pause, but at last the heavy door swung back. They stared a moment in silence. She had not noticed before that he was a Negro. He had not thought of her as white. She was a woman of perhaps twenty-five—rarely beautiful and richly gowned, with darkly-golden hair, and jewels. Yesterday, he thought with bitterness, she would scarcely have looked at him twice. He would have been dirt beneath her silken feet. She stared at him. Of all the sorts of men she had pictured as coming to her rescue she had not dreamed of one like him. Not that he was not human, but he dwelt in a world so far from hers, so infinitely far, that he seldom even entered her thought. Yet as she looked at him curiously he seemed quite commonplace and usual. He was a tall, dark workingman of the better class, with a sensitive face trained to stolidity and a poor man’s clothes and hands. His face was soft and slow and his manner at once cold and nervous, like fires long banked, but not out.

So a moment each paused and gauged the other; then the thought of the dead world without rushed in and they started toward each other.

“What has happened?” she cried. “Tell me! Nothing stirs. All is silence! I see the dead strewn before my window as winnowed by the breath of God,—and see——” She dragged him through great, silken hangings to where, beneath the sheen of mahogany and silver, a little French maid lay stretched in quiet, everlasting sleep, and near her a butler lay prone in his livery.

The tears streamed down the woman’s cheeks and she clung to his arm until the perfume of her breath swept his face and he felt the tremors racing through her body.

“I had been shut up in my dark room developing pictures of the comet which I took last night; when I came out—I saw the dead!

“What has happened?” she cried again.

He answered slowly:

“Something—comet or devil—swept across the earth this morning and—many are dead!”

“Many? Very many?”

“I have searched and I have seen no other living soul but you.”

She gasped and they stared at each other.

“My—father!” she whispered.

“Where is he?”

“He started for the office.”

“Where is it?”

“In the Metropolitan Tower.”

“Leave a note for him here and come.”

Then he stopped.

“No,” he said firmly—”first, we must go—to Harlem.”

“Harlem!” she cried. Then she understood. She tapped her foot at first impatiently. She looked back and shuddered. Then she came resolutely down the steps.

“There’s a swifter car in the garage in the court,” she said.

“I don’t know how to drive it,” he said.

“I do,” she answered.

In ten minutes they were flying to Harlem on the wind. The Stutz rose and raced like an airplane. They took the turn at 110th Street on two wheels and slipped with a shriek into 135th.

He was gone but a moment. Then he returned, and his face was gray. She did not look, but said:

“You have lost—somebody?”

“I have lost—everybody,” he said, simply—”unless——”

He ran back and was gone several minutes—hours they seemed to her.

“Everybody,” he said, and he walked slowly back with something film-like in his hand which he stuffed into his pocket.

“I’m afraid I was selfish,” he said. But already the car was moving toward the park among the dark and lined dead of Harlem—the brown, still faces, the knotted hands, the homely garments, and the silence—the wild and haunting silence. Out of the park, and down Fifth Avenue they whirled. In and out among the dead they slipped and quivered, needing no sound of bell or horn, until the great, square Metropolitan Tower hove in sight. Gently he laid the dead elevator boy aside; the car shot upward. The door of the office stood open. On the threshold lay the stenographer, and, staring at her, sat the dead clerk. The inner office was empty, but a note lay on the desk, folded and addressed but unsent:

Dear Daughter:

I’ve gone for a hundred mile spin in Fred’s new Mercedes. Shall not be back before dinner. I’ll bring Fred with me.

J.B.H.

“Come,” she cried nervously. “We must search the city.”

Up and down, over and across, back again—on went that ghostly search. Everywhere was silence and death—death and silence! They hunted from Madison Square to Spuyten Duyvel; they rushed across the Williamsburg Bridge; they swept over Brooklyn; from the Battery and Morningside Heights they scanned the river. Silence, silence everywhere, and no human sign. Haggard and bedraggled they puffed a third time slowly down Broadway, under the broiling sun, and at last stopped. He sniffed the air. An odor—a smell—and with the shifting breeze a sickening stench filled their nostrils and brought its awful warning. The girl settled back helplessly in her seat.

“What can we do?” she cried.

It was his turn now to take the lead, and he did it quickly.

“The long distance telephone—the telegraph and the cable—night rockets and then—flight!”

She looked at him now with strength and confidence. He did not look like men, as she had always pictured men; but he acted like one and she was content. In fifteen minutes they were at the central telephone exchange. As they came to the door he stepped quickly before her and pressed her gently back as he closed it. She heard him moving to and fro, and knew his burdens—the poor, little burdens he bore. When she entered, he was alone in the room. The grim switchboard flashed its metallic face in cryptic, sphinx-like immobility. She seated herself on a stool and donned the bright earpiece. She looked at the mouthpiece. She had never looked at one so closely before. It was wide and black, pimpled with usage; inert; dead; almost sarcastic in its unfeeling curves. It looked—she beat back the thought—but it looked,—it persisted in looking like—she turned her head and found herself alone. One moment she was terrified; then she thanked him silently for his delicacy and turned resolutely, with a quick intaking of breath.

