I first read James Fenimore Cooper’s classic The Last of the Mohicans when I was around twelve years old. Somebody had gifted me a set of abridged versions of a selection of American classics, and I devoured them one after the other. It was not until I taught a section of Cooper’s work to my Honors students that I learned that the 19th century author was doing something quite clever in his telling of how a trio of backwoodsmen, two of them Natives, come to the assistance of two English sisters who are clearly out of their depth in the wilderness among hostiles against the backdrop of the French and Indian War. Chingachgook is the father of Uncas, and they are the last remaining members of a lost tribe. The third member, Hawkeye, while Caucasian, dresses and speaks like his Native compatriots, making him decidedly a mix. Magua, the antagonist in this quintessentially American tale, creates quite a lot of havoc, resulting in two deaths, Cora, one of the sisters, and her would-be lover, Uncas. For Cora’s part, she serves as the sentimental heroine. Her death is tragic, and it underscores the senseless violence that was so much a part of European expansionism. Uncas, however, serves an entirely different function.
Literary types are usually quick to notice when the number three is at play. Why? Christian symbolism pervades the Western canon. We built our culture upon story, and the Christian story happens to be the most dominant. As such, my students and I were especially interested in Uncas’s death. What did it mean? Was there a deeper significance?
In the New Testament, Jesus tells his followers that He must go so that the advocate or Holy Spirit can come. It is all a part of a grand scheme – something mere humans cannot grasp but one we must trust nevertheless. What if Cooper was drawing a parallel between the Christian mission and the American mission? Uncas, the son, had to die. And who was the American spirit? Hawkeye. Clearly Hawkeye. And the reason was expressed in how he comported himself. He was, after all, an amalgam en persona of the Old and New Worlds. He was, in other words, the archetypal American: strong, worldly, the best of both cultures. Just as the nation was still in its fledgling stage, Cooper was making the assertion that we already had an identity – something to remind us of who we all are. This was in 1826, after the War of 1812 and before the war between the states: two events that could have very well done in America before it ever got started. Early Christians, as well, had looked into the abyss just as The Way, as it had been known, had just taken flight. But despite various persecutions, the faith thrives. The Church remains. The Holy Spirit is present. Perhaps, then, we should read Cooper’s nudge for what it is. If we, too, want to continue as a nation, it might be wise to recall the American spirit, embodied in Hawkeye, and realize that America was forged by the wilderness – endured its relentless assaults – yet emerged articulate, brave, and ready. A new creation. Twofold. Endowed by God and the ruggedness of His world.
