Over the years, the White House has undergone numerous changes. Perhaps most dramatically was the complete gutting of the interior and subsequent steel reinforcement of the structure that took place duringTruman's administration. It has also accumulated a significant collection of furnishings, some of which are unquestionably outstanding historical pieces. The portrait of George Washington, painted by Gilbert Stuart and the President's desk, built from the timber of the H.M.S. Resolute come immediately to mind; but there are numerous more interesting and beautiful objects in the White House's collection. At the direction of Jacqueline Kennedy, the White House Historical Association took on the task of creating a guide to the history of the White House and its furnishings. Originally intended for children, it was quickly understood that the treasury of artifacts was too important not to address the work to adults. The result was a clear introduction to the history of the White House, illustrated by photographs of some of its most important possessions.
The extent to which the building's interior was remodelled is somewhat surprising. One might, however, justify the expense by claiming that the President's house should, for the benefit of visitors and foreign dignitaries, remain relatively stylish and contemporary. On the other hand, a degree of classical dignity might also be appropriate. Upon reading The White House, one is left with a sense that a reasonably good balance has been met over the years up to 1963. Many of the features of the original structure remain, of course, but with any building that sees regular use, repairs and replacements are required now and then. These present opportunities to update the interior decorating styles. At the same time, pieces art and furniture have been retained and can be brought out of storage according to the taste of the current occupant. What is among the more satisfying consequences of these additions and changes, is that each occupant will leave behind something of their taste and time, making the building and its contents a reflection of the history of the country and the presidency.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Saturday, March 2, 2013
Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma / Leon Hurvitz, tr. -- N.Y.: Columbia University Press, 1976
The Scripture of the Lotus Blossom of the Fine Dharma, also known simply as The Lotus Sutra is among the most important mahayana Buddhist sutras. It is particularly important to Buddhism as it is practiced in East Asia. This may have something to do with the fact that the original Sanskrit version of the sutra has been lost and that the versions that have been in existence for the longest are Chinese translations. This particular English translation was based on the Chinese translation attributed to Kumarajiva, a fourth century Indo-Iranian figure who was responsible for managing a school of translators who were in turn responsible for the translation of many sutras into Chinese.
Like many mahayana sutras, The Lotus Sutra asserts the superiority of the path of the bodhisattva over other paths to enlightenment. What is most interesting about The Lotus Sutra is that it does so in parables. It also presents parables that explain how the bodhisattva tailors his (or her) message to the requirements of the listener -- as might any good teacher. Both of these points are made in the first parable that appears in the work. A man finds that his house is on fire, but that his children are inside enthralled by their toys. To induce them to leave the house, he tells them that he has three carts outside for them: drawn respectively by a deer, a goat, and an ox. Delighted, the children leave the burning house only to find that the ox cart is the only vehicle outside. The bodhisattva explains that the man is justified in lying to the children in order to get them out of the house, and that only the ox cart -- which stands for the path of the bodhisattva -- is real.
In a second parable, a very rich man's son leaves his household and remains estranged for many years. In the son's wanderings he comes upon a house that his father has founded. Not knowing that it is his father's house, he becomes employed there, diligently working in the stables. In time, the rich man, who knows his son's identity, rewards the son. Eventually, when the son has become accustomed to being part of the household, the man reveals that he is the son's father and declares him his heir.
In a third parable, a guide was leading a group of travellers to a buried treasure. The travellers grew tired and wanted to give up the journey. So the guide caused an apparition of a beautiful city to appear, where the travellers rested. When they regained their strength, the guide cause the city to vanish and led them on to the buried treasure.
Among the more unique parables is the story of "the dragon girl." The Buddha asks the bodhisattva Manjusri to tell an assembled multitude if anyone hearing his teaching speedily gained enlightenment. Manjusri described a girl of eight who had quickly gained enlightenement. The bodhisattvas Prajnakuta expressed skepticism, whereupon the girl appeared before them and testified to her own enlightenment. The bodhisattva Sariputra then expressed disbelieve, claiming that a woman could not achieve unexcelled enlightenment. Whereupon the girl turned into a man.
Much of the sutra is a panegyric to the Buddha and various bodhisattvas. The Buddha is frequently associated with a rain of flower petals or fine garments, jewels, and fragrances. Great expanses of time and space and hosts of auditors (Buddha, bodhisattvas, gods, humans, demons, non-humans, hungry ghosts, and beings in hell) are frequently described. At times this can become a bit tedious, but when one tries to reflect these incalculable numbers, one's mind can be directed to a transcendental experience:
Like many mahayana sutras, The Lotus Sutra asserts the superiority of the path of the bodhisattva over other paths to enlightenment. What is most interesting about The Lotus Sutra is that it does so in parables. It also presents parables that explain how the bodhisattva tailors his (or her) message to the requirements of the listener -- as might any good teacher. Both of these points are made in the first parable that appears in the work. A man finds that his house is on fire, but that his children are inside enthralled by their toys. To induce them to leave the house, he tells them that he has three carts outside for them: drawn respectively by a deer, a goat, and an ox. Delighted, the children leave the burning house only to find that the ox cart is the only vehicle outside. The bodhisattva explains that the man is justified in lying to the children in order to get them out of the house, and that only the ox cart -- which stands for the path of the bodhisattva -- is real.
In a second parable, a very rich man's son leaves his household and remains estranged for many years. In the son's wanderings he comes upon a house that his father has founded. Not knowing that it is his father's house, he becomes employed there, diligently working in the stables. In time, the rich man, who knows his son's identity, rewards the son. Eventually, when the son has become accustomed to being part of the household, the man reveals that he is the son's father and declares him his heir.
In a third parable, a guide was leading a group of travellers to a buried treasure. The travellers grew tired and wanted to give up the journey. So the guide caused an apparition of a beautiful city to appear, where the travellers rested. When they regained their strength, the guide cause the city to vanish and led them on to the buried treasure.
Among the more unique parables is the story of "the dragon girl." The Buddha asks the bodhisattva Manjusri to tell an assembled multitude if anyone hearing his teaching speedily gained enlightenment. Manjusri described a girl of eight who had quickly gained enlightenement. The bodhisattvas Prajnakuta expressed skepticism, whereupon the girl appeared before them and testified to her own enlightenment. The bodhisattva Sariputra then expressed disbelieve, claiming that a woman could not achieve unexcelled enlightenment. Whereupon the girl turned into a man.
Much of the sutra is a panegyric to the Buddha and various bodhisattvas. The Buddha is frequently associated with a rain of flower petals or fine garments, jewels, and fragrances. Great expanses of time and space and hosts of auditors (Buddha, bodhisattvas, gods, humans, demons, non-humans, hungry ghosts, and beings in hell) are frequently described. At times this can become a bit tedious, but when one tries to reflect these incalculable numbers, one's mind can be directed to a transcendental experience:
I now tell you plainly: the merit gained by this man for giving all manner of playthings to living beings of the six destinies in four hundred myriads of millions of asamkhyeyas of world-spheres, and also enabling them to obtain the fruit of the arhant, does not equal one-hundredth, not one-thousandths, not one-hundred-thousand-myriad-millionth part of the merit of that fiftieth person for appropriately rejoicing at hearing a single gatha of the Scripture of the Dharma Blossom for it is something that cannot be known through number or parable.For the most part, the sutra only briefly makes mention of the central doctrines of mahayana Buddhism. For these, I would recommend The Large Sutra of Perfect Wisdom.
Friday, February 15, 2013
The Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains / Nicholas Carr -- a second look
I don't normally read books twice. There simply are too many unread books worth reading to return to one I have already read, especially now that I am recording my thoughts about the books I read here on this blog. I did, however, happily agree to re-read Nicholas Carr's book The Shallows when it was proposed by a member of my book club. I was curious to see if I would take away something new from it on a second reading. I suspect not, but my original review by no means covered all of the interesting ideas in this insightful work. You can read my original review by searching on "Shallows" on this blog. What stands out for me on this second reading is what Carr writes about the formation of memory and the relationship that is developing between people and our machines.
In my earlier review, I wrote about Carr's observation that the constant distractions that are presented on the internet are having a detrimental effect on our abilities to transfer working memories into long-term memories. What I did not emphasize, but what is of great significance is the consequences that this has for our abilities to understand the world. A broad and deep understanding of the world is only formulated when a wide variety of experiences are assembled in a coherent set of relationships that generate practical theories about future experience. We need not be conscious of these theories, but they are necessary to navigate the world. For most purposes, our daily, routine experiences are sufficient to allows us to navigate the day, but understanding more subtle relationships among phenomena and their significance requires more careful reflection. It requires the patient, probing, and in depth examination of experience which cannot be accomplished without stable, long-term memories as fodder for thought. If Carr's thesis is true, that the internet impedes the development of stable memories, then it must also be true that it impedes the development of a broad and deep understanding of the world. Over exposure to the internet would have the consequence of making us shallow and superficial.