“Hello!” she called in low tones. She was calling to the world. The world must answer. Would the world answer? Was the world——

Silence!

She had spoken too low.

“Hello!” she cried, full-voiced.

She listened. Silence! Her heart beat quickly. She cried in clear, distinct, loud tones: “Hello—hello—hello!”

What was that whirring? Surely—no—was it the click of a receiver?

She bent close, she moved the pegs in the holes, and called and called, until her voice rose almost to a shriek, and her heart hammered. It was as if she had heard the last flicker of creation, and the evil was silence. Her voice dropped to a sob. She sat stupidly staring into the black and sarcastic mouthpiece, and the thought came again. Hope lay dead within her. Yes, the cable and the rockets remained; but the world—she could not frame the thought or say the word. It was too mighty—too terrible! She turned toward the door with a new fear in her heart. For the first time she seemed to realize that she was alone in the world with a stranger, with something more than a stranger,—with a man alien in blood and culture—unknown, perhaps unknowable. It was awful! She must escape—she must fly; he must not see her again. Who knew what awful thoughts—

She gathered her silken skirts deftly about her young, smooth limbs—listened, and glided into a sidehall. A moment she shrank back: the hall lay filled with dead women; then she leaped to the door and tore at it, with bleeding fingers, until it swung wide. She looked out. He was standing at the top of the alley,—silhouetted, tall and black, motionless. Was he looking at her or away? She did not know—she did not care. She simply leaped and ran—ran until she found herself alone amid the dead and the tall ramparts of towering buildings.

She stopped. She was alone. Alone! Alone on the streets—alone in the city—perhaps alone in the world! There crept in upon her the sense of deception—of creeping hands behind her back—of silent, moving things she could not see,—of voices hushed in fearsome conspiracy. She looked behind and sideways, started at strange sounds and heard still stranger, until every nerve within her stood sharp and quivering, stretched to scream at the barest touch. She whirled and flew back, whimpering like a child, until she found that narrow alley again and the dark, silent figure silhouetted at the top. She stopped and rested; then she walked silently toward him, looked at him timidly; but he said nothing as he handed her into the car. Her voice caught as she whispered:

“Not—that.”

And he answered slowly: “No—not that!”

They climbed into the car. She bent forward on the wheel and sobbed, with great, dry, quivering sobs, as they flew toward the cable office on the east side, leaving the world of wealth and prosperity for the world of poverty and work. In the world behind them were death and silence, grave and grim, almost cynical, but always decent; here it was hideous. It clothed itself in every ghastly form of terror, struggle, hate, and suffering. It lay wreathed in crime and squalor, greed and lust. Only in its dread and awful silence was it like to death everywhere.

Yet as the two, flying and alone, looked upon the horror of the world, slowly, gradually, the sense of all-enveloping death deserted them. They seemed to move in a world silent and asleep,—not dead. They moved in quiet reverence, lest somehow they wake these sleeping forms who had, at last, found peace. They moved in some solemn, world-wide Friedhof, above which some mighty arm had waved its magic wand. All nature slept until—until, and quick with the same startling thought, they looked into each other’s eyes—he, ashen, and she, crimson, with unspoken thought. To both, the vision of a mighty beauty—of vast, unspoken things, swelled in their souls; but they put it away.

Great, dark coils of wire came up from the earth and down from the sun and entered this low lair of witchery. The gathered lightnings of the world centered here, binding with beams of light the ends of the earth. The doors gaped on the gloom within. He paused on the threshold.

“Do you know the code?” she asked.

“I know the call for help—we used it formerly at the bank.”

She hardly heard. She heard the lapping of the waters far below,—the dark and restless waters—the cold and luring waters, as they called. He stepped within. Slowly she walked to the wall, where the water called below, and stood and waited. Long she waited, and he did not come. Then with a start she saw him, too, standing beside the black waters. Slowly he removed his coat and stood there silently. She walked quickly to him and laid her hand on his arm. He did not start or look. The waters lapped on in luring, deadly rhythm. He pointed down to the waters, and said quietly:

“The world lies beneath the waters now—may I go?”

She looked into his stricken, tired face, and a great pity surged within her heart. She answered in a voice clear and calm, “No.”

