Essay on "The Hind Tit"
by Robert W. Watson
(20 October 2001)

Born in Murfreesboro, Tennessee, Andrew Nelson Lytle is best known for his biography about Nathan Bedford Forrest, Bedford Forrest and His Critter Company and his novel The Long Night. Lytle's experiences included being a cotton farmer, a college professor, and an editor. Even his education was multifarious as he studied at Sewanee Military Academy, Vanderbilt University, and Yale School of Drama.

To Lytle, the agrarian way of life is the same as a sublime expression, a "ceremony" of living on the land. In "The State of Letters in a Time of Disorder," Lytle restates forty years later what he wrote in I'll Take My Stand: "If you don't know who you are or where you come from, you will find yourself at a disadvantage. The ordered slums of suburbia are made for the confusion of the spirit." In fact, the spirit is confused, because parents must make a decision between money or a stable family. Lytle explains, "Each business promotion uproots the family. Children become wayfarers. Few are given any vision of the Divine. They perforce become secular men, half men, who inhabit what is left of Christendom." As an artist subsumed in the Christian tradition, Lytle expresses well the perennial conflict between the humane and the machine.

In his essay, "The Hind Tit," Lytle uses the metaphor of a runt piglet whose only option is to suck on the small hind tit of the sow. The runt has to work twice as hard to get nourishment, because it is pushed out of the best positions where the most milk is, and the hind tit does not offer much milk to drink without a lot of effort. The runt pig is the small farmer, who being force to participate in the cash economy, finds himself squeezed out and deprived of his natural birthright. This essay reads like a novel, which is what one would expect from a writer like Lytle. It is the story about the life on the small farm, before and after its "modernising." Even though the essay was written over seventy years ago, "The Hind Tit" is compelling, because, by providing a benchmark, it clearly shows what we had lost. Lytle's narrative and arguments provide further support that American society has not progressed towards a free nation, but rather has regressed into an appalling slave state.

Lytle gets us to thinking in the very first paragraph. We are asked to reflect on the ideals of those who framed the U.S. Constitution, and then we are to consider our present condition. If we are thinking at all, we must come to the conclusion that "in some way a great commonwealth as gone wrong." What has gone wrong is that in the time of Washington and Jefferson, the Union of sovereign states was an agrarian society. Since 1865, the agrarian society has been undermined by a technocracy, where the restraints of the Constitution are counterproductive for creating a new world order. While there was a powerful class of planters, who represented the interests of the yeoman farmer as well as the gentry, the American juggernaut was unable to roll across the countryside. But with the disenfranchisement of the planter class, the agrarian check against unrestrained industrialism was removed, and the cart that carried the god of mammon began to crush those beneath its wheels.

It is one thing to be caught unawares as the wheel rolls over you; it is quite a different story to happily throw yourself and your family under its tread. In the former case you are a victim; in the latter, a fanatical sacrifice. We can no longer claim ignorance of the effects of industrialism. Lytle remarks concerning this point: "We have been taught by Jefferson's struggles with Hamilton, by Calhoun's with Webster, and in the woods at Shiloh or along the ravines of Fort Donelson where the long hunter's rifle spoke defiance to the more accelerated Springfields, that the triumph of industry, commerce, trade, brings misfortune to those who live on the land." The mad rush to gain wealth has obliterated any notion of life, liberty, or pursuit of happiness. The obsession for filthy lucre has replaced the above three inalienable rights with a mere existence, a contemptible grovelling, and "a nervous running-around."