It is an extremely provocative conclusion, though Carr does not quantify the extent to which the internet has this dulling effect. One could dismiss the concern by asserting that our capacities to understand the world in a deep and meaningful way are only marginally diminished by the internet and that the intellectual capacities that the internet fosters more than make up for the loss; however, our ability to objectively reach this conclusion after long exposure to the internet would be undermined if the thesis is true. Moreover, a simple addiction to the glamour of the internet would also prejudice one's assessment. Having spent countless work hours connected to the internet and countless off-work hours reading, I am inclined argue that I feel significantly more "human" after a three hour stretch of reading as opposed to a three hour stretch of work on the internet and I suspect this is due to the fact that the activities involved in finding meaning in the world are of a much higher intellectual, indeed spiritual, order than the activities involved in the kind of rapid and ever-changing information observation that comes with working on the internet.
A second and more stunning observation that came out of my second reading of The Shallows is Carr's observation that as our cognitive capacities are changed by the internet, they are changed in a manner that makes us more like the digital tools that we are using. Computers access and process information, storing it in a manner that makes it entirely inaccessible until specifically recalled in another processing event. Without the growing store of long-term memories produced by thoughtful reflection, our mental activity becomes more like this information processing, affected only by the immediate inputs of the present cognitive transaction and unaffected by a repository of long-term memories connected in a sophisticated worldview. Certainly our minds must work in the context of some sort of worldview, but in comparison to a pre-internet world view, it is impoverished. What stands out about our mental activity is the immediate information transaction and as we are increasingly communicating (receiving and sending) information on the internet in social networks, we are becoming very sophisticated chips arranged in a network. The only question is, for whose benefit is the network doing its computing?
Certainly, these observations stretch Carr's concerns beyond what one might reasonably have, but there is little doubt that the concerns are significant lead us in the right direction in thinking about the internet and its affect on our selves and society.
In my earlier review, I wrote about Carr's observation that the constant distractions that are presented on the internet are having a detrimental effect on our abilities to transfer working memories into long-term memories. What I did not emphasize, but what is of great significance is the consequences that this has for our abilities to understand the world. A broad and deep understanding of the world is only formulated when a wide variety of experiences are assembled in a coherent set of relationships that generate practical theories about future experience. We need not be conscious of these theories, but they are necessary to navigate the world. For most purposes, our daily, routine experiences are sufficient to allows us to navigate the day, but understanding more subtle relationships among phenomena and their significance requires more careful reflection. It requires the patient, probing, and in depth examination of experience which cannot be accomplished without stable, long-term memories as fodder for thought. If Carr's thesis is true, that the internet impedes the development of stable memories, then it must also be true that it impedes the development of a broad and deep understanding of the world. Over exposure to the internet would have the consequence of making us shallow and superficial.
It is an extremely provocative conclusion, though Carr does not quantify the extent to which the internet has this dulling effect. One could dismiss the concern by asserting that our capacities to understand the world in a deep and meaningful way are only marginally diminished by the internet and that the intellectual capacities that the internet fosters more than make up for the loss; however, our ability to objectively reach this conclusion after long exposure to the internet would be undermined if the thesis is true. Moreover, a simple addiction to the glamour of the internet would also prejudice one's assessment. Having spent countless work hours connected to the internet and countless off-work hours reading, I am inclined argue that I feel significantly more "human" after a three hour stretch of reading as opposed to a three hour stretch of work on the internet and I suspect this is due to the fact that the activities involved in finding meaning in the world are of a much higher intellectual, indeed spiritual, order than the activities involved in the kind of rapid and ever-changing information observation that comes with working on the internet.
A second and more stunning observation that came out of my second reading of The Shallows is Carr's observation that as our cognitive capacities are changed by the internet, they are changed in a manner that makes us more like the digital tools that we are using. Computers access and process information, storing it in a manner that makes it entirely inaccessible until specifically recalled in another processing event. Without the growing store of long-term memories produced by thoughtful reflection, our mental activity becomes more like this information processing, affected only by the immediate inputs of the present cognitive transaction and unaffected by a repository of long-term memories connected in a sophisticated worldview. Certainly our minds must work in the context of some sort of worldview, but in comparison to a pre-internet world view, it is impoverished. What stands out about our mental activity is the immediate information transaction and as we are increasingly communicating (receiving and sending) information on the internet in social networks, we are becoming very sophisticated chips arranged in a network. The only question is, for whose benefit is the network doing its computing?
Certainly, these observations stretch Carr's concerns beyond what one might reasonably have, but there is little doubt that the concerns are significant lead us in the right direction in thinking about the internet and its affect on our selves and society.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Waging Heavy Peace: A Hippie Dream / Neil Young -- N.Y.: Blue Rider Press, 2012
I'll never forget the first time I heard Neil Young. It was 1972. I was riding in the back of our family car and his song "Heart of Gold" came on the radio. At the time, I thought it was the most heartfelt, soulful song I'd ever heard. I found more of the same on "Harvest" -- the album that contained "Heart of Gold." Upon receiving CSNY's "Four Way Street" as a Christmas present, I became an undying fan. I snatched up every album I could find by him. Over the years, I have continued to follow his career, but by no means religiously. I finally saw him in concert in 1988 when he toured with "The Blue Notes."
For me, the single most apt description of his music is that it is honest. Young is certainly in the music business, but he seems to treat it more as means to distribute his music to whatever audience might appreciate it. The music comes first, and if there is no audience, then that's unfortunate, but not a disaster. Disaster comes when he betrays his muse which I don't suspect he has done very often. There is also an appealing innocence and vulnerability in his voice that comes through even in his most angry and aggressive songs of which there are more than a few. Of all the recording artists of his generation, Neil Young seems to have remained true to the best elements of the contercultural sensibility. Once upon a time, that sensibility tore the mask of hypocrisy from the face of a complacent and degenerate society.
Given my admiration for Young, I picked up his book Waging Heavy Peace with trepidation. Somewhere in the course of its 497 pages, I knew I'd find a few reasons to be disappointed in him. Fortunately, the disappointments were minor and few. Moreover, they paled in the presence of his characteristic honesty. Waging Heavy Peace is a random compilation of Young's memories of family, friends, and events. It is as though Young is spontaneously conjuring the roots of his past and bringing them to mind in whatever order they happen to appear. He jumps from stories about his days with Buffalo Springfield to days just one year ago, back to his childhood in Canada, and then to his days with Crosby, Stills, and Nash. Some passages are about the very present situation in which he is writing. The chronological disorder is at first disorienting. He is rather like Kurt Vonnegut's Billy Pilgrim who became "unstuck in time," but eventually one comes to understand that Young's past (like everyone's) is always present if we care to remember. When an event ocurred is less important than the effect it had on us and its significance in its own time. The seemingly random order of Young's stories underscores that who we were in our teens is not merely a prelude to who we will become, but it is we ourselves in a unique time and place.
Waging Heavy Peace is a meditation on a life, seemingly written more for the author's benefit than for ours. In that way, it is a lot like Young's music. Young obviously is cherishing his memories and the people who have been part of his life. At one point he writes, "Old memories are wonderful things and should be held on to as long as possible, shared with others, and embellished if need be." The passage says a lot about what is behind his writing. It is loaded with small recollections of events that are not likely to be of much interest to a fan of his music (though many of his recollections certainly are). Instead, his recollections appear to be written as a letter to the friends who appear in the story. Young is sharing his memories with the people who were with him over the years and sometimes with people who crossed his path only briefly. It is as though he is telling them, "I may be a big star now, but I still remember you and I remember you very fondly."
Young seldom has a bad word to say about anyone and he usually has a torrent of good words. At another point he writes, "I don't want to write some damning thing here about someone and have to live with that for the rest of time. I don't think that would be a very good idea." While the observation seems like he's protecting himself from guilt or remorse, there is enough in Waging Heavy Peace to understand that his real concern is for the feelings of the people he's writing about. In the rare instance when he does criticize someone, he is careful not to name them. They are merely "the two AP reporters" or "the record company executive."
His language is simple and direct. It is sometimes confessional and sometimes it sounds like he's paying off a debt or making amends, but it always rings true. A cynic might say that it is all for effect, but that's hard to square with his lifetime of artistic authenticity and his more or less unchanging stage persona that appears to be no different from what can be seen of his private life.