Upward they turned toward life again, and he seized the wheel. The world was darkening to twilight, and a great, gray pall was falling mercifully and gently on the sleeping dead. The ghastly glare of reality seemed replaced with the dream of some vast romance. The girl lay silently back, as the motor whizzed along, and looked half-consciously for the elf-queen to wave life into this dead world again. She forgot to wonder at the quickness with which he had learned to drive her car. It seemed natural. And then as they whirled and swung into Madison Square and at the door of the Metropolitan Tower she gave a low cry, and her eyes were great! Perhaps she had seen the elf-queen?

The man led her to the elevator of the tower and deftly they ascended. In her father’s office they gathered rugs and chairs, and he wrote a note and laid it on the desk; then they ascended to the roof and he made her comfortable. For a while she rested and sank to dreamy somnolence, watching the worlds above and wondering. Below lay the dark shadows of the city and afar was the shining of the sea. She glanced at him timidly as he set food before her and took a shawl and wound her in it, touching her reverently, yet tenderly. She looked up at him with thankfulness in her eyes, eating what he served. He watched the city. She watched him. He seemed very human,—very near now.

“Have you had to work hard?” she asked softly.

“Always,” he said.

“I have always been idle,” she said. “I was rich.”

“I was poor,” he almost echoed.

“The rich and the poor are met together,” she began, and he finished:

“The Lord is the Maker of them all.”

“Yes,” she said slowly; “and how foolish our human distinctions seem—now,” looking down to the great dead city stretched below, swimming in unlightened shadows.

“Yes—I was not—human, yesterday,” he said.

She looked at him. “And your people were not my people,” she said; “but today——” She paused. He was a man,—no more; but he was in some larger sense a gentleman,—sensitive, kindly, chivalrous, everything save his hands and—his face. Yet yesterday——

“Death, the leveler!” he muttered.

“And the revealer,” she whispered gently, rising to her feet with great eyes. He turned away, and after fumbling a moment sent a rocket into the darkening air. It arose, shrieked, and flew up, a slim path of light, and scattering its stars abroad, dropped on the city below. She scarcely noticed it. A vision of the world had risen before her. Slowly the mighty prophecy of her destiny overwhelmed her. Above the dead past hovered the Angel of Annunciation. She was no mere woman. She was neither high nor low, white nor black, rich nor poor. She was primal woman; mighty mother of all men to come and Bride of Life. She looked upon the man beside her and forgot all else but his manhood, his strong, vigorous manhood—his sorrow and sacrifice. She saw him glorified. He was no longer a thing apart, a creature below, a strange outcast of another clime and blood, but her Brother Humanity incarnate, Son of God and great All-Father of the race to be.

He did not glimpse the glory in her eyes, but stood looking outward toward the sea and sending rocket after rocket into the unanswering darkness. Dark-purple clouds lay banked and billowed in the west. Behind them and all around, the heavens glowed in dim, weird radiance that suffused the darkening world and made almost a minor music. Suddenly, as though gathered back in some vast hand, the great cloud-curtain fell away. Low on the horizon lay a long, white star—mystic, wonderful! And from it fled upward to the pole, like some wan bridal veil, a pale, wide sheet of flame that lighted all the world and dimmed the stars.

In fascinated silence the man gazed at the heavens and dropped his rockets to the floor. Memories of memories stirred to life in the dead recesses of his mind. The shackles seemed to rattle and fall from his soul. Up from the crass and crushing and cringing of his caste leaped the lone majesty of kings long dead. He arose within the shadows, tall, straight, and stern, with power in his eyes and ghostly scepters hovering to his grasp. It was as though some mighty Pharaoh lived again, or curled Assyrian lord. He turned and looked upon the lady, and found her gazing straight at him.

Silently, immovably, they saw each other face to face—eye to eye. Their souls lay naked to the night. It was not lust; it was not love—it was some vaster, mightier thing that needed neither touch of body nor thrill of soul. It was a thought divine, splendid.

Slowly, noiselessly, they moved toward each other—the heavens above, the seas around, the city grim and dead below. He loomed from out the velvet shadows vast and dark. Pearl-white and slender, she shone beneath the stars. She stretched her jeweled hands abroad. He lifted up his mighty arms, and they cried each to the other, almost with one voice, “The world is dead.”

“Long live the——”

“Honk! Honk!” Hoarse and sharp the cry of a motor drifted clearly up from the silence below. They started backward with a cry and gazed upon each other with eyes that faltered and fell, with blood that boiled.

“Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk!” came the mad cry again, and almost from their feet a rocket blazed into the air and scattered its stars upon them. She covered her eyes with her hands, and her shoulders heaved. He dropped and bowed, groped blindly on his knees about the floor. A blue flame spluttered lazily after an age, and she heard the scream of an answering rocket as it flew.