Unlike the worshippers of the juggernaut, who commit suicide only physically, Americans are committing suicide both morally and spiritually as well, by "supplanting themselves with inanimate objects." Ironically, men control machines; not the other way around. But Americans are hooked on the love of money like any drug addict, searching madly for a quick fix to wealth, thereby hoping for the good life. Yet, the relentless movement towards greater efficiency and urbanisation will lead to the final phase of industrialism--Communism. Arguably, the United States of America with its messianic central government has arrived already in a Marxian utopia, at least for its power elite. The economic resources are controlled by a few people, and the political power is in the hands of one authoritarian party. I say one authoritarian party, because I am unable to notice any difference between the Democrats and Republicans, since both parties are progressive, and there is no true opposition party. To enjoy true liberty again, a significant portion of the American population must drop out of the cash economy that enslaves the people. If (and this is a mighty big "if")--if Americans have the will to check industrialism, then Lytle offers the only solution to avoid their otherwise inevitable self-destruction. If Americans have enough sense to ask, "Lord, what must we do to be saved," the answer would be, "Return to the land and farm."

The critics will cry, "Reactionary!" Of course it is. How else can you be saved morally and spiritually without first going back to your roots, the first principles of life? We must rediscover that we are but dust, and to dust we must return. Unfortunately, so many of us have become dependent upon the cash economy that we think the most important value in life is the clock. However, it is space that we need to concern ourselves with, not time. A plot of earth can be wrestled with, made to produce about anything. That is certain. On the other hand, time is uncertain, and tomorrow is not guaranteed. Planting a row of potatoes can be accomplished today or tomorrow. Therefore, it is not fatal to the whole universal equilibrium if a friend happens to drop by today for a protracted chat or to get you to go fishing with him. We have approximately sixteen hours a day to do something. Is it too much to ask that we spend that time enjoyably?

Lytle makes an interesting observation that the antebellum farmers had their champions who were the planters. The planter class provided the political philosophers and statesmen, and the farmers relied upon these men to safeguard the agrarian interest, thus allowing the yeoman farmer to go about his business of providing for his family. After the war, with the planter class destroyed, the yeoman farmer was no longer represented in the central government. Many of their former Confederate officers and statesmen moved to the cities being dispossessed of their large estates due to high taxes and entered the industrial world. The former gentry became bankers, railroad executives, and corporate presidents. Even though these men no longer served the agrarian interests, the yeomanry gave deference to their former champions, following their advice to participate in the cash economy, until they realised that they were being betrayed. With the steady dropping in the price of cotton beginning in 1870, many farmers who had concentrated on the cash crop began to lose their farms, because they mortgaged their land for new equipment, fertiliser, and seed. Most of the free land holders became tenants on the very land that they used to own. Thus the South became a land of tenant farmers, whose land was owned by banks, insurance companies, and large corporations--the new class of absentee landlords. For a short while there was a farmers' revolt with new champions like Tom Watson, Bob Taylor, and Ben Tillman. But the Populist Party was absorbed into the Democratic party, and there has not been a serious threat to the Demo-Republican authoritarian party since the early twentieth century.

In short, Lytle insists that the cash economy is at war with the life of the farmer. If the farmer becomes too industrialised, then he must sacrifice his peace of mind. The progressive farmer begins to worry about mortgage payments, truck payments, and tractor payments. Fuel is required now to keep the equipment operational, but even machines must be replaced eventually. So the cash crop becomes the primary concern, not the food garden, or even raising a family. Taxes, fees, and permits are imposed upon the farmer, and cash must be had for these payments. Children get the hankering to leave the farm and to make their way in the industrialised world. This exodus from the land has been going on now for over 100 years, and there does not seem to be any new champions emerging from the dwindling pool of small farmers.

The second part of Lytle's essay is a diary of the typical day's work on a modest farm before it became industrialised. What is particularly valuable about this section is the description of the customs of the agrarian class in the early twentieth century. Meals are detailed as well as the chores. Different games and songs are explained, which makes the reading very entertaining. However, Lytle's description of the daily life of the small farmer seems a bit idyllic, perhaps not the way it was, but the way it should to have been. Nevertheless, Lytle may persuade a few readers to trade in their cars for a mule. In a world going progressively mad, it seems almost the better part of wisdom in an odd way to go whole hog in the opposite direction of the modern lunacy, mule and all.