By the end of the book, Young becomes remarkably self-revealing. For example, he writes,
Some might find all of this a little self-indulgent and maybe it is, but no one is compelled to read his book, just as no one is compelled to listen to his music. For my part, it was an enjoyable bit of voyeurism. Waging Heavy Peace gave me the feeling that one of my musical heroes took the time to write me a long letter, telling me about his most memorable experiences and confiding some of his most personal thoughts. I'm certain I know Neil Young better for having read his letter and I appreciate him all the more. Long may he run.
For me, the single most apt description of his music is that it is honest. Young is certainly in the music business, but he seems to treat it more as means to distribute his music to whatever audience might appreciate it. The music comes first, and if there is no audience, then that's unfortunate, but not a disaster. Disaster comes when he betrays his muse which I don't suspect he has done very often. There is also an appealing innocence and vulnerability in his voice that comes through even in his most angry and aggressive songs of which there are more than a few. Of all the recording artists of his generation, Neil Young seems to have remained true to the best elements of the contercultural sensibility. Once upon a time, that sensibility tore the mask of hypocrisy from the face of a complacent and degenerate society.
Given my admiration for Young, I picked up his book Waging Heavy Peace with trepidation. Somewhere in the course of its 497 pages, I knew I'd find a few reasons to be disappointed in him. Fortunately, the disappointments were minor and few. Moreover, they paled in the presence of his characteristic honesty. Waging Heavy Peace is a random compilation of Young's memories of family, friends, and events. It is as though Young is spontaneously conjuring the roots of his past and bringing them to mind in whatever order they happen to appear. He jumps from stories about his days with Buffalo Springfield to days just one year ago, back to his childhood in Canada, and then to his days with Crosby, Stills, and Nash. Some passages are about the very present situation in which he is writing. The chronological disorder is at first disorienting. He is rather like Kurt Vonnegut's Billy Pilgrim who became "unstuck in time," but eventually one comes to understand that Young's past (like everyone's) is always present if we care to remember. When an event ocurred is less important than the effect it had on us and its significance in its own time. The seemingly random order of Young's stories underscores that who we were in our teens is not merely a prelude to who we will become, but it is we ourselves in a unique time and place.
Waging Heavy Peace is a meditation on a life, seemingly written more for the author's benefit than for ours. In that way, it is a lot like Young's music. Young obviously is cherishing his memories and the people who have been part of his life. At one point he writes, "Old memories are wonderful things and should be held on to as long as possible, shared with others, and embellished if need be." The passage says a lot about what is behind his writing. It is loaded with small recollections of events that are not likely to be of much interest to a fan of his music (though many of his recollections certainly are). Instead, his recollections appear to be written as a letter to the friends who appear in the story. Young is sharing his memories with the people who were with him over the years and sometimes with people who crossed his path only briefly. It is as though he is telling them, "I may be a big star now, but I still remember you and I remember you very fondly."
Young seldom has a bad word to say about anyone and he usually has a torrent of good words. At another point he writes, "I don't want to write some damning thing here about someone and have to live with that for the rest of time. I don't think that would be a very good idea." While the observation seems like he's protecting himself from guilt or remorse, there is enough in Waging Heavy Peace to understand that his real concern is for the feelings of the people he's writing about. In the rare instance when he does criticize someone, he is careful not to name them. They are merely "the two AP reporters" or "the record company executive."
His language is simple and direct. It is sometimes confessional and sometimes it sounds like he's paying off a debt or making amends, but it always rings true. A cynic might say that it is all for effect, but that's hard to square with his lifetime of artistic authenticity and his more or less unchanging stage persona that appears to be no different from what can be seen of his private life.
By the end of the book, Young becomes remarkably self-revealing. For example, he writes,
Changing the person one has evolved into is not a simple process, to be sure, but I know with Pegi's love and suppport [Pegi is his wife] and my family close, I will be able to reach out and learn to live life in a more caring and conscious way. Maybe I've never been good at that, and that's why it's so hard to find it in myself. It may never have been really there. I may be starting from scratch. I've always been told that what I'm doing is right. Maybe it isn't. Maybe just some of it is. I need to dig deep and discover some things along the way.
How do I avoid being short with those I love and respect? How do I try to make people feel good about what they are doing for and with me? How can I respect others' tastes while retaining my own? This is the knowledge I'm searching for. I can remember so many times in my life when I hurt others and hurt myself. I really need to find a way to change those patterns for good.One is left with the sense that Young is a deeply introspective man whose search for a heart of gold is really about finding the strength to be compassionate and now that he really is getting old, his search has become more urgent.
Some might find all of this a little self-indulgent and maybe it is, but no one is compelled to read his book, just as no one is compelled to listen to his music. For my part, it was an enjoyable bit of voyeurism. Waging Heavy Peace gave me the feeling that one of my musical heroes took the time to write me a long letter, telling me about his most memorable experiences and confiding some of his most personal thoughts. I'm certain I know Neil Young better for having read his letter and I appreciate him all the more. Long may he run.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Buddhism: A Modern Perspective / Charles S. Prebish, ed. -- University Park, Penn.: Pennsylvania State University, 1975
Buddhism, edited by Charles Prebish is a cross between a introductory survey and an brief, one volume encyclopedia of Buddhism. It is composed of 45 chapters, averaging five and a half pages. Each chapter explores a significant topic in the history and philosophy of Buddhism. The First Part deals with "Indian Buddhism," beginning with a history of early Buddhism. Chapter Six begins the treatment of the central ideas of Buddhism: the Four Noble Truths, the Eightfold Path, the Three Marks of Existence, the Five Aggregates, Dependent Origination, and the Stages of Sanctification. The rest of Part One provides and account of the major schools, important literature, and advanced ideas. Remarkably, the authors of each of chapter manage to convey the important concepts clearly and concisely, quickly presenting the essence of the topic at hand.
Part Two deals with "Buddhism Outside of India." Unfortunately, it is here where the work begins to falter. There is simply too much information about the development of Buddhism in Ceylon, Southeast Asia, China, Korea, Japan, Tibet, and the West to pack into the brief chapters allotted to these regions, some of which have been home to Buddhism for nearly two millennia. Nonetheless, even Part Two can serve as a worthwhile reference source for names of political and religious leaders and monastic communities. They also provide a thumbnail sketch of the history of Buddhism in the region
A short bibliography of "suggested reading" follows each chapter. The work also includes a brief directory of Buddhist communities in the United States and an extensive glossary, general bibliography, and index.
Buddhism: A Modern Perspective will be more valuable for the beginner, but more experienced scholars are bound to find an number of chapters quite useful.
Part Two deals with "Buddhism Outside of India." Unfortunately, it is here where the work begins to falter. There is simply too much information about the development of Buddhism in Ceylon, Southeast Asia, China, Korea, Japan, Tibet, and the West to pack into the brief chapters allotted to these regions, some of which have been home to Buddhism for nearly two millennia. Nonetheless, even Part Two can serve as a worthwhile reference source for names of political and religious leaders and monastic communities. They also provide a thumbnail sketch of the history of Buddhism in the region
A short bibliography of "suggested reading" follows each chapter. The work also includes a brief directory of Buddhist communities in the United States and an extensive glossary, general bibliography, and index.
Buddhism: A Modern Perspective will be more valuable for the beginner, but more experienced scholars are bound to find an number of chapters quite useful.
Monday, January 7, 2013
The Geography of Bliss: One Grump's Search for the Happiest Places in the World / Eric Weiner -- N.Y.: Twelve, 2008
The Geography of Bliss is built on a couple interesting questions: what are the happiest countries in the world like and why are they so happy? Of course, one might begin by wondering how is happiness to be defined and how can it be measured? The work's author, Eric Weiner, relies on research compiled by the World Database of Happiness. The research is being produced by the budding field of happiness studies. Much of the work in this field relies on surveys in which people are simply asked, "On a scale of 1-10, how happy are you?" As pedestrian (an problematic) as this seems, it's hard to image a more valid method to get at answers to the question. The results of these data are then compared with other social, political, and economic facts to try to determine what makes people happy.
Based on a ranking developed by the World Database of Happiness, Weiner travels to ten countries (including the U.S.). Most rank high on the happiness scale, but one at least does not: Moldova. Indeed, Moldova ranks last among all countries. Unfortunately, Weiner's investigation generates nothing of importance to the study of happiness and provide the reader with little insight into the research and tentative conclusions drawn by the psychologists and anthropologists seriously examining the topic. Even as a frivolous beach-reading book, The Geography of Bliss could have afforded one chapter giving the reader a systematic review of happiness research.