Then they stood still as death, looking to opposite ends of the earth.

“Clang—crash—clang!”

The roar and ring of swift elevators shooting upward from below made the great tower tremble. A murmur and babel of voices swept in upon the night. All over the once dead city the lights blinked, flickered, and flamed; and then with a sudden clanging of doors the entrance to the platform was filled with men, and one with white and flying hair rushed to the girl and lifted her to his breast. “My daughter!” he sobbed.

Behind him hurried a younger, comelier man, carefully clad in motor costume, who bent above the girl with passionate solicitude and gazed into her staring eyes until they narrowed and dropped and her face flushed deeper and deeper crimson.

“Julia,” he whispered; “my darling, I thought you were gone forever.”

She looked up at him with strange, searching eyes.

“Fred,” she murmured, almost vaguely, “is the world—gone?”

“Only New York,” he answered; “it is terrible—awful! You know,—but you, how did you escape—how have you endured this horror? Are you well? Unharmed?”

“Unharmed!” she said.

“And this man here?” he asked, encircling her drooping form with one arm and turning toward the Negro. Suddenly he stiffened and his hand flew to his hip. “Why!” he snarled. “It’s—a—n****—Julia! Has he—has he dared——”

She lifted her head and looked at her late companion curiously and then dropped her eyes with a sigh.

“He has dared—all, to rescue me,” she said quietly, “and I—thank him—much.” But she did not look at him again. As the couple turned away, the father drew a roll of bills from his pockets.

“Here, my good fellow,” he said, thrusting the money into the man’s hands, “take that,—what’s your name?”

“Jim Davis,” came the answer, hollow-voiced.

“Well, Jim, I thank you. I’ve always liked your people. If you ever want a job, call on me.” And they were gone.

The crowd poured up and out of the elevators, talking and whispering.

“Who was it?”

“Are they alive?”

“How many?”

“Two!”

“Who was saved?”

“A white girl and a n*****—there she goes.”

“A n*****? Where is he? Let’s lynch the damned——”

“Shut up—he’s all right-he saved her.”

“Saved hell! He had no business——”

“Here he comes.”

Into the glare of the electric lights the colored man moved slowly, with the eyes of those that walk and sleep.

“Well, what do you think of that?” cried a bystander; “of all New York, just a white girl and a n*****!”

The colored man heard nothing. He stood silently beneath the glare of the light, gazing at the money in his hand and shrinking as he gazed; slowly he put his other hand into his pocket and brought out a baby’s filmy cap, and gazed again. A woman mounted to the platform and looked about, shading her eyes. She was brown, small, and toil-worn, and in one arm lay the corpse of a dark baby. The crowd parted and her eyes fell on the colored man; with a cry she tottered toward him.

“Jim!”

He whirled and, with a sob of joy, caught her in his arms.

Discussion Questions: The Comet

• How does “The Comet” use the science fiction genre to explore ethical questions related to race, gender, and class?
• In the story, Jim and Julia are initially the only survivors of a catastrophic event. How does this scenario challenge or reinforce societal norms and prejudices? What ethical questions does this raise about our societal structures?
• How does Du Bois use the concept of Afrofuturism to challenge the traditional narratives of origin stories? What ethical implications does this have for the representation of marginalized groups in literature?
• The story presents a situation where Jim and Julia, despite their racial and class differences, are forced to consider procreation for the survival of the human race. What ethical dilemmas does this situation present?
• How does the story explore the ethics of survival in a post-apocalyptic world? How do the characters’ actions reflect on their moral compasses?
• When other survivors arrive, Julia leaves Jim to join them, and Jim is questioned about his behavior towards Julia. What does this say about the ethics of loyalty and trust in crisis situations?
• The story ends with Jim being rewarded with cash and being reunited with a Black woman. What ethical questions does this ending raise about the value of life, the commodification of heroism, and the dynamics of race and class in society?

Big Ideas: The Philosophy of W.E.B. Du Bois

William Edward Burghardt “W.E.B.” Du Bois (1868 – 1963) was born on February 23, 1868, in Great Barrington, Massachusetts. The landscape of his childhood, particularly the discrimination and injustices he saw, deeply influenced his life’s work. Du Bois was one of the most significant intellectuals in American history, a scholar, civil rights activist, sociologist, historian, and a key figure in the development of African-American studies. His work was profoundly impactful, laying the groundwork for the Civil Rights Movement and influencing the study of race in America.

Education and Influences. Du Bois was the first African American to earn a Ph.D. from Harvard University in 1895. His educational journey also included Fisk University and the University of Berlin. His time in Berlin was particularly impactful as it exposed him to the social sciences and European intellectuals who would greatly influence his work.