However, it is the third section of Lytle's essay that becomes the most thought provoking. For an example, Lytle challenges the most basic of accepted assumptions, the assumption that "good roads" is a positive benefit to all, but particularly to the farmer. In the time of this essay, most farmers did not own automobiles or trucks. Of course, mass-production helped to make the automobile affordable for citizens with average wages. Yet, while flirting with the cash economy, the Southern farmer was still contented to live primarily a life of subsistence, which Lytle eulogises in section two. If the farmer has no car, how can good roads benefit him personally? But even assuming that the farmer trades his team of horses in for a truck, the good roads may save him some time to get his crop to market. But saving of time is of little benefit, if any. Lytle reveals who are the actual beneficiaries of a "good road program": "Asphalt companies, motor-car companies, oil and cement companies, engineers, contractors, bus lines, truck lines, and politicians--not the farmer--receive the great benefits and profits from good roads." The ironic thing about this statement is that it is the farmer who pays the bill through state and county taxes for the roads by which everyone, but him, benefits.

And this is just the start of the reallocation of wealth. Industrialism's inevitable overproduction creates armies of salesmen--new and used cars, farm machinery, home conveniences, and today, entertainment--who compete for the few dollars that the farmer has. But the payments can be spread over time in instalments, thus submerging the "progressive" farmer deeply under the cash economy. The farmer at this point is no longer a free man, controlling and directing his own destiny. Technology may do some things to aid in planting the cash crop, but it is still nature and nature's God that control the sun, the wind, and the rain. When evil stares at him in the form of overdue instalment payments, the farmer is unable to pray to his God. One bad year, and he loses everything.

But even a greater loss to the agrarian culture occurs among the women. While it is quixotic to think that a great number of American women would be willing today to do their own spinning, weaving, and making of butter, it is nevertheless true that women in our industrialised age have ceased to be creators of beauty. No longer are women routinely creators of clothing, of arts and crafts, or even memorable meals, but are reduced to mere operators of equipment that require no touch of excellence or uniqueness. Yet the so-called modern conveniences have not lessen the burden of the housewife, who often works outside of the home in order to pay of the modern conveniences--while strangers raise her children. Indeed, women have lost a great deal, especially the joy of being a mother and a lady of modesty.

Industrialism then creates an illusion. It seems that applied sciences can make the farm more productive, with less work and in less time. While this may be true with mass-produced widgets, this economy of scale does not apply to farming. After all, bean plants do not go through a uniform assembly; bean plants grow. And while one thousand widgets can be duplicated exactly, no two bean plants are alike. If the farmer wants to double his yields, he must have double the seed, double the time to plant, and double the time to harvest. Lytle points out that factory production approaches zero cost as more units are produced. However, the farmer is limited by space. Try as he may, he cannot get any more out of the land than it is capable of producing. An acre of land cannot produce an infinite number of bean plants.

Lytle's admonishment may seem irrelevant today. Except for some Western regions, most major state and county highways are paved. Tractors plough the soil, not mules; trucks haul the produce, not wagons; and machines wash the clothes, not the gentle hands of a wife. A return to the mule, the wagon, or the washboard is unlikely in the near future. So what's the point? The point is that the Southern farmer has been lied to. By being told that government and salesmen would "uplift" him to economic prosperity, the yeoman farmer not only lost his farm, but his tradition as well. As Lytle says, "He finds that there is a vast propaganda teaching him, but particularly his children, to despise the life he has led and would like to lead again. It has in its organization public schools, high schools, the normals, and even the most reputable universities, the press, salesmen, and all the agents of industrialism." The result of this incessant propaganda is the loss of his children to the god of mammon and himself to discontentment and despair.

The redemption of the Southern agrarian tradition must begin with a restored contentment with what God has given to each of us. This contentment will be manifested by our living within our means, avoiding debt, and turning a deaf ear to the false prophets of materialism. We can know the true prophets, because they do not come from the city wearing business suits and speaking smooth things; they appear from out of the wilderness wearing coats of skins and speaking things that are hard to receive. The true prophet's message is very bitter. Indeed, to renounce the ways of the cash economy appears to be an impossible task like having the camel go through the eye of the needle. But with God, all things are possible.