Weiner's work is, instead, a simple journal of his travels and his conversations with people he meets along the way. Some are citizens of the country he is visiting, but about as many are ex-patriots. He meets most of them through sheer happenstance, and very few have any special insight into the culture or the concept of happiness. Consequently, The Geography of Bliss is little more than an idiosyncratic and quite superficial travelogue written by someone frequenting cafes and bars around the world. It has little more substance than the postings of a compulsive blogger. On the plus side, Weiner's writing style is polished and often entertaining.
Based on a ranking developed by the World Database of Happiness, Weiner travels to ten countries (including the U.S.). Most rank high on the happiness scale, but one at least does not: Moldova. Indeed, Moldova ranks last among all countries. Unfortunately, Weiner's investigation generates nothing of importance to the study of happiness and provide the reader with little insight into the research and tentative conclusions drawn by the psychologists and anthropologists seriously examining the topic. Even as a frivolous beach-reading book, The Geography of Bliss could have afforded one chapter giving the reader a systematic review of happiness research.
Weiner's work is, instead, a simple journal of his travels and his conversations with people he meets along the way. Some are citizens of the country he is visiting, but about as many are ex-patriots. He meets most of them through sheer happenstance, and very few have any special insight into the culture or the concept of happiness. Consequently, The Geography of Bliss is little more than an idiosyncratic and quite superficial travelogue written by someone frequenting cafes and bars around the world. It has little more substance than the postings of a compulsive blogger. On the plus side, Weiner's writing style is polished and often entertaining.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey: a film directed by Peter Jackson (2012)
I first read J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit 42 years ago and immediately went on to read and re-read everything by Tolkien that I could get my hands on. Around the year 2000, I was excited to hear that a movie version of The Fellowship of the Rings would be premiering soon. I was not disappointed. Certainly, there was much to criticize in Peter Jackson's cinematic treatment of Tolkien's epic story. The battle scenes loomed far too large in the movies, orcs looked dangerous, but fell like grass before a reaper, and the screen play included, from time to time, some rather juvenile dialogue. Perhaps most disturbing, though was the characterization of Frodo. In Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, Frodo starts out as a rather feisty character, an aggressive leader of the band of hobbits making their way to Rivendell. Only after he is stabbed by the morgul blade on Weathertop does he becomes progressively more passive, even pacific. In contrast, Elijah Wood's Frodo is timid and frightened from the beginning.
Jackson misses one of Tolkien's most significant sensibilities: that violence and war, though necessary at times, are extreme horrors and that the wisest among us will not glorify them. For a revealing treatment of this, see The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth Beorhthelm's Son in The Tolkien Reader. For these, and many other reasons, Tolkien purists have dismissed Jackson's films. In the words of Tolkien's son Christopher, "There is only one solution for me: to turn my head away," but the lush cinematography and the chance to see the story unfolding on a film screen led me to look past the deficiencies of Jackson's The Lord of the Rings and simply enjoy the films for what they were.
It is more difficult to adopt this tolerant attitude toward Jackson's new film The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. In contrast to The Lord of Rings, The Hobbit is a small story -- a children's story -- but presumably in an effort to make it accord with the style of his previous films, Jackson tries to turn it into another epic. Worse, he loads it with grand, action-film violence that is uncharacteristic of the early chapters of Tolkien's The Hobbit. As before, our heroes face and defeat hundreds of foes as though they were cutting their way through a light back-country brush. This leaves the battle scenes devoid of any tension or sense of danger and is an insult to the fearsome race of orcs and goblins. Characters that were only briefly mentioned in passing play significant roles in Jackson's film. Azog the Goblin who Tolkien only mentions having killed Thorin Oakenshield's grandfather, becomes "the White Orc" and is "hunting" Thorin and company. Unfortunately, we can expect to see the White Orc in the subsequent hobbit movies, but hopefully not until the Battle of the Five Armies. Radagast the Brown, who also is mentioned only briefly in The Hobbit, is featured in an extended sequence in the film. He is aptly used to depict the decline of Greenwood into Mirkwood, but his main role is to divert attacking wargs from Thorin and company by driving a sled drawn by rabbits. This is completely Jackson's invention and is simply silly.
Even more than the film version of Frodo, the film version of Bilbo is unrecognizable. In the early stages of his adventure, Tolkien's Bilbo is an extremely reluctant member of the expedition, quaking at every danger and frequently wishing he was home in Hobbiton. Jackson's Bilbo does start out this way, but much too quickly becomes a clever and courageous member of the party. In the encounter with the trolls, it is not Tolkien's Gandalf who defeats them, it is Jackson's Bilbo; and when the party is treed by wolves (wargs in the film), Bilbo leaps to rescue Thorin from the White Orc's minions, standing over his fallen leader. By this time in Tolkien's story, Bilbo had gained only the slightest confidence and did nothing so rash. The overly quick development of Bilbo's character robs the story of one of its most interesting features: Bilbo's transformation from a quiet homebody into a resourceful hero. We seldom see the mixture of anxiety and excitement that would come to a comfortable, middle aged, middle class man suddenly thrown into a life and death adventure, full of great historical figures.
Tolkien himself had mixed feelings about The Hobbit. He was pleased, of course, that it was a literary (and financial) success, but he was more attached to his grander work that became The Silmarillion. (The Lord of the Rings occupies a middle ground between these poles.) Jackson seeks to integrate the story of The Hobbit into the larger epic. Unfortunately, Jackson is not Tolkien and has done a ham-handed job of transforming The Hobbit. A more cynical analysis would hold that he has intentionally turned the story into a Hollywood action film extravaganza to please a popular audience -- an audience that has no real appreciation for Tolkien's oeuvre, but simply enjoys modern special effects and video game-like violence.
Still, there are some very good aspects of the film. The New Zealand scenery is as striking and beautiful as ever. The sets, particularly Bilbo's home -- Bag End -- and Elrond's Rivendell are still faithful to a Tolkien sensibility, at least as interpreted by Alan Lee, and Bilbo's opening encounter with the dwarves is consistent with Tolkien's own whimsical tone. I take Jackson at his word that he tells us that he has serious respect for Tolkien, loves the stories, and does not wish to do them any harm. At the same time, he is a film artist himself, feeling justified in bringing his own vision of the story to the screen. I cannot fault him for this, but I do question the evolution of his artistic judgement. Tolkien's stories certainly could have fallen into worse hands, but I can't help wishing that Jackson had made a more mature film -- one which captured the deeper themes of Tolkien's visions and which presented Middle Earth in Tolkien's mysterious, enchanting light. Jackson appears to have set his eyes less on faerie and more on making a Hollywood blockbuster.
Jackson misses one of Tolkien's most significant sensibilities: that violence and war, though necessary at times, are extreme horrors and that the wisest among us will not glorify them. For a revealing treatment of this, see The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth Beorhthelm's Son in The Tolkien Reader. For these, and many other reasons, Tolkien purists have dismissed Jackson's films. In the words of Tolkien's son Christopher, "There is only one solution for me: to turn my head away," but the lush cinematography and the chance to see the story unfolding on a film screen led me to look past the deficiencies of Jackson's The Lord of the Rings and simply enjoy the films for what they were.
It is more difficult to adopt this tolerant attitude toward Jackson's new film The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. In contrast to The Lord of Rings, The Hobbit is a small story -- a children's story -- but presumably in an effort to make it accord with the style of his previous films, Jackson tries to turn it into another epic. Worse, he loads it with grand, action-film violence that is uncharacteristic of the early chapters of Tolkien's The Hobbit. As before, our heroes face and defeat hundreds of foes as though they were cutting their way through a light back-country brush. This leaves the battle scenes devoid of any tension or sense of danger and is an insult to the fearsome race of orcs and goblins. Characters that were only briefly mentioned in passing play significant roles in Jackson's film. Azog the Goblin who Tolkien only mentions having killed Thorin Oakenshield's grandfather, becomes "the White Orc" and is "hunting" Thorin and company. Unfortunately, we can expect to see the White Orc in the subsequent hobbit movies, but hopefully not until the Battle of the Five Armies. Radagast the Brown, who also is mentioned only briefly in The Hobbit, is featured in an extended sequence in the film. He is aptly used to depict the decline of Greenwood into Mirkwood, but his main role is to divert attacking wargs from Thorin and company by driving a sled drawn by rabbits. This is completely Jackson's invention and is simply silly.