Key influences on Du Bois included the German sociologist Max Weber, whose ideas about the relationship between society, economy, and politics would inform Du Bois’s understanding of race relations. He was also inspired by the works of Karl Marx and Frederick Engels, incorporating their ideas about class struggle into his analysis of the “color line” in America. Another influence was Frederick Douglass, the legendary abolitionist, who ignited Du Bois’s passion for African American civil rights. Douglass’ emphasis on the importance of education for African Americans resonated with Du Bois, who would later advocate for equal educational opportunities.

Major Concepts and Ethical Ideas

Du Bois’s work was centered on the study of race, racism, and society. He developed several seminal concepts that continue to influence the field of sociology and our understanding of racial disparities.

Double Consciousness is perhaps Du Bois’s most famous concept, introduced in his seminal work, “The Souls of Black Folk” (1903). It describes the internal conflict experienced by subordinated or colonized groups in an oppressive society. In the context of African Americans, Du Bois stated they have a “sense of always looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity.” For example, an African American woman might see herself both as an American and as a person of African descent, and she must constantly navigate the societal tensions and prejudices associated with both identities.

The Veil. The concept of the Veil refers to the metaphorical barrier that separates African Americans from white Americans, limiting understanding and fostering stereotypes. The Veil signifies black peoples’ struggle for recognition and equality in a society that often reduces them to racial stereotypes. For instance, an African American student in a predominantly white institution may find that his peers often perceive him through the Veil of racial bias, attributing his behavior to racial stereotypes rather than seeing him as an individual.

The Talented Tenth. In his essay “The Talented Tenth” (1903), Du Bois proposed that the top ten percent of African Americans should pursue higher education to develop leadership skills to guide the rest of the black community towards social and economic equality. He argued that an educated elite could help lift all African Americans.

Du Bois’s ethical ideas were rooted in his belief in human dignity, equality, and social justice. He championed the cause of Civil Rights and fought against racial discrimination. His views clashed with those of Booker T. Washington, who urged African Americans to accept segregation and disenfranchisement in exchange for economic opportunities. Du Bois, in contrast, argued for the necessity of political and civil rights, viewing these as inextricably linked with economic security. He was also one of the co-founders of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) in 1909. As editor of the NAACP’s journal, The Crisis, he used his platform to advocate for civil rights, condemn racial violence, and promote African American achievements.

What is Race?

W.E.B. Du Bois viewed race not merely as a biological category, but as a complex social construct that carries both physical and spiritual dimensions. This perspective offered a significant shift from the dominant racial theories of his time, which often emphasized biological determinism.

Social Construction of Race. Du Bois view argued for a social constructionist account of race. This means that it is not an inherent or fixed category but is formed and shaped by societal beliefs, attitudes, and structures. Du Bois argued that race, as a construct, is fluid, mutable, and contingent on historical, cultural, and social contexts. This perspective contrasts sharply with the notion of race as a rigid biological category, distinguished by innate, immutable physical characteristics. For DuBois, race was ultimately about shared history, language, culture, religion, etc. and not about superficial similarities (e.g., of skin color). The reason that things like skin color matter is because they affect how other people treat you.

Physical and Spiritual Groupings. Following the (incorrect!) science of his day, Du Bois proposed that humanity could be divided into three broad physical groupings: White, Negro, and Yellow, but he stressed that these divisions were not as important as the eight spiritual groups he identified: Teutonic, Slav, Latin, Hindu, Semitic, Mongolian, Negro, and Polynesian, with many subgroups and overlaps. He suggested that these spiritual groupings, reflecting shared culture and experiences, were far more significant in defining race than physical attributes. His specific proposals for groups (both physical and spiritual) were based on the existing social science of the day, and shouldn’t be seen as “fixed.” Instead, they are meant as “examples” to illustrate his idea that what makes a “race” has to do with culture, and not biology.

Consider, for example, the concept of “Blackness.” For Du Bois, “Blackness” was not solely (or even mainly) about having a particular skin color or physical features. It also encompassed shared experiences, histories, and cultures that bound people of African descent together, irrespective of their individual ethnicities or nationalities.

Social Sciences vs Hard Sciences. Du Bois saw a clear distinction between the social sciences (such as sociology, history, and psychology) and the hard sciences (particularly biology) in their approach to understanding race. While hard sciences might focus on genetic or physiological differences, the social sciences, in Du Bois’s view, should focus on the societal and cultural dimensions of race, such as shared histories, experiences, and social structures. The social sciences, he argued, offered a more nuanced and comprehensive understanding of race that went beyond mere physical characteristics.

Kwame Anthony Appiah’s Anti-Realist Alternative

The contemporary philosopher Kwame Anthony Appiah has offered an influential critique of traditional concepts of race, including those of Du Bois. He rejected both the biological and social constructionist aspects of race, proposing an alternative perspective known as racial skepticism or racial anti-realism.

Appiah argued that the concept of race, whether defined biologically or sociologically, lacked coherence and validity. He contended that there were no clear, meaningful criteria for categorizing people into distinct races, either based on physical characteristics or cultural experiences.

Appiah held that racial categories were not real in the way they were commonly understood – they did not reflect fundamental biological or social realities. Instead, they were largely a product of human imagination and perception, shaped by historical and cultural factors. Thus, he proposed that we should abandon the concept of race as misleading and potentially harmful, given its history of misuse to justify discrimination and inequality.

Appiah’s perspective can be illustrated by the example of colorism within racial groups. For instance, individuals within the African American community can vary greatly in skin tone. Despite sharing a “racial” identity, they might have vastly different experiences and treatment based on their skin color. This illustrates the ambiguity and subjectivity in racial categorizations, supporting Appiah’s contention that race is a vague and flawed concept.

The Talented Tenth as “Philosopher Kings”

W.E.B. Du Bois was one of the most influential African American intellectuals of the 19th and 20th centuries. His political philosophy was shaped by various factors, including the ideas of notable thinkers like Plato and Marx, as well as his ongoing debates with contemporaries like Booker T. Washington. Du Bois’s philosophy was not only theoretical but also practical, as he was actively engaged in civil rights issues throughout his life.

Du Bois was influenced by the philosophy of Plato, particularly the idea of an educated elite leading society. This is evident in Du Bois’s concept of the “Talented Tenth,” a term he used to describe the proportion of the African American community that should receive a classical education and lead the race. He believed that this educated elite, like Plato’s philosopher-kings, would possess the knowledge and moral character to guide their community.

In Plato’s Republic, the philosopher-kings (or philosopher-rulers, as women might be leaders) are the elite group of individuals who are trained in philosophy and have the wisdom to rule the city-state. Du Bois believed that the Talented Tenth could play a similar role in leading the black race to freedom and equality. Both the Talented Tenth and the philosopher-kings are elite groups who are seen as having a special role to play in society. In Plato’s cave metaphor, they are the ones who help “break the chains” of ignorance that enslave the masses.

However, it is important to note that Du Bois was not a slavish follower of Plato. He adapted and appropriated Platonic ideas in order to address the specific challenges facing African Americans in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. For example, Du Bois was critical of Plato’s belief that the philosopher-kings should rule for life. He argued that the Talented Tenth should be accountable to the masses of black people, and that they should step down if they are no longer serving the interests of the race.

The Intersection Between Race and Class

Karl Marx also had a profound impact on Du Bois’s political philosophy. Du Bois adopted Marx’s critique of capitalism, viewing it as a system that perpetuates inequality. He believed that race and class were intertwined, and that racial justice could not be achieved without addressing economic disparity. This perspective informed his advocacy for economic justice for African Americans.

Karl Marx argued that society was divided into two main classes: the bourgeoisie, who owned the means of production, and the proletariat, who sold their labor to survive. This relationship was inherently exploitative and led to class struggle. Marx believed that this struggle was a driving force in history and could only be resolved through a workers’ revolution leading to a classless society.

Du Bois adapted Marx’s ideas and asserted that racial disparities in the United States were not solely due to skin color but were also intimately connected to economic and class disparities. He argued that the capitalist system in the United States had led to economic and racial exploitation of African Americans. This exploitation was evident in slavery, where African Americans were treated as commodities, and continued in the post-slavery era through practices such as sharecropping and discriminatory labor practices.

Du Bois contended that the capitalist system relied on the creation of a racial hierarchy to maintain the economic status quo. By pitting white and black workers against each other, the capitalist class could prevent the unity of the working class and continue its exploitation. This perspective led Du Bois to argue that the fight against racial discrimination needed to go hand in hand with the fight against economic inequality.

Du Bois’s application of Marx’s theories is most apparent in his book, “Black Reconstruction in America” (1935). In this work, he reinterpreted the Reconstruction era, arguing that the period after the Civil War represented an unsuccessful attempt at a Marxist-style revolution. Du Bois suggested that newly emancipated slaves, as part of the proletariat, attempted to seize political and economic power but were eventually suppressed by the white bourgeoisie, who used racism as a tool to divide and conquer the working class. In essence, the failure of white and black workers to “unite” doomed them to failure.