Even more than the film version of Frodo, the film version of Bilbo is unrecognizable. In the early stages of his adventure, Tolkien's Bilbo is an extremely reluctant member of the expedition, quaking at every danger and frequently wishing he was home in Hobbiton. Jackson's Bilbo does start out this way, but much too quickly becomes a clever and courageous member of the party. In the encounter with the trolls, it is not Tolkien's Gandalf who defeats them, it is Jackson's Bilbo; and when the party is treed by wolves (wargs in the film), Bilbo leaps to rescue Thorin from the White Orc's minions, standing over his fallen leader. By this time in Tolkien's story, Bilbo had gained only the slightest confidence and did nothing so rash. The overly quick development of Bilbo's character robs the story of one of its most interesting features: Bilbo's transformation from a quiet homebody into a resourceful hero. We seldom see the mixture of anxiety and excitement that would come to a comfortable, middle aged, middle class man suddenly thrown into a life and death adventure, full of great historical figures.
Tolkien himself had mixed feelings about The Hobbit. He was pleased, of course, that it was a literary (and financial) success, but he was more attached to his grander work that became The Silmarillion. (The Lord of the Rings occupies a middle ground between these poles.) Jackson seeks to integrate the story of The Hobbit into the larger epic. Unfortunately, Jackson is not Tolkien and has done a ham-handed job of transforming The Hobbit. A more cynical analysis would hold that he has intentionally turned the story into a Hollywood action film extravaganza to please a popular audience -- an audience that has no real appreciation for Tolkien's oeuvre, but simply enjoys modern special effects and video game-like violence.
Still, there are some very good aspects of the film. The New Zealand scenery is as striking and beautiful as ever. The sets, particularly Bilbo's home -- Bag End -- and Elrond's Rivendell are still faithful to a Tolkien sensibility, at least as interpreted by Alan Lee, and Bilbo's opening encounter with the dwarves is consistent with Tolkien's own whimsical tone. I take Jackson at his word that he tells us that he has serious respect for Tolkien, loves the stories, and does not wish to do them any harm. At the same time, he is a film artist himself, feeling justified in bringing his own vision of the story to the screen. I cannot fault him for this, but I do question the evolution of his artistic judgement. Tolkien's stories certainly could have fallen into worse hands, but I can't help wishing that Jackson had made a more mature film -- one which captured the deeper themes of Tolkien's visions and which presented Middle Earth in Tolkien's mysterious, enchanting light. Jackson appears to have set his eyes less on faerie and more on making a Hollywood blockbuster.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
The Failure of Popular Sovereignty: Slavery, Manifest Destiny, and the Radicalization of Southern Policitcs / Christopher Childers -- Lawrence, Kan.: Univeristy Press of Kansas, 2012
It is often said the American Civil War was not fought over the issue of slavery, but over the right of states to secede. The assertion is initially appealing in that significant majorities in the northern states felt no need to go to war over the presence of slavery in the South, but a northern army was quickly mobilized when southern states seceded. This analysis, however, overlooks the decades-long debate over slavery, particularly the debate over its extension into the U.S. territories, which was the core disagreement that finally led to secession. Imagine two farmers who begin arguing about the ownership of a plot of land and find themselves coming to blows when they cannot agree on a subtle point in contract law. We would not say that they were fighting over a legal principle, but that they were fighting over the land. So too was the Civil War a struggle over slavery, not state sovereignty. Christopher Childers's masterly book The Failure of Popular Sovereignty traces the long argument that finally led to the Civil War. In the course of the account, the importance of slavery is revealed by the changing justifications offered by southern slaveholders in particular.
The central concern in both the North and the South was the extension of slavery into the territories. In time, four positions surfaced: (1) the federal government had authority to regulate and even outlaw slavery in the territories, (2) the government of a territory could regulate or outlaw slavery, (3) the citizens of a territory could regulate and even outlaw slavery, but only when applying for statehood, and (4) the federal government had an obligation actively to protect slavery in the territories until the territory became a state. Other positions also surfaced, but they tended to be opportunistic modifications of one of these four.
Strong precedents existed for the first of the four positions, even since before the ratification of the Constitution. The Northwest Ordinance (1787) prohibited slavery in the the territories north of the Ohio River and Thomas Jefferson's original draft of the Ordinance of 1784 regulating territories contained a stipulation that slavery in the territories would be prohibited after 1800. The stipulation was stripped from the ordinance, but only due the the sickness and absence of a single voter in the Confederation Congress. In 1820, the federal government passed the Missouri Compromise which prohibited slavery in the Louisiana territory north of 36' 30". It is noteworthy that during the discussion of the Missouri Compromise, John C. Calhoun, who later became the leading defender of the extension of slavery, endorsed the power of the federal government to prohibit it.
The Slave Power's early lack of concern over the federal power to restrict slavery changed as political sentiment against slavery grew in the country. Proslavery officials came to adopt a version of popular sovereignty that excluded federal authority over slavery in the territories. This headed off the extension of the Northwest Ordinance to the Orleans territory (Louisiana) and allowed the Arkansas territory to draft a slave code and be admitted as a slave state. The proslavery arguments held that the federal government should not dictate legislation to the citizens of the territories. To do so would be to treat them as colonies. This view was not based on any specific language in the Constitution. Indeed, Article Four, Section Three permitted the federal government to pass "needful rules and regulations" for the territories. Instead, the proslavery endorsement of popular sovereignty was based on a basic principle of American government that the people are capable of self-governance and that local authority should trump federal authority.
With the conquest of the Mexican territories, the proslavery position changed. The citizens of the territory of New Mexico were disposed to pass legislation prohibiting slavery, but to protect slavery, the Slave Power argued that the citizens of the territories were not politically mature enough for self-governance and that they could only prohibit slavery at the time they submitted an application for statehood. The Slave Power derided their own earlier position that allowed the territorial government authority over slavery, calling it "squatter sovereignty." It was thought by many that by insisting on "state sovereignty" instead, slaveholders would have time to emigrate to New Mexico and ensure that it would be admitted as a slave state.
By this time, Calhoun had recognized that even while the territorial governments might not be permitted to prohibit slavery, their slave codes (and social conditions) might effectively prohibit the emigration of slaves and slaveholders to the territories. What was necessary, according to Calhoun was the active protection of slave property by the federal government in the territories. Many southerners accepted Calhoun's analysis, but others, especially those in the upper South and border states, continued to adhere to "state sovereignty." Calhoun's position was effectively endorsed years after his death by the Supreme Court in Dred Scott v. Sandford (1857). More explicitly, Dred Scott rejected the constitutionality of the Missouri Compromise and held that the federal government had no authority to outlaw slavery in the territories, but by this time all four main positions regarding the extension of slavery were advanced by important political factions and various splinter positions were offered in an effort to reach a compromise over slavery.
Perhaps the most consistent position was held by the antislavery forces who argued that the federal government, empowered by the Constitution's Article Four, Section Three, could establish "needful rules and regulations" for the territories, that this included the prohibition of slavery, and that the frequent exercise of this power had established it in practice.
Among Childers's most interesting observations are the fine legal distinctions that were made by proponents of various versions of popular sovereignty. Proslavery radicals appeared to completely alter their views on popular sovereignty, moving through each of the four main positions to fit their interests in the extension of slavery. Steven A. Douglas, a more moderate politicians, retained his view that territorial governments could pass legislation regarding slavery (squatter sovereignty, if you will). Douglas argued that slavery could not exist where laws did not provide for its aid and protection. Douglas, consistent with his previous support for the Kansas-Nebraska Act, continued to argue for territorial sovereignty and against federal intervention in the territories. Douglas remained true to his commitment to the principle of self-determination of local communities. He also seemed to hope that this position would satisfy both southern and northern Democrats and maintain his party's political dominance.
Other politicians, particularly Lewis Cass attempted to satisfy both wings of the Democratic Party by issuing ambiguous statements on precisely when a territory was empowered to regulate slavery. His cagey approach nearly won him the presidency in 1848, but he was defeated by the Mexican War hero Zachery Taylor, who simply remained silent about the practicalities of popular sovereignty.
In general, The Failure of Popular Sovereignty is the story of a decades-long struggle over the extension of slavery. It provides an illuminating account of cross-cutting political considerations and evolving views about the constitutional protections afforded to slavery. Specific political figures involved in the formulation of the doctrine of popular sovereignty are vividly drawn, and the rising stakes in the debate lend growing excitement to the story. If there is a weakness to the history, it is the scant descriptions of the antislavery movement. A better understanding the internal debates within the Democratic Party over popular sovereignty would be achieved by placing the debate within a more vivid description of the larger political context. This would, of course, add a number of pages to the work, but the topic certainly deserves additional treatment.
The central concern in both the North and the South was the extension of slavery into the territories. In time, four positions surfaced: (1) the federal government had authority to regulate and even outlaw slavery in the territories, (2) the government of a territory could regulate or outlaw slavery, (3) the citizens of a territory could regulate and even outlaw slavery, but only when applying for statehood, and (4) the federal government had an obligation actively to protect slavery in the territories until the territory became a state. Other positions also surfaced, but they tended to be opportunistic modifications of one of these four.
Strong precedents existed for the first of the four positions, even since before the ratification of the Constitution. The Northwest Ordinance (1787) prohibited slavery in the the territories north of the Ohio River and Thomas Jefferson's original draft of the Ordinance of 1784 regulating territories contained a stipulation that slavery in the territories would be prohibited after 1800. The stipulation was stripped from the ordinance, but only due the the sickness and absence of a single voter in the Confederation Congress. In 1820, the federal government passed the Missouri Compromise which prohibited slavery in the Louisiana territory north of 36' 30". It is noteworthy that during the discussion of the Missouri Compromise, John C. Calhoun, who later became the leading defender of the extension of slavery, endorsed the power of the federal government to prohibit it.
The Slave Power's early lack of concern over the federal power to restrict slavery changed as political sentiment against slavery grew in the country. Proslavery officials came to adopt a version of popular sovereignty that excluded federal authority over slavery in the territories. This headed off the extension of the Northwest Ordinance to the Orleans territory (Louisiana) and allowed the Arkansas territory to draft a slave code and be admitted as a slave state. The proslavery arguments held that the federal government should not dictate legislation to the citizens of the territories. To do so would be to treat them as colonies. This view was not based on any specific language in the Constitution. Indeed, Article Four, Section Three permitted the federal government to pass "needful rules and regulations" for the territories. Instead, the proslavery endorsement of popular sovereignty was based on a basic principle of American government that the people are capable of self-governance and that local authority should trump federal authority.
With the conquest of the Mexican territories, the proslavery position changed. The citizens of the territory of New Mexico were disposed to pass legislation prohibiting slavery, but to protect slavery, the Slave Power argued that the citizens of the territories were not politically mature enough for self-governance and that they could only prohibit slavery at the time they submitted an application for statehood. The Slave Power derided their own earlier position that allowed the territorial government authority over slavery, calling it "squatter sovereignty." It was thought by many that by insisting on "state sovereignty" instead, slaveholders would have time to emigrate to New Mexico and ensure that it would be admitted as a slave state.
By this time, Calhoun had recognized that even while the territorial governments might not be permitted to prohibit slavery, their slave codes (and social conditions) might effectively prohibit the emigration of slaves and slaveholders to the territories. What was necessary, according to Calhoun was the active protection of slave property by the federal government in the territories. Many southerners accepted Calhoun's analysis, but others, especially those in the upper South and border states, continued to adhere to "state sovereignty." Calhoun's position was effectively endorsed years after his death by the Supreme Court in Dred Scott v. Sandford (1857). More explicitly, Dred Scott rejected the constitutionality of the Missouri Compromise and held that the federal government had no authority to outlaw slavery in the territories, but by this time all four main positions regarding the extension of slavery were advanced by important political factions and various splinter positions were offered in an effort to reach a compromise over slavery.
Perhaps the most consistent position was held by the antislavery forces who argued that the federal government, empowered by the Constitution's Article Four, Section Three, could establish "needful rules and regulations" for the territories, that this included the prohibition of slavery, and that the frequent exercise of this power had established it in practice.
Among Childers's most interesting observations are the fine legal distinctions that were made by proponents of various versions of popular sovereignty. Proslavery radicals appeared to completely alter their views on popular sovereignty, moving through each of the four main positions to fit their interests in the extension of slavery. Steven A. Douglas, a more moderate politicians, retained his view that territorial governments could pass legislation regarding slavery (squatter sovereignty, if you will). Douglas argued that slavery could not exist where laws did not provide for its aid and protection. Douglas, consistent with his previous support for the Kansas-Nebraska Act, continued to argue for territorial sovereignty and against federal intervention in the territories. Douglas remained true to his commitment to the principle of self-determination of local communities. He also seemed to hope that this position would satisfy both southern and northern Democrats and maintain his party's political dominance.
Other politicians, particularly Lewis Cass attempted to satisfy both wings of the Democratic Party by issuing ambiguous statements on precisely when a territory was empowered to regulate slavery. His cagey approach nearly won him the presidency in 1848, but he was defeated by the Mexican War hero Zachery Taylor, who simply remained silent about the practicalities of popular sovereignty.
In general, The Failure of Popular Sovereignty is the story of a decades-long struggle over the extension of slavery. It provides an illuminating account of cross-cutting political considerations and evolving views about the constitutional protections afforded to slavery. Specific political figures involved in the formulation of the doctrine of popular sovereignty are vividly drawn, and the rising stakes in the debate lend growing excitement to the story. If there is a weakness to the history, it is the scant descriptions of the antislavery movement. A better understanding the internal debates within the Democratic Party over popular sovereignty would be achieved by placing the debate within a more vivid description of the larger political context. This would, of course, add a number of pages to the work, but the topic certainly deserves additional treatment.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Mr. Lincoln Goes to War / William Marvel -- Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2006
In Mr. Lincoln Goes to War William Marvel makes a strenuous case against Lincoln's actions in the first year of the war. Marvel's Lincoln appears to be eager for war and quite unconcerned about basic civil liberties enshrined in the Constitution. Among the earliest and most famous violations of civil liberties came in the case of John Merryman, a prominent Maryland resident. Well-know for his sympathies for secession, Merryman was arrested in May 1861and held without access to the courts until he was released in July. Merryman's arrest occurred during the most systematic violations of the right to habeas corpus which continued through the first year of the war. During that time, Lincoln authorized the suspension of the writ of habeas corpus in the region between Washington D.C. and Philadelphia and later extended the region to New York City.
While the right of habeas corpus is fundamental to a free society, Lincoln faced uncertain circumstances that threatened the federal government and potentially the rule of law throughout the country. In the early days of secession, it was not clear what path Maryland would take. Furthermore, rumors were rife within Washington D.C. that the Confederates were amassing an army to capture the city. Indeed, in early March 1861, the Confederate Congress called for 100,000 soldiers to volunteer for a one-year tour of duty. Given significant support for the southern cause within the city and in the state of Maryland, one could make a case for unprecedented police actions. As the threat to the capital subsided, Lincoln released all political prisoners (with some exceptions) on Feb. 14, 1862; however, following the imposition of a draft in the summer of 1863, Lincoln again suspended the writ of habeas corpus. It appears that Lincoln exercised this power for specific purposes at specific times.
Clearly, the Lincoln administration's record regarding civil liberties is at very least questionable, but Marvel's description of it as "arbitrary" seems too harsh under the circumstance. Marvel does little to credit these circumstances. In the case of civil war, one's mortal enemies are fellow citizens and so the protections of citizenship obviously will be strained. Indeed, the gravity of the conflict is illustrated by the violations of civil liberties on both sides, but Marvel makes no mention of the violations perpetrated by the Confederate government. The Confederate Congress authorized the suspension of the writ of habeas corpus in 1862, passed the Alien Enemies Act which authorized the arrest of anyone in the Confederate states who did not acknowledge Confederate citizenship, and passed the Sequestration Act which authorized the permanent confiscation of the property of Union sympathizers. These actions, along with formation of a hostile army demonstrate the gravity of the threat posed to federal authority and the government itself.
Marvel makes much of the fact that many Union soldiers joined the army not out of a moral or nationalist impulse, but because of economic need. He furthermore notes that a draft was required to sustain the Union war effort. The conclusion Marvel is leading us to is that the war was -- from the beginning -- foisted upon the people of the country by an aggressive president. It should come as no surprise that those signing up to military service would be disproportionately poor and unemployed, but some degree of allegiance to the cause is likely to part of the decision to enlist, particularly as the horror of the war became better known. It is noteworthy that less than 20% of the Union forces were enlisted due to the draft. Marvel does not mention that southerners also joined the Confederate army for economic reasons and that a Confederate draft was required a year prior to the Union draft. Soft popular support for the Confederate cause lends credence to the view that the secession of southern states was in fact a rebellion by a privileged southern elite, not an act of northern aggression.
Marvel also describes the suppression of the press in the North, but again, the exigencies of civil war are not recognized and little mention is made of the state of the press in the South. Marvel does acknowledge that pro-union presses were closed by the Confederacy, but writes that presses in the South practiced "voluntary restraint" and that the infrequency of attacks on the press could be explained by the fact that in the South "the dominant slave culture had long repressed divergent opinion." Time and time again, Marvel provides excuses for Confederate violations of basic liberties, but excoriates the Lincoln administration for similar violations.