More specifically, he argued that poor whites refused to cooperate with poor blacks because they received a public and psychological wage from racism (basically, they liked feeling like they were “above” some other group, even if they were objectively badly off). He describes it as follows:

It must be remembered that the white group of laborers, while they received a low wage, were compensated in part by a sort of public and psychological wage. They were given public deference and titles of courtesy because they were white. They were admitted freely with all classes of white people to public functions, public parks, and the best schools. The police were drawn from their ranks, and the courts, dependent upon their votes, treated them with such leniency as to encourage lawlessness. Their vote selected public officials, and while this had small effect upon the economic situation, it had great effect upon their personal treatment and the deference shown them. White schoolhouses were the best in the community, and conspicuously placed, and they cost anywhere from twice to ten times as much per capita as the colored schools. The newspapers specialized on news that flattered the poor whites and almost utterly ignored the Negro except in crime and ridicule.”

In the end, of course, the only people who benefitted from this sort of racism were the rich, property-owning whites. (And he thinks this is a main reason why racism is so difficult to get rid of—there are rich, powerful people who benefit from it!).

Big Ideas: Martin Luther King on Civil Disobedience

“History is the long and tragic story of the fact that privileged groups seldom give up their privileges voluntarily. Individuals may see the moral light and voluntarily give up their unjust posture; but as Reinhold Niebuhr has reminded us, groups are more immoral than individuals…We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed. Frankly, I have never yet engaged in a direct-action movement that was “well timed” according to the timetable of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation. For years now I have heard the word “wait.” It rings in the ear of every Negro with a piercing familiarity. This “wait” has almost always meant “never.”

The civil rights leader Martin Luther King was among those influenced by De Bois’s work (on both a theoretical and practical level). In the 1963 (the same year that De Bois died), King authored his famous “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” in which defended the use of civil disobedience when it came to discriminatory, race-based laws. King’s essay also argues for a more general distinction between legality and morality. He notes that there are plenty of cases (e.g., Nazi Germany, Ancient Rome, Biblical stories, etc.) in which obeying a law could be immoral. He thinks that this can happen even in a democracy. That is, the mere fact that a majority has voted for a law does not mean that you are morally obliged to obey that law.

Background to King’s Letter

While the history of race relations in the US (and especially in the states like Alabama, where King is writing from) is long and complex, King mentions a number of people and thinkers that are worth noting:

• Colonial Times and Revolutionary War. Slavery was an issue from the beginning of the United States (during the Revolutionary War, several British leaders promised to end slavery if it won, which may have helped convince Southern neutrals and loyalists to join the rebels). In the original drafts of the Declaration of Independence, Thomas Jefferson (who was himself a slaveholder) outlined a commitment to eliminating slavery in the US (in keeping with “all men are created equal”). This draft was vetoed by the Southern representatives in the Continental Congress. Jefferson apparently hoped that slavery would slowly die of its own accord, but it actually expanded between 1776 and 1861. The UK outlawed slavery in 1833.
• The US Civil War (1861 to 1865) led to the end of legalized slavery. After the war, the federal government engaged in a project of “Reconstruction” aimed at, among other things, establishing the rights of African Americans in the southern states. The 13^th Amendment (banning slavery), 14^th amendment (guaranteeing “due process” of law at the state and local level, and not just at the federal level), and 15^th amendment (guaranteeing people of all races the right to vote) were passed soon after the war. All of this was extremely unpopular among southern whites, however, and northern politicians eventually lost the political will to enforce it. The infamous Supreme Court decision Plessy v Ferguson (1896) upheld laws instituting racial segregation, so long it was “separate but equal.” Southern States implement “Jim Crow” laws that basically eliminated the ability of African Americans to vote or hold office. Again, the hope was that southern states would come to equality “on their own,” but the decision effectively destroyed the political power of southern African Americans until 1964 (with the passage of the Civil Rights and Voting Rights Act).
• Brown v Board of Ed (1954) held that that state and local laws allowing racial segregation was “inherently unequal” and violated the 14^th amendment. It overturned Plessy v Fergusson. Many southern states resisted this ruling, sometimes violently. In Alabama (shortly after King’s letter), the Ku Klux Klan (KKK) bombed a church, and killed four girls. The governor (and presidential candidate) George Wallace swore that he would support “segregation now, segregation tomorrow, segregation forever,” and tried his best to block the desegregation of schools. President John F. Kennedy took control of the Alabama National Guard, and ordered it to help enforce desegregation. This is around the same time that King was arrested (in Alabama) for leading nonviolent protests aimed at ending state and city laws that were still in place.
• Note: For those who don’t know, the Ku Klux Klan is a white supremacist organization founded just after the Civil War, which focused mainly on terrorizing African Americans (and later, immigrants, Catholics, Jews, and labor unionists). In 1963, it had a membership of maybe 30,000 people (so, it was big, but hardly a “majority”). King will argue that KKK simply isn’t big enough to be blamed for the problems that confronted African Americans (and instead argues that the “white moderate” shares much of the blame).
• Afterward. King’s actions in Birmingham (and the subsequent KKK violence) helped build national support for his cause. However, in November 1963, the JFK-supported Civil Rights Act was blocked by southern legislators, despite the fact that it had enough votes to pass. JFK was assassinated in Dallas, TX on Nov 22, 1963, and Lyndon Johnson managed to pass the law in 1964, along with the Voting Rights Act in 1965. King was assassinated in Memphis, TN on Apr 4, 1968, while supporting a group of union workers. In recent years, the Voting Rights Act has been weakened by a number of Supreme Court Decisions.