Lincoln is not the only object of Marvel's criticism. In a chapter entitled, "The Crimson Corse of Lyon," Marvel describes the Union campaign to control Missouri. For Marvel it is a rebellion against the authorized government of the state of Missouri. Lyon is called "an insubordinate, self-righteous psychopath" who "would not hear of peace when he saw so rare and opportunity to fulfill his apocalyptic personal destiny." It is remarkable that Marvel could diagnosis a personality disorder in Lyon one hundred and fifty years after Lyon's death, when it is difficult for qualified psychiatrists to make such diagnoses for their contemporary patients. It says more about Marvel's polemical intent than Lyon's personality. Marvel writes that Lyon's "unstable temperament" is revealed by his providing intelligence to McClellan that turned out to be incorrect. The connection is so unclear that it borders on being a non sequitur, and in fact, in one case, the "incorrect intelligence" was not really off the mark at all. Confederate forces really were assembling in Arkansas in preparation for an invasion of Missouri.
For a revealing portrait of Lyon, Marvel credits Christopher Phillips's harsh 1990 biography of Lyon, entitled Damned Yankee. I have not read Damned Yankee, but its initial paragraphs read less like history and more like an historical novel. Phillips describes dramatic details that he could not possible know took place. He does so clearly for literary effect. "Pulling pensively at his unruly red beard, forty-three-year-old Brig. Gen. Nathaniel Lyon watched the commotion in the street....His features hardened, the wrinkles at the top of his hooked nose deepened, and his small mouth clenched his cigar as tightly as his false teeth would allow." Prose of this sort hardly engenders confidence in the accuracy of Phillips's accounts.
This is not to say that Marvel's work is credulous. His bibliography reveals the serious research that lies behind his work, but it is not exceptional by professional standards. Marvel makes good use of primary sources, particularly letters and newspaper accounts. He also makes heavy use of The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, but any number of historians have done as well and have not drawn the starkly critical conclusions that Marvel draws. The scrupulous detail tends, however, to ocur in the passages which provide rather tedious accounts of troop movements. Such passages make up a substantial portion of Marvel's work.
At times Marvel's polemics clearly get the best of historical accuracy. At one point he writes of "Lincoln's expedition against Ft. Sumter." Here he is referring to a flotilla of ships that Lincoln ordered to deliver food and water to the besieged Union garrison. Marvel has turned a defensive, holding action into aggression. This may be a simple editorial oversight, but it reveals the lens through which Marvel views history and the extent to which it distorts his vision. The actions "against" Ft. Sumter in 1861 were all perpetrated by the Confederacy -- first a siege and then a potentially murderous bombardment.
Lying behind Marvel's work is the view that Lincoln's defense of federal property and willingness to engage in war was illegal, immoral, and unnecessary. The best defense of this view that I have read is in Democracy in the United States by Ransom H. Gillet, published in 1868. Prior to the war, Gillet was a member of the Democratic Party and a U.S. Representative from New York. His book attempts to resurrect the much-tarnished reputation of the Democratic Party. It is a scathing, partisan attack on the Lincoln administration. Were Marvel to comment on Gillet's work, I suspect he would find Gillet the most accurate and astute observer of the times.
While the right of habeas corpus is fundamental to a free society, Lincoln faced uncertain circumstances that threatened the federal government and potentially the rule of law throughout the country. In the early days of secession, it was not clear what path Maryland would take. Furthermore, rumors were rife within Washington D.C. that the Confederates were amassing an army to capture the city. Indeed, in early March 1861, the Confederate Congress called for 100,000 soldiers to volunteer for a one-year tour of duty. Given significant support for the southern cause within the city and in the state of Maryland, one could make a case for unprecedented police actions. As the threat to the capital subsided, Lincoln released all political prisoners (with some exceptions) on Feb. 14, 1862; however, following the imposition of a draft in the summer of 1863, Lincoln again suspended the writ of habeas corpus. It appears that Lincoln exercised this power for specific purposes at specific times.
Clearly, the Lincoln administration's record regarding civil liberties is at very least questionable, but Marvel's description of it as "arbitrary" seems too harsh under the circumstance. Marvel does little to credit these circumstances. In the case of civil war, one's mortal enemies are fellow citizens and so the protections of citizenship obviously will be strained. Indeed, the gravity of the conflict is illustrated by the violations of civil liberties on both sides, but Marvel makes no mention of the violations perpetrated by the Confederate government. The Confederate Congress authorized the suspension of the writ of habeas corpus in 1862, passed the Alien Enemies Act which authorized the arrest of anyone in the Confederate states who did not acknowledge Confederate citizenship, and passed the Sequestration Act which authorized the permanent confiscation of the property of Union sympathizers. These actions, along with formation of a hostile army demonstrate the gravity of the threat posed to federal authority and the government itself.
Marvel makes much of the fact that many Union soldiers joined the army not out of a moral or nationalist impulse, but because of economic need. He furthermore notes that a draft was required to sustain the Union war effort. The conclusion Marvel is leading us to is that the war was -- from the beginning -- foisted upon the people of the country by an aggressive president. It should come as no surprise that those signing up to military service would be disproportionately poor and unemployed, but some degree of allegiance to the cause is likely to part of the decision to enlist, particularly as the horror of the war became better known. It is noteworthy that less than 20% of the Union forces were enlisted due to the draft. Marvel does not mention that southerners also joined the Confederate army for economic reasons and that a Confederate draft was required a year prior to the Union draft. Soft popular support for the Confederate cause lends credence to the view that the secession of southern states was in fact a rebellion by a privileged southern elite, not an act of northern aggression.
Marvel also describes the suppression of the press in the North, but again, the exigencies of civil war are not recognized and little mention is made of the state of the press in the South. Marvel does acknowledge that pro-union presses were closed by the Confederacy, but writes that presses in the South practiced "voluntary restraint" and that the infrequency of attacks on the press could be explained by the fact that in the South "the dominant slave culture had long repressed divergent opinion." Time and time again, Marvel provides excuses for Confederate violations of basic liberties, but excoriates the Lincoln administration for similar violations.
Lincoln is not the only object of Marvel's criticism. In a chapter entitled, "The Crimson Corse of Lyon," Marvel describes the Union campaign to control Missouri. For Marvel it is a rebellion against the authorized government of the state of Missouri. Lyon is called "an insubordinate, self-righteous psychopath" who "would not hear of peace when he saw so rare and opportunity to fulfill his apocalyptic personal destiny." It is remarkable that Marvel could diagnosis a personality disorder in Lyon one hundred and fifty years after Lyon's death, when it is difficult for qualified psychiatrists to make such diagnoses for their contemporary patients. It says more about Marvel's polemical intent than Lyon's personality. Marvel writes that Lyon's "unstable temperament" is revealed by his providing intelligence to McClellan that turned out to be incorrect. The connection is so unclear that it borders on being a non sequitur, and in fact, in one case, the "incorrect intelligence" was not really off the mark at all. Confederate forces really were assembling in Arkansas in preparation for an invasion of Missouri.
For a revealing portrait of Lyon, Marvel credits Christopher Phillips's harsh 1990 biography of Lyon, entitled Damned Yankee. I have not read Damned Yankee, but its initial paragraphs read less like history and more like an historical novel. Phillips describes dramatic details that he could not possible know took place. He does so clearly for literary effect. "Pulling pensively at his unruly red beard, forty-three-year-old Brig. Gen. Nathaniel Lyon watched the commotion in the street....His features hardened, the wrinkles at the top of his hooked nose deepened, and his small mouth clenched his cigar as tightly as his false teeth would allow." Prose of this sort hardly engenders confidence in the accuracy of Phillips's accounts.
This is not to say that Marvel's work is credulous. His bibliography reveals the serious research that lies behind his work, but it is not exceptional by professional standards. Marvel makes good use of primary sources, particularly letters and newspaper accounts. He also makes heavy use of The War of the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies, but any number of historians have done as well and have not drawn the starkly critical conclusions that Marvel draws. The scrupulous detail tends, however, to ocur in the passages which provide rather tedious accounts of troop movements. Such passages make up a substantial portion of Marvel's work.
At times Marvel's polemics clearly get the best of historical accuracy. At one point he writes of "Lincoln's expedition against Ft. Sumter." Here he is referring to a flotilla of ships that Lincoln ordered to deliver food and water to the besieged Union garrison. Marvel has turned a defensive, holding action into aggression. This may be a simple editorial oversight, but it reveals the lens through which Marvel views history and the extent to which it distorts his vision. The actions "against" Ft. Sumter in 1861 were all perpetrated by the Confederacy -- first a siege and then a potentially murderous bombardment.