When is Civil Disobedience Justified?

Civil disobedience occurs when a person (a) knowingly breaks a law and (b) voluntary accepts the punishment for doing so because (c) he or she believes that the law is unjust. In his letter to the clergy, King proposes a set of criteria for determining whether a particular act of civil disobedience is morally justified:

• Condition 1: The laws must, in fact, be unjust. The people who wish to engage in civil disobedience must first provide evidence that the laws they wish to break are actually unjust. In the case of Birmingham (and Southern segregation more generally), evidence is provided that the current situation is manifestly unjust – there is violence against black people, biased law enforcement, and so on. Plus, there is all the harm that segregation itself causes to both black children and adults.
• Condition 2: There must be legitimate attempt to change the laws using legally allowed processes. In a democratic society, one must make a legitimate attempt to change the unjust laws via the process that are provided for in the political/legal system. For example, one must attempt to field candidates in elections, to publish letters to the editor, to organize petition drives, etc. This requirement is fulfilled insofar as one tried to change the laws via these procedures, and one has no reasonable expectation that they will be changed in this way. In the case of Birmingham, the members of the black community had previously negotiated with owners of segregated businesses, participated in local elections, and done everything else that could be reasonably demanded. They even postponed their planned activity until after an election.
• Condition 3: The group intending to break the laws must prepare through “self-purification.” In civil disobedience, the law-breaking act must of a certain type—only unjust laws (or unjustly applied laws) may be broken and the legal punishment proscribed for these transgressions must be accepted. The intent of breaking the laws must be to draw attention to their injustice (and shouldn’t be “because it’s fun” or “because I benefit from breaking the law”). “Self-purification” refers to focusing the intent of those who will engage in civil disobedience.
• Condition 4: Direct action must be carried out appropriately. If one goes through the above steps, one is justified in breaking a law provided that (a) the law is unjust, (b) one accepts the punishment for breaking the law, and (c) the intent of breaking the law is to help ensure that the law is changed.

The goal of civil disobedience is to change unjust laws. Civil disobedience does this by creating a “crisis”, and forcing the community to choose between actively defending the law or changing it. The community no longer has the option of simply “doing nothing.” King’s defends civil disobedience as a “middle way” between the doing-nothing of the white moderates (and many clergy) and the militaristic black nationalism that had been defended by thinkers like the young Malcolm X (though Malcolm X’s mature views are much closer to those of King).

One possible objection to civil disobedience might be as follows: Civil disobedience harms lots of people, and helps no one. It harms those who are arrested for participating in it as well as lots of others (e.g., the white-owned businesses that were the sites of the protests). Surely nothing good can come of harming people. King’s answer: It’s a fact about human psychology that people will stick with a status quo (even it is inferior to some proposed change) out of fear of the effort it will take to change it. Civil disobedience helps people act in their own long-term best interest (and the interest of justice) by creating immediate negative consequences to maintaining the status quo.

Discussion Questions

• Discuss the concept of “double consciousness” as introduced by W.E.B. Du Bois. How does this concept apply to contemporary racial and ethnic issues?
• What is Du Bois’s concept of “The Veil,” and how does it relate to modern discussions around implicit bias and systemic racism?
• Du Bois advocated for the education of the “Talented Tenth” as a means of racial uplift. Critically discuss this concept and consider its implications. How might such an idea be received in today’s socio-political climate?
• Du Bois argued that race is a social construct, not a rigid biological category. How does this perspective align with or contradict current understandings of race?
• Kwame Anthony Appiah offers a critique of the concept of race. How do his views align with or contradict Du Bois’s? What are the implications of Appiah’s racial skepticism or anti-realism for racial justice movements today?
• Du Bois claimed that capitalist systems rely on the creation of a racial hierarchy to maintain the economic status quo. Discuss the relevance of this claim in today’s economic and social contexts.
• What did Du Bois mean by the term “public and psychological wage” in the context of poor whites? How does this concept relate to current discussions about white privilege and racial disparities?

Glossary