Lying behind Marvel's work is the view that Lincoln's defense of federal property and willingness to engage in war was illegal, immoral, and unnecessary. The best defense of this view that I have read is in Democracy in the United States by Ransom H. Gillet, published in 1868. Prior to the war, Gillet was a member of the Democratic Party and a U.S. Representative from New York. His book attempts to resurrect the much-tarnished reputation of the Democratic Party. It is a scathing, partisan attack on the Lincoln administration. Were Marvel to comment on Gillet's work, I suspect he would find Gillet the most accurate and astute observer of the times.
We Have the War Upon Us: The Onset of the Civil War, November 1860-April 1861 / William J. Cooper -- N.Y.: Alfred A. Knopf, 2012
The American Civil War was long in coming. As early as the founding of the country, pro-slavery and anti-slavery forces struggled over slavery. At various times in the first half of the 18th century, the political conflict threatened to lead to secession, and of course secession and war finally did come following the election of Abraham Lincoln in November 1860.
The main questions at issue were whether or not slavery would be permitted in the U.S. territories and in the states to be created out of those territories. The Republican platform ratified at the 1860 convention in Chicago called for the complete prohibition of slavery in the territories. The Democratic Party was, however, divided. Under the banner of "popular sovereignty," the northern faction supported the right of territorial governments to prohibit slavery. The southern faction held that only state constitutions could establish such prohibitions. Unable to resolve their differences, the Democratic Party split and ran two candidates: Steven A. Douglas and John C. Breckinridge.
Lincoln's election is often thought of as being a result of the split in the Democratic Party. He certainly failed to receive a majority of the popular vote nation-wide and he received virtually no votes in the southern states. His victories in the northern states, however, gave him the electoral votes necessary to win the election, but even if Democratic Party voters had not split their votes, Lincoln's majorities in the northern states would have put him in the White House. State by state popular vote totals demonstrate just how divided the country was on the issue of slavery, particularly the extension of slavery into the territories.
In the weeks following Lincoln's election, seven states seceded from the Union (South Carolina, Mississippi, Georgia, Alabama, Louisiana, Florida, and Texas). These states established the Confederate States of America. Its constitution guaranteed slavery in all its states and territories. The movement toward secession was unable to reach beyond the the deep south, though, until after the fall of Ft. Sumter on April 13 and Lincoln's subsequent call for 75,000 troops to defend the Union. The prospect that federal troops would be used to occupy and "reconstruct" the seceded states led to the secession of Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, and Arkansas. The Kentucky legislature declared Kentucky neutral in the conflict, while the federal occupation of Maryland and Missouri precluded secession in those states.
William Cooper's We Have the War Upon Us provides a close account of events between the election of Lincoln and the fall of Ft. Sumter. He especially examines the negotiations between Republicans and conditional unionists who sought to avoid the secession of the upper southern and border states. His treatment is careful and generally even-handed, relying on both primary and secondary sources. The actions (and non-actions) of William Seward and Abraham Lincoln play a central role in Cooper's account -- Seward working hard to accommodate the interests of the conditional unionists and Lincoln remaining largely silent on what his approach to the crisis would be upon his inauguration. The out-going president James Buchanan also played an important role in the unfolding events. Buchanan's view was that while states did not have the legal authority to leave the Union, the federal government did not have the authority to defend its sovereignty over the seceded states. One might argue that his inactivity to address secession forcefully at an early stage left the new Republican administration with a irremediable problem.
The greatest weakness in Cooper's account of the events leading to war is his short treatment of the actions of southern "fire-eaters," i.e., southerners dedicated to secession and the defense of slavery without compromise. By emphasizing the negotiations between the hard line Republicans and the conditional unionists, one is left with the impression that the intransigence of the hard line Republicans was more responsible for the coming of war than is justified. Cooper does not, for example, give much time to discussing the call by the Confederate Congress for 100,000 troops to serve for one year. This call was made more than a month before Lincoln's call for 75,000 troops to serve for 90 days. To keep these numbers in perspective, the federal army was composed of only 16,000 troops prior to 1861, most of whom were stationed in the South and in the territories. Many of these soldiers -- and most of the officers -- resigned from the federal army and joined the Confederate forces. Under these circumstances, the rumors of threats to Washington D.C. could not be ignored and the vulnerability of the territories to Confederate annexation was significant. In the end, it is not unreasonable to conclude that Lincoln followed the least belligerent course possible that still adhered to his responsibility to defend federal property.
Reviewing the efforts to negotiate an agreement that would prevent secession and war, leads the reader to conclude that Seward was correct in his assessment that the war was "irrepressible." Efforts by Congress as a whole, the House of Representative's Committee of Thirty-three, the Senate's Committee of Thirteen, the non-governmental Peace Convention, and the Confederate commissioners who came to Washington to negotiate a peaceful separation all appeared to be futile exercises in the face of long entrenched, partisan commitments to an uncompromising resolution to the nation's problem. In that sense, Cooper's title, We Have the War Upon Us is most certainly apt.
The main questions at issue were whether or not slavery would be permitted in the U.S. territories and in the states to be created out of those territories. The Republican platform ratified at the 1860 convention in Chicago called for the complete prohibition of slavery in the territories. The Democratic Party was, however, divided. Under the banner of "popular sovereignty," the northern faction supported the right of territorial governments to prohibit slavery. The southern faction held that only state constitutions could establish such prohibitions. Unable to resolve their differences, the Democratic Party split and ran two candidates: Steven A. Douglas and John C. Breckinridge.
Lincoln's election is often thought of as being a result of the split in the Democratic Party. He certainly failed to receive a majority of the popular vote nation-wide and he received virtually no votes in the southern states. His victories in the northern states, however, gave him the electoral votes necessary to win the election, but even if Democratic Party voters had not split their votes, Lincoln's majorities in the northern states would have put him in the White House. State by state popular vote totals demonstrate just how divided the country was on the issue of slavery, particularly the extension of slavery into the territories.
In the weeks following Lincoln's election, seven states seceded from the Union (South Carolina, Mississippi, Georgia, Alabama, Louisiana, Florida, and Texas). These states established the Confederate States of America. Its constitution guaranteed slavery in all its states and territories. The movement toward secession was unable to reach beyond the the deep south, though, until after the fall of Ft. Sumter on April 13 and Lincoln's subsequent call for 75,000 troops to defend the Union. The prospect that federal troops would be used to occupy and "reconstruct" the seceded states led to the secession of Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, and Arkansas. The Kentucky legislature declared Kentucky neutral in the conflict, while the federal occupation of Maryland and Missouri precluded secession in those states.
William Cooper's We Have the War Upon Us provides a close account of events between the election of Lincoln and the fall of Ft. Sumter. He especially examines the negotiations between Republicans and conditional unionists who sought to avoid the secession of the upper southern and border states. His treatment is careful and generally even-handed, relying on both primary and secondary sources. The actions (and non-actions) of William Seward and Abraham Lincoln play a central role in Cooper's account -- Seward working hard to accommodate the interests of the conditional unionists and Lincoln remaining largely silent on what his approach to the crisis would be upon his inauguration. The out-going president James Buchanan also played an important role in the unfolding events. Buchanan's view was that while states did not have the legal authority to leave the Union, the federal government did not have the authority to defend its sovereignty over the seceded states. One might argue that his inactivity to address secession forcefully at an early stage left the new Republican administration with a irremediable problem.
The greatest weakness in Cooper's account of the events leading to war is his short treatment of the actions of southern "fire-eaters," i.e., southerners dedicated to secession and the defense of slavery without compromise. By emphasizing the negotiations between the hard line Republicans and the conditional unionists, one is left with the impression that the intransigence of the hard line Republicans was more responsible for the coming of war than is justified. Cooper does not, for example, give much time to discussing the call by the Confederate Congress for 100,000 troops to serve for one year. This call was made more than a month before Lincoln's call for 75,000 troops to serve for 90 days. To keep these numbers in perspective, the federal army was composed of only 16,000 troops prior to 1861, most of whom were stationed in the South and in the territories. Many of these soldiers -- and most of the officers -- resigned from the federal army and joined the Confederate forces. Under these circumstances, the rumors of threats to Washington D.C. could not be ignored and the vulnerability of the territories to Confederate annexation was significant. In the end, it is not unreasonable to conclude that Lincoln followed the least belligerent course possible that still adhered to his responsibility to defend federal property.
Reviewing the efforts to negotiate an agreement that would prevent secession and war, leads the reader to conclude that Seward was correct in his assessment that the war was "irrepressible." Efforts by Congress as a whole, the House of Representative's Committee of Thirty-three, the Senate's Committee of Thirteen, the non-governmental Peace Convention, and the Confederate commissioners who came to Washington to negotiate a peaceful separation all appeared to be futile exercises in the face of long entrenched, partisan commitments to an uncompromising resolution to the nation's problem. In that sense, Cooper's title, We Have the War Upon Us is most certainly apt.
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